On any other day, the pungent stench of the bug carcasses grinding within his wooden mortar would've brought nothing short of a scowl to Kenny's face. The sickeningly sweet aroma tinged with the metallic bite of insect blood was certainly not his idea of a pleasant stench to wallow in, the skin of his nose still scrunching in the slightest as he worked. However, despite the disagreeable conditions, a smile continued to remain quirked on his lips, celestine irises sparkling as the pestle rolled in his palm. Stunning red pigment burst from gray, dried husks; his handmade equivalent of cramoisy curls breaking through the drab monotony he thought himself to be forever rooted in.
The back part of his mind was nothing less than stubborn, trying to convince him time and again that his chance encounter the day prior was nothing more than a hallucination brought on by years staring at fibers and wishing just a little too hard. But Kenny also knew himself well enough to know he wasn't nearly imaginative enough to have trapped himself in a dreamlike trance facing a creature he'd never thought possible, speaking words that flowed so soothingly and foreign. After all, he reminded himself, even the influence of Meryl's book had claimed Kyle's kind to be no bigger than his hand, and Kenny had more than a feeling that Kyle was small even by his people's standards. He was far too comfortable with Kenny's own stature, had made no offhand remarks about it despite how the blonde practically towered over him.
Ken hummed to himself, continuing to crush his cochineals into their fine, vibrant powder. Maybe he would ask Kyle about that later, if there were other kinds of creatures roaming around that the humans knew next to nothing about. He had no doubt; after all, the world was vast and expansive, and finding one unknown indicated more than enough that there were more missed opportunities lingering on the outskirts of humanity's jurisdiction. It was staggering and comforting all the same, knowing now for a fact that there was more out there, but also dealing with the reality that he'd only experienced a fraction of what the world had to offer. This single taste had only intensified his hunger pains, a part of him wondering if he should start concocting notes on what to ask Kyle about so he didn't bombard him with inquiries at a rate that would overwhelm the redhead to the point he'd decide to keep the world of fairies a continued secret.
No, not fairies. Faterianea.
The word had been making the rounds in his work time and again, hearing the smooth slur of the new phrase from Kyle's tongue, trying to mimic it under his breath and out of his family's earshot. It was intriguing, Kenny wondering with a subtle, smug smirk if he was the first human to know of that word. If he was the one person in their world that now held onto a fraction of a secret society. Maybe it was the one thing that a McCormick could ever claim in the history of their family that they knew better than anyone else.
Kenny lifted his pestle from his work, placing his mortar flat on the table and lightly tapping the grinder against his free hand to dislodge clumped particles refusing to budge. Lightly, clicking his tongue as he moved, he reached to the other edge of the table and snagged his wooden dyeing bowl, dragging it closer and peering into the opening. The remains of years worth of red dye stained the inside, forever trapped in the unfinished pores and lingering with the acrid stench of his cochineal. With steady hands, he dumped his powder into the new vessel, grasping a pewter cup of steaming water and cautiously letting it dribble down the side of the bowl to coalesce with the dust. Soon enough, dye the shade of fresh blood sprang to life, Ken continuing to pour his water until reaching the pre-colored midline of the bowl. With a long, thin shim of steel he'd managed to convince Clyde's boss to give him from their scrap pile, he whisked his concoction, observing as clumps broke and consistency began to thin out. He let out a light gust of air to press steam out of his face, lifting his shim time and again to watch the liquid dribble off.
"Ya done with that yet?" Kevin's voice called from the backroom of the shop.
"Just about!" he answered. "C'mon in!" He spared a glance towards the back alcove as Kevin made his way through the shop, taking extra precaution to keep stained hands and clothes from coming into contact with any of Kenny's fabrics. The younger couldn't help but smile, always grateful for the respect that Kevin paid him and his work, despite his relentless lighthearted teasing of his 'woman's work'.
Kevin stepped up beside him, watching as he continued to stir his mixture and smirking lightly. "Thanks for dealin' with that, Ken. Damn leaves wouldn't unstick."
He gave a casual raise of his shoulder, "It happens. Gets me away from my needle for a bit. My eyes are pretty thankful for that," he chuckled.
The brunette leaned against the table and watched him work, Kenny occasionally catching a glimpse of Kevin's calloused hands. He frowned to himself, wishing he could get the blisters from off his skin. He thought once he'd gotten his brother into the shop that his life of labor would be over, not accounting for the strength and endurance it took to toil over a boiling cauldron for hours on end, baking in the sun. But, to his credit, Kevin never once made a fuss about the extraneous effort that he had to put into making Kenny's foldable canvases burst with life. In fact, if Kenny had to harbor a guess, he'd think that his brother enjoyed the task he'd been handed. He'd noticed throughout their time working together that there were certain colors needed that Kevin's brown eyes would spark at. He seemed to get enjoyment out of the simpler recipes, taking great care to match shades to Kenny's particular requests and getting a nice dose of self-satisfaction out of a good job. There were no doubt moments that had him groaning; such as grating pieces of tree bark for an hour straight just for a yard of beige tiretain. But, Kenny assumed, he must have a great deal of enjoyment despite the monotony as opposed to digging crop trenches as he did for so many years.
Kenny shot the elder a bit of a wince, "How's it goin' out there?"
Kevin shrugged, scratching up through tangled hair. "'Bout as well as ever. The girls are still messing with their threads tryin' t' get 'em out n' dried. And Pops is… mostly pullin' his share of the work."
He let out a long sigh through his nose, shaking his head, "Well, thank you for keepin' the pace at least." Kevin gave him a small smile and nodded, Kenny pulling out his shim a final time, checking for still-undissolved particles and nodding approvingly. Steel thumped against the lip of the wooden bowl as he saved every droplet he could, laying it precariously atop the container before handing it off to Kevin. "There ya go, one bug graveyard."
Kevin snorted lightly, giving another nod. "Ya should make that some of yer marketin'. 'Come in and see our corpse tunics'."
The blonde grinned, "They're t' die for." Kevin rolled his eyes, elbowing him lightly before making his way back out to the back of the shop, heading off to place the mixture in his cauldron to boil down further with a handful of marigolds. Kenny needed a vibrant aurnola, after all; a vivid orange for the workers out in the fields before dawn so the those directing the horses with their turning plows would notice them upon the balks. Catches easier in the moonlight, the farmer had told him. He'd lost three this season already from a guide not noticing a poor soul in the pathway and running him straight down. Hooves had trampled them into the soft soil before fifty pounds of steel would slide over them and try to furrow them same as the dirt. The farmer needed nothing more than sashes, he insisted, trying to get the best for his money and locking Kenny in a haggling duel for his bulk purchase for nearly ten minutes. Not that Kenny wanted to cheat the guy for trying to care for his workers, but a mere five haithins for nearly thirty pieces of work would bankrupt him in a heartbeat.
But, he supposed, that was just the pattern of their village.
They all wanted to care for one another, but then screw them over the moment they got the opportunity to save a tempet or two. From the stories he'd heard from travelers, the concept wasn't exactly exclusionary to their home, but it was nonetheless a fact that Kenny had trouble fully accepting. A hefty breath seeped from his nostrils, blue eyes glistening over somberly. That fact alone made him doubt Kyle's earlier statements, his people didn't actually know how to adapt. Sure, they'd managed to make a livable society, few disruptions and whatnot as they sat nestled in their quiet mountain town, but was that truly adapting? Or, Kenny wondered, was it just acquiescence? After all, a truly thriving species would look out for their brothers, right? Make the attempt to further themselves along as a unit as opposed to shoving down the others as they fought for the same benefits of life?
He grimaced. Perhaps that was naïve, remembering with a start catching a pair of stray dogs one day fighting each other for the chance to delve into a discorded morsel of meat on the dirt path outside his shop. Self-preservation seemed to be the order of the day regardless of the species. After all, he couldn't just give his wares away, he reminded himself. He had to charge them, and regardless of how fair he attempted to keep his pricing, he still needed to take from his neighbors in order to keep himself and his family alive.
With slumping shoulders, he turned back to head to his work table, rubbing a sleeve of tiretain in his fingers and staring blankly at the stitching. Maybe he was just too caught up in the pretty words that spilled from Kyle's mouth in their clunky, but proper fashion. Perhaps he was too swept away in his mythical discovery to truly let his theory's words take hold. After all, Kyle could read about people all he wanted, but Kenny lived this life. The fairy making his observations held nearly the same weight as if Kenny informed Kyle of some truth regarding his culture. From Kyle's clothing to his rudimentary tools and fascination with the simplest of items, the tailor could only assume that their world hadn't shifted quite so quickly as his own; that they weren't caught in a constant race of trying to not only keep up with the ebbing tides, but to be first in line to help guide the next torrent. Kenny figured from Kyle's hesitance at his own dreams of progression, they were fairly stasis with how they operated, comfortable with the life that had been made for them.
He sighed, dropping the fabric back onto the table, propping his chin in his palm and glancing out his window to stare off into the distant woods once again. Maybe he was being too harsh with the redhead's assumption. After all, he didn't have the bias that Kenny had found himself wormed into throughout his lifetime. Kyle didn't know the austere truths that laid within private homesteads, he'd never seen human families turning against one another for something so trivial as an opinion. But, he also hadn't seen communities in their rare occurrences as they came together to overcome an obstacle. Only a handful of times had Kenny witnessed such an event, such as when the previous nalian of their andell's home burnt to the ground; the little village coming together to rebuild the home and feed the nalian's family, provide them shelter until they were placed back into the homestead they belonged in. Kenny questioned whether Kyle had ever seen such acts among the humans, based his theories of accommodation on a singular instance such as that.
It didn't truly matter in the end; what mattered was that he'd found this creature that harbored such a mutual fascination. Kenny couldn't help the coy grin spreading along his lips, fabric sliding once more within his fingers and a nail dragging over the texture rigid as sand. Maybe this was putting the fairy's hypothesis to the test, seeing how well he could handle being faced with the appearance of an unknown world spreading beneath him like throughout a mushroom's hyphae.
Kenny jerked out of his daydreaming at the sound of the storefront's door opening and hopped onto his feet, easily beating down his mystical wanderings and plastering on that customer service smile. He made way towards whomever was entering his shop, stride grinding to a halt as a familiar rotund figure backed into the room with a crate. Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Cartman, what the fuck are you doing here?" he demanded.
Cartman looked back at him and scoffed, turning on his heel and kicking the door shut, Ken wincing at the loud crack ringing within his shop. That door was already on its last goddamn legs; it didn't need any assistance winding down to its last hurrah. "I was trying to be considerate and deliver a special order, Po'Boy," he said thickly, tone dripping with insulted malice. Kenny crossed his arms, watching as the man made his slow way towards the table and placed the wooden box down atop the surface, eyes gleaming the color of pine bark shavings as he redirected his focus back to the tailor.
"You never make home deliveries," he said flatly. "I think this is the third time you've even been in my fucking store. And I didn't even make any special orders!"
He rolled his eyes, plump hand running up through his hair as he gave the tailor a lazy shrug. "Maybe I just wanted some fuckin' fresh air, Kinny. Ever think of that?"
"Uh huh," he muttered, watching him skeptically as he walked over to peer inside the crate, face brightening in disbelief at a beautiful mess of leaves waiting for him and glistening like a beacon of better things to come. "You got my woad?!"
"I did," he said boastfully, flicking a piece of lint from his airy sleeve.
Kenny gaped in astonishment, reaching into the box and pulling out the haphazardly tied bag of long, thin leaves. He could've cried, knowing how much simpler this made his blue dyeing orders. No longer would there be a mess of grounding different leaf varieties and carefully measuring out lime juice, playing with the mixture for hours or days before finally getting the shades he needed. No, no now they were back in business, and just in time for the season of more vibrant, lively colors to take place. He grinned over at the impatient brunette. "I thought it was out of season! How'd you find it?"
Cartman gave a small quirk of his lips, "It's out of season in the southern part of the land. Apparently up North it's still plenty temperate enough to grow your dumb leaves."
"How'd you find that out?" he gave a small cough of a laugh, focusing back down upon his treasure.
"Heard a rumor," he shrugged again. "Found someone willing to work with me."
He bit his lip in glee. "Holy shit, Cartman, thank you. You have no idea how much easier this is going to make this summer's orders."
He smacked his lips in boredom, "Mhm. Well. Just so you know… there is a bit of a surcharge considering how much work it took me to procure this for you."
Kenny paused, glancing over at his smug grin and his chest twisted. He should've figured. He placed the bag onto the table and crossed his arms again. "But I didn't ask you to go looking for it."
"Every fucking year you bitch about how this season runs you dry because no one in the South can send you blue fabrics," he reminded him harshly. "I got you the shit to make it yourself this year and you're gonna fucking bitch about that?"
"I'm gonna bitch because this is an order I didn't ask for that you're trying to sell me!" he bit back. "I'll pay you the regular cost of the woad and whatever the fuck your tax is, but I'm not going to hand over all of my savings for this!"
Amber eyes narrowed dangerously, "I haven't even told you what the surcharge would be!"
"Yeah," he scoffed, leaning back against the table and scowling, "but I know you."
He leaned up closer towards his face, "Do you know how many hoops I had to leap through just for you?" he demanded. "Getting imports from the North isn't cheap for us, Kinny!"
"Which is why I keep my supply coming from the South," he drawled. "And speaking of, why the fuck doesn't Iresa keep a stock on hand so we can get it from them?"
Cartman rubbed his eyes in frustration with his forefinger and thumb. How Kenny had kept a business open on his own was far beyond him. "Because it's expensive," he reminded him. "They'll order enough for their own seamstresses to deal with, not enough to export back out."
"Okay, one, don't fucking call me a seamstress," he snapped, beyond sick of this argument they'd had for a good decade now. "And for another, how expensive are we talking?"
The merchant looked between him and the bag of foliage before landing back up towards the blonde, giving him a subtle raise of his shoulder. "That's half a pound. Should last you well into winter."
"Maybe fall," he drawled. "Takes a lot to make one batch of color, Fatass."
"Well, either way, the whole thing will be about two haithins."
Kenny's eye twitched. "Two?" he hissed. "That's barely what I'll make off of half the fucking supply!"
Cartman leaned his head back and growled up at the mud-caked ceiling. "Look, I don't set the goddamn prices, Po'Boy. I'm just the fucking deliverer."
"Of items that no one asked you for," he reminded him lowly. He let out an exasperated sigh, head dropping into his palm and staring at the ground. Two haithins wasn't going to bankrupt him by a mile, but every goddamn cent counted right now, knowing that he needed to start saving to up the heavier fabrics as winter began crawling its way towards their village. He glanced back up at Cartman's waiting expression and heaved another sigh. "How much did you pay to get them delivered?"
"A haithin and thirty-five," he answered. "So your payment covers the product, the travels, and my meager tax."
Kenny licked over his lips and nodded slowly, "Two haithins only if you omit half your tax from the next four orders."
Cartman narrowed his eyes, "Excuse me?"
He shrugged, "You're still making a profit, and that's all that goddamn matters to you, ain't it? Or do I need to go get Token in here to work out a better payment plan since we're at a buyer's disagreement? One that, let's face it, he'd give me the upper hand in since I treat 'im a lot better than you. Either take it or you walk out of here in the hole, Fatass. Make the call."
His eye twitched, fingers dropping down onto Kenny's workstation and drumming them along rapidly, heaving a deep breath through his nostrils. A sharp glare fell onto the blonde, Cartman letting out an angered groan. "The next two orders," he countered.
"Three. Take it or leave it."
A growl seeped through his throat, "Fine. Fucking rob me and my mother of our home why don't you?"
Kenny reached down into his change pouch, fishing around for the telltale large golden coins as he shrugged nonchalantly. "You're the one making unnecessary purchases. I'm really doing you the favor here."
"What about 'how much easier it'll make summer'?" he mocked in a high tone.
"Easier doesn't mean it's necessary," he drawled, fishing out his two coins at last and tossing them onto the table beside his hands. "We would've managed regardless."
Cartman scoffed, swiping the coins and his emptied crate to take back to his own shop. "Please. Poor trash like you is always looking for the easier route."
Kenny paused, eyes flickering out his window towards the trees once more before facing Cartman with a small, modest smirk. "Trust me, you have no idea what you're talking about."
"And within the days they traveled, they remained steady as the current. Along the still tide they marched on towards the sun as it painted the ocean in thick blankets of rose, stretching towards them like blood spilling from the sky itself, punctured with the prow of their ship as they continued onwards towards Marianne and the sweet hymn she sang from across the world."
Kyle cocked his head, glancing towards the opened, handwritten book beside of him and licking over his lips. He dabbed his quill into its accompanying inkwell propped delicately on a closed book atop his mattress, flipping page upon page until landing on a spattering of words of 'C'. "Curr…ent," he pronounced slowly as he wrote it out, glancing between the novel and his writing. He hummed, tapping the edge of his boned quill against his lips as he studied the prose before him. Slowly and with a wince, he let his hand continue onwards, a hyphen followed by an entry of 'lakail'e?'.
The fairy sighed, hoping he was close enough with that one, grateful to an extent that he now had someone to check these word interpretations for him. He carefully flipped forward in his book towards the 'H's', narrowing his gaze at the strange word before him. "Hi…yem?" he squinted. "Hay…man?" he tried again, writing down the term 'hymn' within his notes and growling to himself in frustration. Why did humans have to make their language so difficult? He glanced back into his novel, tapping his thumb against the page and clicking his tongue, gaze lingering on the word 'sang'. "So… a song?" he guessed, shrugging to himself and scribbling down a quick 'eplaiti'. Closest he was going to get, he figured.
A sharp rapping caught his attention, body freezing in fear and glancing towards his window, practically throwing himself onto his human book and gazing through the glowing lights illuminating his room to glance out the pane. He cocked his brow, seeing a familiar black-haired figure waving at him frantically, shoulders dropping in relief. Carefully, Kyle gathered his inkwell and quill, setting them safely on the table beside his bed before flittering onto his feet, quickly making way towards the window and pulling it open to the beaming face of his best friend. "Stan, what the fuck are you doing?" he demanded. "I have a door!"
"Yeaahhhh, but your mom was outside telling your neighbor that she couldn't believe 'your attitude'," he quoted.
Kyle groaned, looking down into Stan's arms at a happily panting face whimpering impatiently for Kyle's attention. "Why did you bring Spar'ki?"
"Because he misses you," Stan cooed, awkwardly holding the chestnut-furred coyote up to Kyle's face, a hot tongue making quick work to pass over the redhead's features.
"Aw aw awwww!" he batted him away, stepping back from the glass and wiping at his cheek dramatically as Stan slipped into the room, setting the all-too-happy dog back onto the ground to go towards Kyle again and jump up to pin him against his wall by his shoulders. Kyle rolled his eyes, scratching behind his ear as he was drowned in love from Stan's faithful companion. "Why does your fucking mutt love me so much?" he muttered.
He shrugged, giving him a small grin. "Because most animals seem to like you?" Kyle grimaced. He couldn't exactly deny that. He'd never had a problem approaching deer and birds before, some going so far as to approach him even as he tried to spook them away so he could focus on whatever his task-at-hand happened to be. The taller grinned cheekily, "'The spirit of Leiata'nea has been reborn within you,'" voice dropping to mock the elderly tone of one of the kiantri's proud speeches towards the redhead that he was lucky enough to pay witness to.
Kyle's face erupted in color, shoving Spar'ki back onto the floor, the dog just looking more than happy for any of Kyle's attention regardless of the intent. "Fuck you," he spat, Stan breaking into laughter at the embarrassment flooding over his features. Kyle grunted, shoulder-checking Stan and moving to sit on his bed, Spar'ki immediately following and sitting beside him, leaning his head atop his half-bared thigh and staring up at him wistfully. He sighed in defeat, going back to giving him head scratches, the dog relishing in the pampering treatment. Kyle fucking hated how the kiantri had called him that, a fucking queen that was born from the roots of the earth and raised by trees. She was a symbol of natural harmony, something that the kiantri contradicted himself on time and again comparing Kyle to Tetima of all figures. But, she had the uncanny ability to intrigue and to quell animals, a feat Kyle found himself in the midst of time and again when one of the tribespeople's dogs got just a little too restless being cooped up in the mountain.
Stan's chuckling finally died down, wiping a dramatic tear from his eye as he plopped down on the bed next to him, elbowing him lightly. "So, how'd you piss your mom off this time?"
Kyle glanced over at him, the pure curiosity overlaying a lightly tanned face, golden from his daily ventures to the outside to train for battle. Why he managed to gain such skin tone and Kyle somehow only turned burnt was beyond him. The tall man still beamed with the heat of the sun from his excursions, a light layer of sweat just barely dried, Kyle only able to figure he'd come straight over after arriving back home. "Make a wild guess," he drawled.
"Oh there's so many options though," he rolled his eyes amusedly. "Was it leaving the burrow? Being late? Aikopia? What're we dealin' with here?"
"All the above," he muttered, looking down as Spar'ki licked his hand in comfort, the canine feeling the upset tone settling within his touch. "We got into it pretty good last night."
Stan twisted his lips sympathetically, looking back behind Kyle at the book laying atop his pillow. He quirked a thick, black brow, reaching over and snagging it from its place, turning it and narrowing his eyes at the foreign lettering. "What's this say?" he asked, pointing to the book cover.
"To Sail with Them," Kyle answered, giving a shrug. "I found it in the woods today." A lie. He'd swiped it two nights before from the village and hidden it until he had more of a stash to bring home, not willing to risk toting his papers into the burrow every day lest his mother instill a surprise 'bag inspection' policy on him. "It's about three friends going to find one of their catavi by water. They call their catavi a wife," he let the unfamiliar sound flow off his tongue.
"Wiiife," he repeated slowly, letting out a short, amused huff. "How do they find her in the water? Does she live in it? Is she a fish?" His face twisted, "Ew, do the aikopia mate with animals?"
"No!" he insisted. "At least… I hope not," he shuddered, making a mental note to question Kenny on that one later. "Apparently aikopia can travel along water," he said, face falling out of its disgusted state straight into a look of utter fascination. "They go along it to reach destinations not of their land… Isn't that neat?" he smiled brightly.
Stan snorted, patting his head a bit, "Sure, Bud. It's neat. I'm sure it's just some kind of myth, though."
He pouted, "No, no, it's not!" he protested, grabbing the book and flipping to the front, finding an inked illustration and pointing to it firmly. "You see? This is a… boat? Or a ship? I-I'm not sure which it is, it's a little confusing," he admitted bashfully. "But they make them from wood! And they use them to travel on rivers and lakes and any other kind! In the book, they're traveling the entire world in one to find his catavi!"
Stan blinked, scratching up through thick black locks and chuckling a bit. "Well… isn't that something?"
Kyle's posture slackened, "How do you not think that's amazing?" he half-whined. "They're so… resourceful," he said fondly, clutching around his book preciously, ignoring the licks his leg was suffering from by Spar'ki.
"Ky. Stop getting a boner for the aikopia for one minute," Stan said dryly, smirking a bit at a glare coming from his best friend. "This is why your mom is always so fucking paranoid over you."
"My mother is paranoid over me because she's insane," he scoffed. "They're harmless like… like Spar'ki," he gestured to the coyote, the dog beaming at Kyle mentioning his name and hopping a bit impatiently on his floor. "He could attack and bite my arms off, but he won't because he's not that way."
Stan raised his brow, "I trained him to not be that way. No one is out there training aikopia. There's a reason the treagi prepare for in case we see one of them."
Kyle's face fell darkly, "Yeah. It's called speciesism."
"It's called being safe and keeping our people alive," he reminded him firmly. "Ky, I know you love their stuff, but you're a little… too into it," he winced.
The redhead narrowed his eyes, "You're not allowed to pull that shit. You're the last faterian to be able to tell me it's 'for safety' when you fucking hate it as much as I do."
"I hate the process, not the results," he quirked his brow. "Nothing wrong with keeping our people safe, Kyle." Kyle rolled his eyes dramatically, clutching his book again and looking down at Spar'ki's scruffy face, the hues of tree bark and coal smeared across his coat and shining in the bright light beaming from his ceiling of enchanted glass pieces. Kyle was no fool, his best friend, his naichi, meant no harm with his stinging words. He was the only other being alive that knew just how deep Kyle's little obsession ran. Well, close to knowing at least. He had no idea how close he'd gotten, even before his chance encounter with Kenny. If he knew how many times he'd snuck out to get himself a piece of village property, he'd make damn sure to be the one ensuring that Kyle would stop risking his neck for what he referred to as his 'odd little hobby'.
It'd taken years for the noirette to correct his speech around the younger, raised from childhood into a strong-willed soldier, taught since day one that there were two enemies that needed prioritized, the aidarkeri and, even more of a potential danger, the aikopia. Nothing but hateful propaganda, Kyle had claimed after observing one of the treagi's rilastes making a grandiose speech of the death and destruction that aikopia brought about to the world to their tribe. Stan recalled that day, standing beside his rilaste and looking out into the crowd, seeing faces of awe and horror before landing on his best friend's expression, reading nothing but pure infuriation for the insinuations against his pet project, but forcing himself to remain throughout the hateful speech as to not draw attention to himself. Kyle made it his personal mission to 'educate' Stan about just what it was he'd been misinformed on. If he could get one of the soldiers to see the truth, he hypothesized, then maybe the message could be spread easier than if he were to go it all alone. That plan hadn't quite gone the way he'd envisioned all those years ago, barely into his fifteenth year at the time and full of far too many big dreams to comprehend just what a monumental task he was undertaking.
The obsession had spurned off when he was a tiny fateri of only nine, sneaking up to the world above for the first time and happening upon an aikopian father and his child travelling the woods together, the redhead hiding in the trees and watching in fascination, listening to those foreign sounds slipping so fluidly like music around their environment. He was enchanted by the strange accent, the way that they seemed to move with such little poise, clunkily meandering about without a care in the world. He'd swiped his first book on that day, one left behind as they went to search for a deer off and away and Kyle rushing back home to show Stan his new treasure, rambling on and on about how he could do it, he could be the one faterian who understood the aikopia. At the time, they only knew what they both considered to be nothing more than tall tales of aikopian horrors meant to keep them in their beds at night; neither had the slightest idea that the stories never faded, that the stories of personal destruction brought about by the sons of light were eternal within children and adults alike.
Stan had believed in their youth that it was funny watching his best friend struggling to make sense of the nonsense book he'd brought back home, spending hours doing nothing more than staring at it, copying down lettering despite his inability to read it, just trying to master the art of their scripting. How luck had turned in his favor upon reaching their eleventh year, when Kyle brought home an armful of books one night 'left in the trees by an aikopian teacher', he'd sheepishly claimed. Suddenly, everything was about the outside world, Kyle's nose rarely coming out of his secret studies, Stan watching him while not in training, absorbed entirely by the captivation his naichi had, the energy he gave off when finding himself mastering a letter or word. Stan had realized in that time of their youth that Kyle had been placed exactly where he belonged, declared a man of the paper in infancy. Perfect positioning for a boy that ached so badly for knowledge, got such a thrill out of learning the simplest of things.
Kyle, however, was not so happy with Stan's positioning within their tribe, watching as his friend rose through treagi ranks over the years. Stan was great at what he did, despite personal qualms with using violence as an answer and a habitual nausea at the mere thought of spilt blood. Despite it all, he somehow managed to work his way up the ladder, becoming a prospect for the next rilaste once the current passed on. He'd sworn up and down to Kyle that he hadn't even tried to get to where he was, but Kyle knew him too well for his own good. Where he wanted to be or not, Stan needed distraction and would sink into anything that held his attention. And training was all he truly had, his education only as high as a fateri's, only slightly ahead of his peers due to Kyle making damn sure he had more under his belt than merely being able to spell.
It was a careful game of balancing the two had had to learn to adjust to, to make the other more than just what their declared profession had become. Kyle had taught Stan larger words and grander concepts, and Stan had made sure that Kyle could protect himself when he ventured above, taking the time to teach him how to master a bow since Kyle's ability to wield a heavy weapon such as his own was a bit of a stretch. It was their staple since nearly infancy, growing up side-by-side with a quill and a weapon in either of their hands but managing to handle all the tribulations of their peers for being so closely knit with the other. Kyle's intellectual friends were off-put by the brutality that Stan could so easily inflict on a faterian, despite the redhead consistently emphasizing his kind nature. And Stan's fellow soldiers did nothing but relentlessly tease Kyle for his lean stature, despite Stan knowing damn well that, given the chance, Kyle had a hell of a possibility at messing one of them up in hand-to-hand combat.
"So, you're back in the burrow early," Stan commented casually, laying back on Kyle's bed and staring up at the glass shards coating his ceiling. He'd always loved seeing the array of hues that Kyle enchanted the pieces with, his friend being one of the few able to instill such ethereal light into the vessels, hand-taught by the kiantri after years of begging to learn some of his magics for himself.
Kyle glanced down at Spar'ki's happy face, giving a small shrug and falling back to land beside him, grimacing as the dog hopped up onto his bed and laid his head down upon Kyle's stomach. "Becca needed a certain plant, so I brought it home. I'll probably head back out later," he said quietly.
He smirked, elbowing him lightly, "Remember when they had the foragers get their plants instead of you being their bitch?"
"And they messed up almost every single time?" he cocked a thin brow. "It's better if I'm running the errand. We're not wasting time and getting a stock in the toli'fale of unusable fucking weeds." Stan chuckled and nodded in agreement, Kyle's eyes softening and a sigh escaping his lips. "Did you see the rainbow out there when you were training?" he asked softly.
Stan blinked, "Rain… bow?" he repeated. "The fuck are you talking about?"
"The sky colors," he elaborated, looking over at his naichi. "It was stretched across the world," he motioned his arm along his ceiling, eyes glittering with sentiment. "The aikopia call it a rainbow… it was amazing."
The soldier narrowed his eyes in thought, "Oh. Yeah, I think I saw some of through the trees. I was kind of busy trying not to get my feet all muddy from the rain," he snorted.
"What's wrong with mud? It's just lakail'e and talei, nothing wrong with it."
"It's messy?" he stressed. "You hate getting fucking dust on your tunic what are you talking about nothing being wrong with it?"
Kyle let out a lengthy sigh, petting along Spar'ki's neck, feeling him falling asleep and beginning to gently snore atop his abdomen. "It's different out there. It's new… you don't get rainbows down here. Colors like that don't just pop up from nowhere."
"We have plenty of colors," he reminded him, pointing to his multicolored ceiling. "Look at all the colors you made. No aikopia can do that."
He shrugged, "No aikopia makes rainbows either. They're natural. I thought they were just in their stories but… but I saw it and I just wanted to fly up and touch it, ya know? Like, if Tav'nokana made something like that, why aren't we up there? Why aren't we enjoying it?"
Stan couldn't help but laugh quietly, "Ky, you're getting philosophical on me again."
"But do you have an answer?" he looked over at him, dark blue eyes falling to the side to meet his stare. Stan's laughter tapered off and he cleared his throat softly, offering nothing more than a simple shrug. Kyle hummed under his breath, turning back to stare at the ceiling with his companion. "I had to make my colors," he murmured. "Their sky grows its own."
"So you have more talent than the aikopia," he shrugged again. "You can do things they can't."
"And they can do a lot more than I can," he reminded him solemnly, fingers tracing mindlessly along Spar'ki's narrow skull, feeling his ear twitch lightly as he brushed over it. "Otherwise my mother will throw a fit and convince the kiantri to take me under his wings or something."
Stan smirked, elbowing him a bit, "He pretty much already has. Dude, forget about their fucking rainbows or whatever. Just keep reading their stories and shit if it makes you happy, but don't focus on what they have."
"It's hard not to," he admitted. "They don't live in a cage."
"Neither do you," he quirked his brow. "We have the entire mountain range to go through-"
"Yeah, because other tribes look upon that so well," he drawled. "And it's just more of the same. Same fucking cage, just a trip away from the last… the aikopia are so lucky," he whispered.
Stan beat his head against Kyle's mattress a bit, letting out a frustrated sigh. He hated when Kyle got like this, and it was more often than he cared to admit. He'd more than once been out in the village with Kyle, on a rant about something or other and looking over to see his friend staring up towards the entrance to their mountainous home, green eyes glittering with wonder and a complete detachment from his reality underground. "Ky… maybe you need to start focusing more on your job," he suggested, wincing as sharp jades cut across him at once with a tinge of malice. "Look I'm just saying, you have responsibilities and-"
"And I'm fulfilling them along with learning what matters to me," he said sharply, sitting up and startling Spar'ki awake. "So. When did the kiantri decide to send you here to talk some sense into me, hm?"
The soldier blinked, cringing guiltily and moving to sit up beside him. He didn't know why he was surprised, Kyle always seemed to figure this type of thing out within moments. "When I got home," he murmured. "He's worried that you're losing focus."
"My focus is supposed to be benefitting our people," he reminded him coldly. "And what I'm doing is beneficial. I'm getting nimikal'e, I'm doing the research Becca and Tweek need. I just happen to have a side hobby. So the fuck what?"
"Dude, you know I don't care that you're into the aikopia stuff," he waved towards the closed novel aimlessly. "I'm just saying that there's a line and you're super close to crossing it."
'Pretty sure I crossed your imaginary line when I was nine, Stan,' he thought tiredly. "I'm doing my job," he re-emphasized. "No one has any right to tell me how to do what I do in my spare time. That includes my mother, you, and the kiantri."
He winced, "He kind of does have final say. He could keep you locked down here if he wanted to."
Kyle scoffed, "I'd fucking sneak out then. I'm not here to be his fucking nimikal'e bitch," he echoed from the night prior. His shoulders sank, looking down into Spar'ki's sad eyes and sighing. "I just want more than what they're letting me have, Stan."
"You get the same treatment as everyone else," he reminded him softly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Look, it's lame that he made me come talk to you, I know. But-"
"Exactly," he said bitterly. "He's dictating my life. I'm supposed to expand my horizons, but he only wants me to do so within his jurisdiction. That's not how learning works, Stan. You build and you build and eventually it breaks and you have to go further than a book. Why doesn't anyone get that?"
He shrugged, face twisted sympathetically. "Because only a couple of people are in your position? We don't have much of a sample size to go off of. All of the kiantri's lessons come from Tav'nokana's teachings, so I guess he just doesn't know what else there is."
He nodded sharply, "Right. Her teachings are limited to story only. Everything else though… there's so much more that I just can't understand without going out of their comfort zone…" he sighed, looking over towards his dwindling candle atop his table and shaking his head, pushing Spar'ki off his lap and getting to his feet. "I'm going back out before it gets too dark."
Stan nodded slowly, standing beside him and both of them looking down as Spar'ki hopped down, shaking his head a bit and panting, staring up at his two favorite faterians eagerly. "Want me to come with you? Just because you're pretty wound up?"
Kyle shook his head, "No. No, I really just want to be alone right now." Another lie. Stan just wasn't the company that he was looking forward to at this particular moment. Besides, the soldier would probably murder Kenny if he so much as caught a glimpse of the blonde being anywhere near himself. "I'm just gonna go… sketch and calm down," he said slowly, grabbing his book satchel and carefully moving it around his wings.
Stan let out a long breath, giving a quiet whistle and bending down, Spar'ki obediently leaping up into his arms. He looked at the shorter sadly, "Look, just be careful all right? Try to get home before it's nighttime."
"I got it covered, Mom, thanks," he drawled. He watched Stan shrug sheepishly and head towards his window, shoulders sinking guiltily. He knew his friend well enough to know he wouldn't have asked him these questions and made such assumptions without good intent behind them. He never went off on Kyle just because he felt like it. Besides, Stan was far more sworn to the kiantri's word than Kyle himself, at least in practice. He wouldn't exactly have an option if their leader had sent him off with a message. "Stan?" he said softly, the noirette whirling back around and blinking at him. "Sorry I'm so pissed off. Thanks for not… being a dick about all this. You're the only one who isn't," he murmured dejectedly.
Stan snorted, "Because I'm the only one who knows how you get about this shit. I don't wanna deal with your goddamn temper, the guys'll never let me live it down if you give me a black eye." Kyle's face finally broke into a soft smile, Stan returning the expression. "Look, just be careful and I don't give a shit what you do, all right? I'm not your parent, I'm just the messenger…" He paused, giving a small shrug, "Though… you gonna be in the toli'fale tomorrow or sometime before next week?"
Kyle cocked his head, "Uh, I can be? I usually get back in the afternoon on Pali since we go to kana'fale fairly early."
"I kind of have a stupid orders test… can you help me study?" he winced.
Kyle rolled his eyes amusedly, "That's all I am to you is a fucking walking book, aren't I?"
He grinned cheekily, "And I'm just a war brute to you, so I guess we're at an impasse."
The redhead chuckled, giving him a small nod. "Yeah, I'll help. Be there late afternoon after training or whatever."
"Will do," he saluted, stepping up to his window and leaning back, brown wings sprouting from his shoulder blades and catching him as his weight fell backwards. "I'll see ya later, be careful, Ky."
"It's what I do best," he smiled awkwardly, waving a bit as Spar'ki barked for his attention yet again before Stan turned and took off down the way towards his own home. Kyle watched after him, shoulders sinking lightly as he moved to grasp his bow and quiver. He brought the weapon up towards his face, thumb sliding aimlessly along the intricately carved pattern within the handle, specially ordered by Stan himself just for him. If his naichi had the slightest idea of what he was setting off to do, he'd probably lock Kyle up himself. He'd declare a burrow emergency and make the special plea to his rilaste to gather the treagi to form a constant barricade around the redhead, just in case he'd been targeted by the 'evils' of the aikopia.
Kyle's face set in determination, slinging his quiver over his shoulder and moving to drop out of his window, green wings flittering with nervous energy as he slid the pane shut. Oh well. Stan, his mother, and the kiantri could worry over him all they wanted. Kyle knew what was a safe limit for him, what was best for him to further his work. He glanced up, face breaking into a smile as he glided back swiftly behind their home to head off and away towards his exit. And what was best for him should only be a few minutes away, waiting for him in enthrallment and not the slightest hint of disregard for his actions.
Kenny was just what he needed right now.