A/N: I liked that last chapter. It feels good to write this, and having this much info put into it will help me out with what I'm planning for it.
Not else much to say. So... on with the story, I guess.
Edit: Fixed an issue where I called the name of the country after a fighting game. Woops.
Disclaimer: I do not, can not, and will not own Two Kinds. Only bad things will come from that thought process.
Unlike my waking-up yesterday, this one is sudden. The only thought going through my mind can be summed up with a constant "-shit shit shit shit-" and that doesn't really spell out the rest of my position very well. I have to slowly unwind myself from the pseudo-fetal position I found myself in, my body straining in protest from staying like it too long. There's a faint stream of sunlight shining through the crack of the tent, it's lack of brightness telling me it's probably early morning-
Wait, back that up- a tent?
I look around again, taking everything in and confirming that yes, I'm inside of a tent.
Then the realization of this being Keith's tent bitch-slaps me, and I start to bolt out of the tent because holy shit I just left him in a tree what was I thinking-
Only for when I crawl out and stand up to look around, I get hit my a smell of something cooking. Looking over to the fire reveals the basitin in the middle of a yawn, fiddling with something in that pot of his – seriously, where does he keep that thing – and not in a tree. His yawn ends, and he rubs a part of his shoulder as he tiredly glances over where I am, then back to his pot.
...Did he just look over me-
He whips his head back over to me, his eyes wide and ears suddenly flayed out. In return I crack a smirk.
"Someone's tired this morning; need your eyes checked?" My words don't seem to affect him, and it takes me a moment to realize that he isn't staring at me, but at my body.
Looking down, I realize I'm still in my undergarments, having taken the traveling clothes off for the night.
Oh.
"Give me a second," I turn back to the tent, bending over to lean into the tent and grab the two articles. After taking a second to slip them on, I turn back around-
-only to see Keith looking even more shocked?
"What?" The word seems to break whatever spell he's under, quickly turning back to whatever he was doing before.
"N-Nothing." Wait- is he embarrassed? What is he, a kid?
"Keith," I go to sit on the log next to him, and I can't help but sigh when he scoots away from me. "We're both adults- at least you told me you're one. It's not like I crawled out of the tent stark naked."
"I-It's considered... inappropriate, for someone to be under-dressed." He's still looking away as he answers.
"To whom? We're in the middle of a forest, for god's sake," When he doesn't answer, I let out another sigh. "Fine. Have it your way then; act like a brat."
From there, he finishes what looks like leftovers from last night – which looks to be mixed with something freshly hunted; guess he can do that, too – and we eat the last of it in silence, Keith sitting on the opposite end of the log from me and refusing to look in my direction.
Which irks me, for some unknown reason. Anyways, I use the time to think to myself.
Specifically, the dream- no, memory, that I had last night. I still feel exhausted as ever – wishing for an espresso machine to suddenly appear hasn't worked – and my face still feels clammy. I would even bet that my eyes are red, if I feel this bad.
It's... been awhile since I've actually thought about my little brother. I've referenced him in passing every now and then, but I haven't actually thought how he was doing. It's... usually easier, to think that nothing bad has happened – that he didn't leave us all behind, leave me – and it's probably not a healthy thing to do, but...
I guess I don't have enough courage to face that problem head-on.
Speaking of thinking about things...
"Hey Keith," I've finished my food some time while I was not-brooding. "Did you say something about Flora and Trace last night?"
Whether it was him finally putting himself together, or the fact that I kinda don't remember the whole conversation last night, he faces me with a deadpan.
"Last night – while you were out 'walking' – the keidran was standing outside Trace's tent with a dagger in her hand. I'm certain that she was planning on killing Trace, but I stopped her before she could. She ran off, and as thanks Trace shot me up a tree." He spat out the words with no amount of bitterness in his voice, tearing off the last piece of meat and throwing the uneatable remains into the fire, the flames greedily consuming them.
Oh-kay then... that explain the blood and the dagger- wait.
"That doesn't add up," I shift a bit on the log to give the basitin a questioning look. "Flora literally flirted with Trace last night- why would she want to go and kill someone she has possible feeling for?"
"Well," He gives me a withering look. "Maybe it's because I'm not naive and know that keidrans are not to be trusted."
I open my mouth to retort...
But I don't have one. I... what do I say to that? I- no, he can't be right- there's that wolf from last night- Sythe? He was kind enough, and most importantly didn't run me through with that spear he had. But... something tells me I should keep that secret. Wouldn't want him to tarnish him, specifically.
Keith takes my silence as defeat and stands up to stomp over to where he put his things. Weirdly, he didn't use a tent, nor did he fix the one I tried to put up- he actually rolled it back up, strangely enough.
"Why didn't you kick me out of your tent- you had every right to."
He pauses in his packing, but continues without responding. At his lack of talking I throw my hands up.
"Fine, be that way.." I mumble to myself, then I start grabbing all of my stuff.
This is going to be a long walk.
Apparently, Keith has got it stuck in his head that he really wants Trace – for some ungodly reason – and he reasoned that the only way they could've gone with Flora harmed is the city we were heading towards in the first place. After the minor shock of whoa, he actually tried to kill her, I couldn't really say anything about it because of the 'what if's. What if Keith was right- that Flora really did try to kill Trace in the middle of the night? What if I was still there? Would Flora tried to stab me-
No, there's no way; this is all probably some big misunderstanding. Maybe Keith just caught Flora outside Trace's tent and just so happened... to be holding a dagger...
Yeesh, who am I trying to convince here?
Tuning back into reality from my musings – internal panicking – I see that- yup, Keith is still acting like some angsty teenager and is trying his best to pretend that I don't exist. Besides the comment on where our destination is, there hasn't been a single word spoken between us. There's definitely some tension between us, ignoring the fact that I'm adding to it, the answer being quite obvious as to what started it and what can end it.
All of it centered on me. But there's no way that I'm going to admit that I- say that he's right. In what universe is any of this supposed to be right, anyhow? All of this slavery bullshit and starting a war because someone doesn't look like you-
It all seems so... ancient, the reasons on why there's so much conflict. I've heard of issues on police brutality back home, but compared to here it's a paradise. All that stuff going on sounds like a war is about to happen...
This place is so wrong. So, so horribly wrong.
I haven't realize I've slowed down until Keith raised his voice.
"You're dragging your feet." I see a flick of his ear, and he doesn't even bother to turn around. I jog a bit – stuff in my backpack and satchel jangling around and making noise.
I open my mouth to 'comment' on his current angst-fest, but for once I clamped my mouth shut and took a second to say something.
"You know, back home we have a system in place when it comes to judging someone for a law they might or might not have broken," Other than a twitch of an ear, there's no response. "It's called 'Innocent until proven guilty'. So in my eyes, until I see those two and ask them myself, they're still good in my eyes."
It's quiet for a while, the only noise being the sounds of the forest; the chattering of a few squirrels, insects buzzing about, the winds blowing through the trees around us. The tranquility is soon broken by a sigh.
"Is that so?" He still doesn't look back, and while a small part of me wishes he decides to look, another part of me realizes how tired he sounds.
Well maybe he shouldn't be an ass about everything- or as Flora called him, a jerk.
"Since I think that, it also means that you could be in the wrong," For the first time in what felt like hours he looks back at me, any trace of that tired voice gone and replaced by the familiar annoyed face. "Assaulting another person because they're a different race is called a hate crime, and is a terrible offense." I can't help the small smirk at the deepening frown on his face as he turns forward and starts walking again. My own feet start to pick up the pace, and I only just realized that we stopped moving when we started talking.
Seeing Keith return to his brooding domain, I decide to leave him alone – for now – and just settle in for the rest of the journey-
Or... I quietly – as to not disturb the subject – reach into my satchel, moving my hand around and soon resting it on a plastic object, just as quietly pulling it out. Trying my best to not make a sound, I bring it up to my face and center it on Keith, waiting for the perfect moment...
Flash.
The flash of light makes him jump a little, and I can't help the soft laugh that escapes me as I wait for the camera to spit out the film. He swings his head back, a shout on the tip of his tongue, but he stops when he notices the contraption in my hands.
"What was that?" I ignore the question as the film slowly rolls out of the camera, the image still covered in the pre-process black. I grab it and give it a little shake and, after a small consideration, hand it in the direction of the now-stopped basitin.
"Always wanted to know what you look like from behind?" Despite the bitch-face he throws at me, he takes the film, and after a few seconds at staring at the black his eyes widen.
Slowly, the image's color comes through to reveal the basitin in question. He's wearing that strange bucket-helm of his, with some steel shoulder plates resting on top of his caped shoulders, the cloth article brushed by in some passing breeze. Underneath the cape is his sword, attached to his hip with a leather harness of sorts, and his tail curved out of the cape's motion. If I wasn't privy to who this was – well, that and if Keith was more human-y from behind; the weird paw-feet thing still makes me do a double take – I would say that he would look like a knight, almost.
Ha, a knight in not-so-shiny armor. Would make sense, in some cases.
"C'mon, slowpoke," I lightly slap the back of his helmet. "We're burning daylight ogling my stuff."
I laugh a bit at the chocked sound coming from him, then have hold my sides as he mutters something that sounds a lot like 'devil-woman'.
I didn't notice how the tension seems to just bleed away, or how Keith decided to keep pace with me instead of lead.
It takes a while longer – some time in the early to mid afternoon, I don't know how to read the sun – before we come across a trail that looks to be well traveled, full of boot prints and cart tracks and whatever else you can find that people use old dirt roads for. After Keith took a moment to look down both ways and swivel his ears for good measure, we stepped out of the foliage and onto the road and started heading down it. Not long after, there appeared to be a break in the treeline, a hint of some structures that, for once, doesn't look to be made of wood and thatch. Before we could walk any further, Keith pulled me off to the side as he took off his pack and pulled out a familiar cloak.
"I don't want to look too suspicious," He muttered as some form of explanation as he threw it over his current clothing, the thick black cloak covering over everything on his person and reaching all the way down to his feet. Then, he flipped the over-sized hood over his bare head – having taken off the helmet and shoving it in his pack.
"Oh hey, it's shady cloak guy; nothing suspicious here." The unamused look sent from under the hood was worth a small laugh, which I cashed in on. Said look drilled deeper at the laugh.
"If I want to keep my fur where it is, then I need to wear this," He rolled his eyes as he dragged my entirely amused form out of the shrubbery and back onto the road, then soon we're back to walking.
Breaking the line of trees that are only about a hundred feet away from the outskirts of the 'city', part of me takes in the size of the place and has to tell itself that these people's definition of city is very different from mine. The area that the place looks to cover can't be any bigger than Greenville, for crying out loud! The buildings themselves are of a surprisingly modern-looking shape, but are still made of stone, of all things. There are a few places where panes of glass are put here and there, and I have to stop to tell myself that- no, there isn't any glass made for widespread use like house windows back in the day, and end up chalking it up to, yes, magic. Because how else can something so modern exist when everyone is still using horse-drawn carts?
The one thing that stands out to me – and sends shivers like nobody's business down my spine – is the tower. Even from the outskirts, I can spot it from here, it being the tallest building in this entire place. While it's definitely no skyscraper, it's definitely nothing to scoff at as far as how these people made something so... tall and not have it fall over. As for why it made my skin crawl?
The fact that the very top of it is giving off a noticeable, ominous red glow with pillars floating around it is definitely a top contender on the spook factor.
The longer I'm here in this place, the more I feel like I shouldn't be here.
Looking back down from the tower, I notice a set of guards – honest to god guards – standing with swords at their sides and crossbows pointed off to the side and downwards. As we walk up to them, they give us a searching look, as if they can tell if we mean the city any harm, but soon loose interest and look forwards to the treeline. We soon breach the threshold of the city, and inside is a stark contrast to the outside barrenness.
There are people everywhere, all about minding their own business or in pairs or groups. There are shops here and there, catering to one need or another, and people – with cloaks that have a strong similarity to Keith's – moving in and out of them like clockwork. Some with not a care of who they are surrounded by and some with a general politeness that reminds me of the aged man from the last village.
The whole atmosphere almost threw me for a loop because it reminds me of the one time where Ma and Papa took a trip to the city, dragging a smaller, more excited me to a place that seemed so different to home, full of life despite how not a single cusp of trees could be seen. But the people seemed to be the driving force behind the life; how everything seems to just... flow together-
-Holy shit it's a pizza parlor.
I didn't notice how my feet just froze to the ground until Keith tapped my shoulder, turning to see him giving me a confused look.
"You have pizza? How?!" I whisper-shout, mostly from the awe of how the hell there's pizza when there isn't any sign of modernism. Seriously, how the fresh hell did a bunch of medieval neanderthals make pizza?!
I hear Keith let out a sigh – and a mutter that I couldn't quite hear – then, just like a few minutes ago, dragged me away from the incomprehensible paradox of a pizza place.
"Dawn," His tone reminds me of Papa when I was little, when I became a little too rowdy for him to handle. "We're not here to stare at everything; we need to find Trace."
"Doesn't that require staring at everything?" Cue annoyed look and small smirk sent in return.
"Can you not be difficult for five seconds?" He faces forward again, presumably to search for a certain bluenette.
"I mean, I could, but where's the fun in..." I trail off as I started to look around for a certain blue-haired man and a tiger, when something finally registers.
The feeling of 'I should not be here' never felt stronger.
I peered farther into the crowds, and beyond the milling of random pedestrians are a few- no, an uncomfortable amount, of people with keidrans next to them. What I first registered as just diversity that's commonplace where I'm from is mistaken for what I'm now realizing is these keidrans in chains. Manacles at their feet to make running impossible, cuffs with brands seared onto them strapped onto their wrists, and to top it all...
A collar on all of them, with an eerie design carved into every single one of them that sends a sickening electricity down to my core.
Slaves. And a lots of them, too.
...Flora was right, after all. This is beyond something that was 'rich people owning others from another country', it's like... some sick fad that people are interested in. There's people sitting on benches, chatting about their everyday lives while the keidrans just stand there, looking so lifeless-
A building, with a simple sign hanging out front that says 'Auction House', has people from all kinds of creed watching a line of chained up keidrans – ones from all the different species Flora described – with a critical eye like some kind of interesting trinket on a store shelf-
The smallest one of them, one that doesn't look older than ten, is bawling their eyes out as she's being dragged into that hellhole, the stripes around their face matted from tears as a man in dark robes swats at her and tells to to stop making noise and she's calling for her bro-
"-Dawn!"
I focus back and- Keith is right in front of me, giving me an odd look.
What... I step to the side and look behind him, expecting to see a morbid conga-line of prisoners and a scared little girl-
-to see an abandoned, dilapidated building, the only sign of life being some woman covered in filthy rags sitting beside the thing to escape the sun.
"...Let's keep moving..." I step around Keith, giving the... residence a wide berth.
What the hell was that? It felt so... am I going crazy? Another look around me shows that- no, there's still people, keidrans, bound and looking miserable, but what was with that scene? It felt so heart-wrenching to see and the kid looked so young...
Keith doesn't looked bothered by any of this, but something tells me from the glance I shot him – he's drilling holes into my skull when I chanced the look – that his earlier opinion of keidrans makes it easier to ignore the misery around us. And god, the depression is almost palpable, now that I notice the other half of this place.
It's one thing to be told about it, but nothing could dampen the blow from seeing it first-hand.
A crack of thunder rolls through, and looking up shows that a darkening that was in the horizon got a lot closer. The dark gray clouds tumble over each other slowly as they ever so slowly go to cover the late afternoon sun, darkening the surrounding landscape in an early evening light. People around us look up to the front and hurry to either finish whatever business they have or pick up the pace they set to their homes.
Keith walks up to me, making sure to keep his head low so the hood covers his features.
"We're going to have a hard time finding Trace when the storm hits. We should find an inn before it gets worse."
"Y-Yeah." I give a slight nod, as if in some vain hope that it'll cover up the stutter.
I can't see his eyes under the hood, but I swear I see his mouth twitch downwards for a split second before he turns and heads down the street, his cloak blending in a lot better than I thought it would alongside the rushing individuals occupying the road.
I look back over my shoulder, at the broken-down structure, and I do a small double take when the beggar woman is nowhere to be seen. I shake my head at the small detail, then jog to catch up with my basitin companion.
It doesn't take long for Keith to find an inn – he implied that he traveled often; doy, Dawn – and good thing too, for the storm finally decided to start pelting the earth with rain and a few flashes of lightening. Oddly enough, the only thing that seems to worry me right now is the chance of lightening striking the inn- it's one of the only buildings in this block that's made of wood, so it has to be the reason why this place doesn't set well with me.
Keith and I rush under the awning jutting out of the top of the entrance, and I take the time to kick off any mud that collected from the now-muddy streets as Keith opens up the door and ushers us in. Inside, there's a fire burning off to one side of the large room that fills the room with a welcoming warmth; a stark contrast to the sudden cool that blew in from the storm above us. The room – which looks like a very quaint bar – is, surprisingly, well decorated- and because of that it almost reeks of tourist trap. There's decorations put up on the walls, tables with a decent amount of people sitting among them, and a gruff looking man with a bald head and a well-kept but large beard mans the bar.
Off to the side, a man with an office-like desk-table messes with the items on it, medium-length light brown hair prepared neatly and a pair of blue eyes that look just as smug as the light smirk that rests on his face. When we walk up to the table it takes a throat-clear from Keith for him to look up, and that perpetual smugness seems to drop when he looks up and lays his eyes on me, eyes widening slightly in surprise. However, the minor shock slips away as that smug look returns, with a minor glint in his eye as he glides his gaze between me and Keith.
"Well, isn't this a surprise! It's odd seeing you here, Ms. Underwood," He stops whatever he's doing and sits in a chair behind the table, his fingers steepled under his chin. "Welcome to my humble tavern, what may I get you."
Honestly, my mind almost stopped registering when the second guy in a row somehow not only recognized me, but knew my name. I managed to keep it together – compared to earlier, this is nothing – and a small part of me noticed how he keeps his eyes solely on me, seeming to ignore Keith beyond the second glance he first gave the basitin.
"I need a room for the night, and a separate one for my friend." The wince that the man did was so fake that I swear he's playing some kind of joke, but I don't see where this is goin-
"Sorry, but there's only one room left that's been prepared and is open. However," His smirk turns almost predatory. "You could have you... friend share the suite with you."
I... don't know what's with the look, but- wait.
"How much is for the room?" I have no money left on me, and I rather not have to overburden Keith with having to pay for two- hell, he's even frozen in place from the looks of it.
"Oh, for you, Ms. Underwood, consider it free of charge; for doing a great service for humanity."
Free?! Whoa, I don't even care about the mistake where this guy thinks I'm someone else, this could be a way to save up on Keith's change.
"Done." A wide grin splits across my face, and the man leans back and grabs a lone key from what looks like a rack of key hooks and passes it over.
"Here you go, one suite for the night; on the house." He places it in my palm and gives it a little pat. "Enjoy."
"Thanks!" I grab Keith by the shoulder – who it even stiffer than I last glanced at him – and direct – read: dragged – him off to the stairs off to the side.
There's two set of stairs that we had to climb; the first landing that we reach showed a... less than clean hallway that has multiple doors. They're probably the 'regular' rooms provided here, and a small part of me – for some reason – feels great at not having either me or Keith thrown into there.
It's almost like I didn't argue with him this morning about keidran politics and being in each other's presence with less than full clothing attached.
...Okay, that last part sounded bad out of context.
The last landing we reach is much better looking than the last one, with the hallway looking like it was scrubbed through every nook and cranny with a toothbrush. There's decorative wall-sconces that almost look gilded, and the light bathed from them gives a nice atmosphere to the whole place. Pulling out the key and looking for the room with the matching number, I reach the door that it matches with and right when I'm about to unlock the door is when Keith finally snaps out of whatever funk he was in.
"I'm not going in there."
Excuse me, what.
"Wait, why don't you..." I trail off at the look that he sends me – the very same one that he had this morning – and give him a deadpan. "You can't be serious."
"I'm serious."
"Keith, no, you heard the guy; there are no more rooms, this is the last one!" That only puts a frustrated look on his face.
"It would be inappropriate to do so-"
"There you go again! Jesus, Keith, it's not like we're obligated to fuck if we share the same room," I let out a sigh at the flinch Keith did. "Look, if it disturbs you so much, I can go back down and ask if the guy downstairs knows any other taverns around the area. Here," I grab his hand and place the room key into his – soft – hand. "The suite's all yours."
I start back to the stairs, Keith looking shocked at the sudden generosity that even I didn't expect, when I feel his hand lightly grab my arm, a sigh accompanying the action.
"I... I didn't mean to kick you out like that; it has nothing to do with you," I turn back around to face him, and I'm taken aback at the slight crack in his mask of annoyance he usually wears.
The more I talk to him, the more I feel like the answer is slapping me across the face, and it's only now that some part of me finds a ghost of an answer. The clothing he wears is something reminiscent of a knight straight out of a fairy-tale; how he projects respect for decency; and, you know, we're in medieval-ish times; he probably has some form of code to follow, and somewhere in there probably states how to 'respect maidens', or something...
Oh great, the one time where a code of honor is probably the worst thing; mostly because it suck right now. I speak up after noticing my contemplating gaze making Keith fidget a little.
"It's alright; you probably have some kind of law or code that says you can't go in the same room, huh?" A feel a small sense of victory at the surprised look he sends me. "Hey, I'm nothing if not observant. But-"
I snatch the key I gave him and dragged him back to the suite door, making sure to keep a grip on the basitin.
"-I'm not about to let you sleep somewhere slummy." I fiddle with the lock, and it's a lot easier that Keith seemed to accept what I've said as the key finally unlocks the door.
Pushing the door open, I look around inside and can't help the low whistle that escapes me as I take in the sights. Compared to a hotel room from back home, this gives off a similar feeling- the only difference being the obvious technological gap that reeks from this room. The bed looks miles better than the last one I've slept in at the last village, and it has a quilt that looks to be professionally sewn together and made of something that might've been expensive material around here. There's a table off to one side, with a branch-like object sitting on top of it that I can't tell why it's there. A bookshelf, of all things, flanks the side of it, but has a very small amount of reading material littering it. Next to the bed is a dresser, a mirror sitting on top of it with an assortment of hygiene care sitting atop it in neat rows. Across from the entrance is what looks like a balcony, with the curtains currently drawn together to hide the storm outside.
"Well, he wasn't kidding when he said 'suite'." I finish my observation and walk next to the bed, dropping my pack and gently setting down my satchel, and relief floods through me after having all of that weight taken off of me as I flop on the bed.
"I'm taking the bed, fuzzball; I technically purchased the room, after all." I shout, my voice muffled from the assortment of sheets and blankets shoved in my face that feels so good.
A sigh is all I get, but I hear him heading to the opposite wall and setting something down, along with the clanging of what I suspect is the pieces of armor he wears on his person. If only I had another set of clothes to use – or wear to sleep – because the slight muggy feeling that I'm getting from the small dip in the rain is not a great feeling, and I wish there was something as comfy as the bed I'm face-planted on.
Or something as warm and soft as that wolf from last night, a small part of me says. While I agree on the soft and warm, and how it would be amazing to feel that great, or even how it would feel to have some to constantly feel under my hand-
Whoa, slow down there; that's about to take a turn for the worse, and something tells me that Keith wouldn't appreciate it- even if he can't read minds. I think.
Speaking of, I turn my head to ask the basitin in question how he's holding up-
-only to be greeted by his back, which for some reason doesn't have anything on it, currently. The fuzz that covers him is the same sandy color all around, apparently, and I watch as he stretches his back muscles to bring a damp shirt – freshly wrung out – and slip the article back on, removing the view that I had.
...Okay, so fuzzball has some muscles on him. Well, I think he's a knight of some kind, and he always lugs around that sword like he knows how to use it, but holy shit-
I shove my face back into the bedding, hoping to smother the blush on my face because why the hell am I getting bothered over someone who's a bit of an ass? Yeah- no, I'm not going to have any of that-
"Aaaah! No! Stop! Anywhere but there!"
…
Glacially, Keith and I turn our heads out the door, were I'm pretty sure I just heard the voice of Trace, of all people, shout out in- what, fear?
We share a glance, and we drop whatever we're doing to go to the door; Keith picking up his sword and me following closely behind him and, upon reaching the door, carefully grabbing the handle-
BOOM!
-and throwing it open, looking down the hall to see a freaking hole in one of the walls, dust billowing out of it and rubble from it strewn across the previously-clean floor. Keith rushes ahead – myself not far behind – and instead of looking through the hole in the wall he tries the door that's unlocked for some ungodly reason-
-revealing a familiar, colorful trio.
"You idiot! Could you not destroy everything?" A purple haired woman – Maren, I think? – coughs from the dust scattered through the air as she scolds the redhead with a glowing hand what the-
"You guys do know the door's unlocked, right?" At his voice, the three look over to us with shocked looks. The redhead looks about ready to burst again at seeing Keith, Maren looks at the door with a heavy deadpan, and... Karen's waving at me, for some reason-
CRASH!
Out of nowhere the wall that I think has the outside behind it breaks down, sending more bits of wall and dust everywhere. I flinch hard at the collapse, backing away from it but only hitting the wall next to the door- well, the one that doesn't have a giant hole in it. As the dust settles-
"What have you done with my Flora?"
-right in front of me, growling like he's a mad dog and moving his spear in a threatening way, is-
"Sythe?" My jaw drops, the name making said wolf look in my direction and mimic me.
"Dawn?" He looks every bit surprised as I feel.
"Sythe?" I look over to Keith to see a lost expression as he looks between us-
"Tom's Pizza Delivery. I've got a large with extra anch-" I turn next to me, seeing some guy with fantastic black hair reading off of some notepad and holding a pizza box that takes a second to look up-
"Oh my God!" His gaze appears locked on whatever is in front of him, and weirdly enough he isn't looking at any of us.
What could be so shocking that... that... My thoughts slowly drift off into nothing as I turn to see-
Trace. And Flora. In an extremely suggestive position.
…
"Woohoo Trace!" I barely register the cheer as my eyes seem glued on the – probably a – social taboo that I just committed.
I d-don't know what to do. I... I mean, the fact that if Keith was right about last night this makes whatever is happening in front of me- no! No. No, you are not going to go down that path of thinking, Dawn!
...But seriously, they must be into some weird stuff if they get a kick out of that-
"W-what's going on?" I look next to me – mostly to have something to occupy my thoughts – and my mind proceeds to go off on another tangent as I see the woman who walks up next to me.
For one, her hair is silver – not white, silver – and it's long, going all the way down to her lower back from behind and down to her torso in two mirrored streams from the front. She – out of everyone I've seen in this place so far – seems to be the most exotic human with how her facial features are shaped- it's just so sharp that it's almost like looking at royalty. Her eyes are of an odd shade of yellow, and the fact that I'm pretty sure that it's as natural as her hair seems to only make me stare longer.
"I thought you were looking for the Templar?" Her brows furrow as she surveys the battered room. Confused, I do the same-
-whoa. Okay, um, everyone is apparently beating the crud out of each other. How did I not notice it-
I look towards the bed, remembering the culprit of my lapse in focus, only to see an empty bed. Well, except for the redhead threatening some poor sod on the other side of the bed into submission. Or unconsciousness. One of those two. Either way – slowly – everyone else seems to come to the same conclusion that- yes, Trace and Flora are both gone.
All that is left is the awkward silence of realizing that the reason behind the silence is now gone, and a sense of-
"Ahem," I look behind me, the tavern keep standing there with a tray of a couple of bottles of... something. Whatever it is, it has some kind of magenta flower floating around in it, and he has it extended towards me. "Sorry to... interrupt, but your refreshments are here, Ms. Underwood."
Quietly, I grab the offered tray, gripping it with both hands as the keep does that weird smug smirk of his and walks off, stepping over odd pieces of wall as he exits.
…
"Ya know," I carefully rotate towards Keith, who has a certain green-haired woman climbing off of him. "I thought he'd be more pissed at the two walls blasted in."
At the silence that greets me – besides one snort from a basitin – I cringe slightly. Yeah, the atmosphere of awkward hasn't left yet, and the tension seems to exponentially get worse as the seconds tick by-
My eyes catch the pizza box on the floor, then the bottles on the tray.
"...Pizza and booze?" I lift up the tray along with my shoulders, as if saying 'that's all I got'.
Everyone present shares a look between each other, then in unison stare at the bottles in my grasp, then back to me.
Holy shit I can't believe that worked.
Somehow, everyone seemed to unanimously agree to the offer, and currently everyone is sitting around the opened pizza delivery box, sitting besides someone for one reason or another. Red – because I can't seem to remember if I heard his name yet, but can't care to learn it – opted to take a bottle of flower-booze and sit by himself, seeming to be deep in thought about something as he takes periodic sips of the drink. Karen decided to sit beside Keith because – and I laughed hard at the look on Keith's face – 'his ears were super fluffy'. Keith, naturally, tried to argue this, but no matter how far he shifts away from the woman with animal ears, she seems to stay the same distance from him.
Surprisingly, Maren decided to sit next to Sythe, with myself sitting on the other side of the wolf keidran, then on my other side is the silver-haired woman- who's name is Raine.
And yes, I'm putting a lot of emphasis on silver, because it's not every day that you find someone that has fuzz that you swear shimmers when it reflects light. Like, it literally looks like someone dumped quicksilver over her head and it decided to stick.
Ya know, besides the health problems of dumping mercury on someone's head.
As I contemplate this, I feel my stomach demand another bite of pizza, and reluctantly eat a slice of the anchovy-pepperoni pizza. While every other part of the slice is fucking amazing – like, I'm pretty sure there's actual magic behind the recipe – the fact that there's anchovies on it sucks. At least it isn't-
"Is something the matter?" Raine stops the conversation with Maren on... whatever they were talking about- clothes? Is that a thing normal-ish people talk about? Anyways, she faces me with a questioning look. Besides the look, even the fact that she has an accent that gives her a posh exterior seems to make her look beyond regal, for some reason.
I shake the slice slightly, "I'm not a fan of anchovies, but it could be worse, I s'ppose."
"Well," She takes another bite of her own slice, seeming to take her time with it as she chews. "I don't like them, either, but it's better than no food."
"I'm not so sure..." I take another swig of my own bottle of the flower-booze, relishing in the sweet taste that it offers. The drink has a sweetness to it that's almost like syrup, but has the consistency of water, funnily enough.
"What do you mean?" Looking over to my other side, I see Sythe looking down at me. While he was standing, he had a definite height that towered over me, but while we're both sitting it seemed to even out. Must be the legs; those things are like natural high heels- I would kill to get that height without murdering my own feet in the process.
"I mean..." I thoughtfully place the pizza in my mouth and take another bite, scrunching my face up at the taste of another goddamn anchovy. "Th'r coul' be pin'appl' 'n it." A shiver runs through me at the thought. Truly, the least stupid words I've ever spoken.
Doesn't make the anchovies taste any better, though.
I shovel the last bite of my slice into my mouth, washing it down with a hearty swig of the delicious flower-syrup. Looking around me, everyone seems to be starring at me.
...Okay, guys I said something stupid, then.
Except Keith, but from the amount of drink that he took, he doesn't seem to make the connection yet.
"It's fruit on pizza. That's something you never use unless you despise someone." Why can't they see that? It's obvious; nothing taste worse than putting something citrus-y on your gutted calzone!
Keith lets loose another snort, and that seemed to set off a chain reaction of everyone else – even Red, the bastard – into a fit of giggles and chuckles. I feel my face flush further and a scowl cross my face. The idiots won't know the disgusting evil until it falls on their slices, then let's see who'll be laughing.
It takes a bit for everyone to calm down, then soon it's back to idle conversations for a while. It was... oddly nice. I mean, even though they were trying to beat the shit outta each other only a few minutes ago, it feels nice to... hang out with people, to laugh with them and joke about things. Well, that and the weird drink helps. And for a long while it's exactly that; something that feels almost perfect, despite my... situation.
Then someone, not telling any names – it was all Red – had to ruin it with a question.
"Dawn," I look up to see Red giving me this really weird look, all squint-y and stuff. "Why are you hanging out with this animal, anyways?"
Huh, so that's why he looks so constipated; I mean, I don't know why needing to shit translates to travel companions, but hey.
"You mean Keith? Oh, I'm jus' tryin' to find my way home. But thash da thin'," I try to take another sip of liquid awesome, but the flower just smacks me on the mouth so I set it back down. "I don' know how to get there."
Everything gets quiet, and it greeny that says something next- who is completely sober, by the by.
"But you are home; this is your home city, right?"
What? No, that can't be right.
"Nah, nah, you don' undershtan'," I sit up from my lounge, trying to make these dumb asses think better. "I'm from Greenville, an'... I think I died; all that mesh with gettin' killed an' sudd'n'ly ish the void. Like, actually nothin'." I flop my arms up, and I kinda feels something soft at the end of one of them that feels almost like that nice puppy that my neighbor has from when I was a kid, so I start to pet it. "An' then I woke up 'ere, an' then you," I shove the hand with the bottle in the direction of Red. "Knocked me offa my chair because fuzzball is cute. Idiot." I try to throw the bottle at the source of my pain, but I held onto it for too long and it ends up rolling slowly about a couple of feet away from me.
Damn it, that was supposed to hit him. Riiiiight in the head. Or the dick.
I'm not picky.
Suddenly, I let out a yawn, and I realize how tired I am. Everything so... fuzzy- like the thing in my left hand.
Oh wait, that's Sythe. Oops.
"Imma sleep now. G'night, ya evil people. 'Cept you," I throw out a surprisingly agile hand and pinch Keith's ear as I walk over to the hole. I ignore the yelp and 'help' him to his feet. "You need t' sleep, too." Not letting go of the fuzzball, I drag him out of the hole, and back across the hall and into the room.
With a determination that I never knew I had, I waddle-walk to the bed and throw the covers back, flopping onto the open bed. I'm greeted by the amazing feeling of a good bed, and a nice floral scent that covers it. There's even the softest pillow I've ever felt right in my arms, and I snuggle up to it, rubbing my face against its divine fuzz.
Of course, as per usual after anyone getting shit-faced drunk, I proceed to pass the fuck out.
Why me?
Why I ask? Oh, just the small, tiny fact that I'm being molested by a sleeping Dawn by her unconscious self rubbing its face against my ears.
The entire situation screams wrong, but the iron grip that the human is keeping me in is making this much more difficult than it should be. Of course, I could just wrestle my way out of it, but something tells me that waking her up would end with a lot of uncomfortable questions being asked, and I rather not have it come to that.
And it's all for that reason, and that reason only that I'm not moving right now, despite how comfortable my everything feels.
...Well, seeing how I'm not moving anytime soon, might as well think a bit. And speaking of things to think about...
I twist my head to the side to get a slightly better look of Dawn, a light snore drifting from her form in the dark. The things that she said in there before she... grabbed my ear, I can't tell if it's just the alcohol talking, but the fact that she tends to be brutally honest sometimes while sober, and how she looked hurt while saying those words – however hurt one can look while drunk – makes me think the former is true.
But if that's the case... her thinking she died? That's... ridiculous, even if she was being serious. Nobody just dies and suddenly shows up in a foreign country.
...Right?
Thinking back, the clothes she wore aren't of a make that I have seen anywhere, and I've been traveling around Mekkan for years; I've seen the different fashion styles that come from all over, and it doesn't match anything that I've seen before... But yet again, I've never seen a human who doesn't know what a keidran is, or seen magic before, or-
Okay, so she either lived under a rock her entire life, or she really is telling the truth about the foreigner part. And oh, if the thought of not only a village made of humans, but an entire territory of them existing outside of the normal human territories gives me a headache about the implications.
The thing that makes it ache worse is how people that she claims to have never met somehow know who she is, despite how... foreign she acts. The confusion she gets from people talking to her like she knows them looks genuine, but that doesn't make any sense-
"Snrk!" Dawn lets out a louder-than-normal snore, then loosens her arms to hug herself and wiggle herself closer to me.
With a quiet sigh, I lean myself up to breath, taking in fresh air that isn't surrounded by that sweet alcohol and some kind of scent that reminds me of... what was it called? A photo?
I look back at Dawn, checking to make sure that she is asleep – which by the sounds of it she's back under – then I tucking a hand into my shirt and grabbing the photo. As soon as it comes out of the confines of the shirt, I can smell the distinct aroma that was coming off of Dawn, and for some reason it... calming. From the small amount of light in the room, I can see the outlines and bare hints of color of the image, one that shows a valley in autumn with a sunset in the crevice of the two mounds off to each side.
Written under the picture is the word 'Farewell', written in a neat, cursive handwriting.
I feel myself almost question what the word meant to the picture, back when she gave this to me to come along, but something seemed to stop me from doing it when I looked at her.
And it wasn't until last night that the reason came up.
It took me a while to climb down from the top of that tree, and by then I could hear the small snores that Dawn is sounding off, currently. I debated on what to do with her in order for her to get out of the tent, when she gave off a small whine.
"...Dan..."
After that, I understood the long look that she gave the photo, and it's because I'm no stranger to that feeling myself.
Loss.
Or more appropriately, farewell.
With an ache in two places now, I slowly tuck the photo back where I had it, then start to stand up-
-only for an iron grip to grab my tail ow-
I stop moving and repress the yelp that almost escaped me, looking behind me to see Dawn latch onto something new.
Great, now how am I supposed to get out of here-
-she yanks on it and I couldn't stop the yell as I fall back onto the bed.
...It was a yell, and there's nobody around to tell me otherwise.
The human let out a noise that almost starts an ache in three places and snuggles closer, holding my tail as if she was some child holding a toy. I try to move, but this grip is even worse than the last one she used on my ears. By all that is holy, this woman has a grip!
After that last move she pulled, she stopped moving, returning to her docile state of light snores. Her grip doesn't budge an inch, and something tells me that it's not going to anytime soon.
...Why me?
A/N: Poor Keith. I guess I answered my question for why people put characters into situations that take them outside their comfort zones; it's fun!
...And a good source of comedy, but hey. I'm no professional writer, so I'm not a mastermind when it comes to doing this stuff.
On the flip side of things, I got both conflict, weird shit, alcohol, Tom's weird fascination for making pizza in a time where it shouldn't exist yet (but hey, it's his world so he gets to play god with time and stuff), and Keith getting put into a situation where he thinks he's the unluckiest basitin ever. That's quite a bit, if I do say so myself.
Now, before I forget: REVIEWS!
Tigerwarrior1998: Differences have been made, changes have been set, and if I swap those past-tense verbs around the words would make more sense. All in all, when it comes to how the last story goes, I was kinda, sort of, might have been winging it. Which means that a lot of design choices that went into making the story had been made up on the spot (which includes Elaine, which I'll address in a second) and that was terrible, looking back on it. Speaking of hindsight being 20-20, Elaine. While she was cool, adorable, and a load of other things, she also... kinda didn't have a place in my plans, down the line. So while she still appeared, it was for about five seconds of nightmare fuel before everything got confusing (for Dawn, that is; I have a plan for once, and I'm following it.) As for you being one of the first reviewers I've ever had, welcome to being addressed in a semi-formal manner at the end of a chapter. Cool for me, cool for you, and cool for whoever else decides to review this story.
And that's it for this chapter! Hope you enjoyed reading Polarized Redux, and have a good one!
P.S.: So, since I'm not one to drink; to try and help myself write that one scene where Dawn is proving that she's a lightweight I waited until like, three in the morning to write the whole scene in one go. Lets just say that it was worth it, but I'll probably never do that again. Regret; thy name is sleep deprivation.