That Night
Inside their family wagon the Nomasdina family was preparing for bed. Niko was sitting on the steps, polishing his various blades, a practice he'd kept up for many years. Niobe shook out a blanket before beginning to fold it to be put away. Niobe lay on her stomach on her bed, feet in the air. She had her chin propped on one hand, while she lazily flicked a fan open and shut with the other. She stared off into space with a half-thoughtful, half-dreamy look on her face. Gaga was staying in a wagon with one of the young bachelors for the time being; an easy-going, quick-witted lad by the name of Joconan, who brought the caravan surprising amounts of money by selling his 'whittled-bits,' as he called them.
Gaga had been rather useful with the costumes earlier. He didn't repair any of them, but he was quite adept at organizing the different outfits. With his help they had managed to finish far earlier than she had expected. Satisfied that they had completed their duties for the day, she had sent the girls home, and had gone with Gaga to watch her father practice with Grenda. It had been quite entertaining, especially how amazed Gaga had been.
He'd said that he hadn't realized exactly how skilled Niko was with blades; he hadn't even realized that Niko used other blades besides the sword. In truth, Niko had mastered virtually every bladed weapon, and was at least proficient with all of the unbladed ones. That was his calling, after all, and it was feats of skill with these that he performed at their shows.
Onua's mind turned to her own bladed weapon, the shukusen. A delicate-looking piece of work, her father had forged it himself. Forged, for it was of the finest steel. A steel-ribbed and razor-edged fan, with a black gryphon rampant on the silver cloth between the ribs, it was as dangerous as any sword, and its beauty was deceptive. She sighed. Gaga had been impressed when she had shown it to him; he had complimented the workmanship and balance, and had said that such a weapon suited her perfectly, and was quite becoming. She smiled; he had blushed slightly as he said it, as if embarrassed to have complimented her. He probably was, now she thought on it. He was surprisingly innocent for an over-a-thousand-year-old demon, and as he was now a twenty-five-year-old human, he must have been worried about a faux pas.
"What's the matter, mooning over Long Lankin?"
Onua looked up to see her mother sitting on the edge of the other bed, smiling in a knowing way. By Long Lankin she meant Gaga.
"Mmm-hmm." Onua replied, "That's one fine looking man."
Niobe raised one eyebrow. "Looks had better not be the only reason you're mooning."
Onua rolled her eyes. "Oh, mother as if I could be fooled by a pretty face! You'll remember that I have both you and Papa as examples, and almost every boy in all the gypsy clans has sought my hand at some point. I'm not that superficial."
"I never said you were. It's just the cautious mother in me, I suppose."
"I understand. Thank you for being careful for me, but there's no need."
Gaga was lying on his back on the extra bed that Joconan had offered him, thinking. This had been an extremely tiring day, but he couldn't sleep yet. It might have had something to do with the fact that Joconan snored, but it was a gentle snore, and not particularly disturbing. He had to admit it to himself; it wasn't his roommate's habits that kept him awake, it was just how strange everything was now.
Things were different as a human. He couldn't see nearly so well in the dark as he could before, but there was a surfeit of new sensations and energies he had never felt before. The sights, sounds, and smells, even tastes were slightly different. Not stronger, no. If anything they were weaker. But he noticed them more, as if they were more important to him now. He felt so very alive it was impossible to sleep. Energy he hadn't felt in centuries was pulsing through him.
He had forgotten what it was like to be young. He had never deceived himself; he knew he had been old, even by demonic standards. Sometimes he thought it had been sheer stubbornness that had kept him going. (That, and loyalty to the Royal Family of Hell.) But that was no longer the case. Despite the ordeal of the day, he hadn't done any hard labor, so he was still restless, and he was unused to such a strange feeling.
Thinking of strange feelings⦠He couldn't understand the sensations he felt whenever Onua was close. The hairs on the back of his neck would rise, and his senses would sharpen, as if she was dangerous⦠but he felt no fear, just a pleasant tingling. It was somewhat disturbing, but he felt, perversely, as if he wanted her to disturb him that way. He yawned, and, finally getting sleepy, decided that such thoughts could wait for tomorrow.
Notes: Shukusen may not be the real name of the Japanese bladed fan, but that's what it was called in Protecter of the Small. Joconan is a name from another book I can't remember, and probably has nothing to do with my character here, except the name. Also, continuing the theme from before, humans don't have as good of night-vision as cats.
