Well, now… its nice to be back on the funny side of things. All that murder and blood was making me revert to my old self for a minute there.
- wait… YOU have a dark side?
Yes… why is that so hard to believe?
- oh, no reason… pfft.
Hey, I hear you sniggering over there!
- I can't help it. It just hilarious that you think you could possess a darker side when you're a hapless buffoon that can't even reach his deadlines on time. And besides that, you own a body pillow.
I DO NOT!
- pfft! Yeah, try and get people to believe my lie isn't really a lie.
Phffff! (*breathes out) I do not own a body pillow. And even if I did, what's so wrong about that?
- nothing. But the thought of an idiot like you with anything makes me laugh until I can't breathe.
Urgh, just let me start this chapter already.
- as you were (*waves)
And don't act like you're my superior! Tch, stupid illogical me.
"Alright, that does it."
"Does what?" Priscilla looked up at Argon as he crossed his arms.
"We've been going at this for a while now and one thing has been made apparent to me."
The crossbreed blinked innocently at the seriousness in her companion's face. Usually he was happy-go-lucky without a care in the world – save for the moments he was fighting for his life. And now that they had just overcome a massive hurdle and acquired a Lord Soul, he looked even more solemn in spite of their current moment of repose.
However, she knew that if he was being serious for a change, then he meant business. And when he meant business, he was wiser than a sage. Thus, it would be important she listened.
"You need to learn how to grip it right."
Her ears burned with redness as he sat on the chair in front of her, his gaze expectant. She hadn't been expecting him to say that.
"O-Okay…"
"Start at the base, then slowly make your way up to the top."
She nodded her head resolutely and proceeded to place her small hands on him.
"U-Uh… ah!" Argon tensed up at the feeling of her fingers wrap around him. It perplexed him that after over a century of living, both as a human and undead, that he had never once tried this ancient technique before. Then again, he had just been doing it himself whenever the need arose. Never had he thought the touch of another could feel this extraordinary.
"A-Are you okay?" Priscilla stuttered out, a look of concern crossing over her face.
"I'm good! I'm fine… that was just unexpected."
"Did it hurt?"
"Quite the opposite really," he chuckled nervously. "You can continue if you're ready."
She nodded once and began to move her hands over him. His reaction had been the same as the first, a loud gasp followed by one of the huskiest moans she had ever heard from him. Quite frankly, the sounds he was emitting because of her touch left quite the boost to her ego… and a deeper redness in her cheeks.
But smugness would have to take a back seat for now. She focussed her jade eyes back on the appendage she held, her blush never once leaving her face as she gently slid her hands around him. It was a wonder she had never once thought about how he must be faring, body all pent up without anyone to help him relieve himself.
"Don't rush it, just move your hands steadily."
Although she knew not of man's system of relief, she did know that he had been backed up for quite a while – and if she judged by the stiffness in her hands and the way he twitched with each stroke of her fingers… she could guess it had been much longer than just a few months.
"Ooh… hah-gah! Work the shaft…"
"S-Stop that. You're making this weird." She looked down, afraid to meet his gaze as his breaths grew more laboured.
"I c-can't help it," he gasped. "You're just… so good at this…"
"Really?" She said, looking up with large, innocent eyes as her fingers slid back down in agonising slowness.
"Ahhh! Son of a- it's like you're a professional all of a sudden."
Her face burned but she smiled, pleased that she was making him feel good.
"Th-Thank you but… you're the first one I've ever done this with…"
Argon's breath caught in his throat. He didn't know whether to feel happy about that or just faint on the spot.
"I'm going to go faster now." she said quietly as she allowed her palms to start sharing in the work.
"Uwah! OH- goddamn…"
He bucked on the chair as she leaned in closer, her face a mask of complete focus as she spent her time easing him to his release. Honestly, he was just flabbergasted. She had taken him to Heaven with his vague directions and prompted him to reach the edge and now she wanted to go faster?!
This woman will be the death of m- OH SWEET LORD!
Argon moaned again when she used her thumbs to stroke him from the base to the tip. Priscilla smiled as he arched his body backwards from her touch. The feeling was just too good for words.
All the while, Havel stared at the two of them with a frown on his bearded face, his arms holding a box of tomes the weight of a chest filled with Titanite chunks. He watched the scene play out before him with mild repulsion before he shook his head and walked on.
"Damn kids these days, making the woman do all of the work."
He dumped the box near a growing pile of other books, where Seath's Channeller's worked soundlessly to deposit them into an inferno. Who knew there were more than an entire chamber filled with Boys' Love material? It was a good thing the dragon was a tyrant for order within his domain, otherwise most of the research the Archives collected would have been less about magical inhibitors in various races of the same sex, and more of the magic created between races of the same sex.
The ex-Bishop turned back to his two compatriots to see Priscilla on her knees, eagerly working Argon to what looked like an eruption of ecstasy before he muttered again and walked toward them.
What was so special about getting your feet rubbed anyway?
A great groan from the Chosen Undead caused him to curl his lip. That was a sound he never wanted to hear exit the boy's mouth ever again if he could help it.
"So…" Priscilla asked, poking her index fingers together. "Was that… good?" her eyes stared up at Argon like large, glittering emeralds and he felt the moisture in his throat go dry.
"Y-Yeah… that was…" she tensed.
"The best massage I've ever had."
"Really?!" Priscilla exclaimed in joy, a broad smile on her creamy skin.
Although it had been her idea to give him a massage, she hadn't thought that it would turn out this well. For one, she was still a crossbreed, and her strength was still quite overwhelming despite how small she was. Other than that, she had never actually given anyone a massage before, her only memory of it being from when she was young and within the her mother's chamber as Lord Gwyn offered to ease the stiffness in Gwynevere's shoulders due to her oversized assets.
Come to think of it.
Priscilla looked down at herself as she knelt in front of Argon, her eyes resting on her own chest. She was in no ways as blessed like her mother, that was for certain, but then she wasn't exactly flat either. She knew Argon found them appealing – after her accidental slip up in Darkroot Basin, how could she not remember the way his eyes had been glued to her mud-covered front?
However… besides his momentary override of shyness that one time, he had never really shown any greater interest in her body. In fact, he hadn't shown any interest in what she had to offer after their time in Darkroot.
Argon was no pervert, of course, she knew that all too well. And despite his times of a more grievous disposition, he had never once exercised a carnal bone in his body. But even so… sometimes even a little perversion from him would have been acceptable. At least she would know if he found her figure to his liking.
She pondered about it on her knees whilst Argon uttered out a relaxed sigh, putting his greaves back on with a smile. He had never known such pleasure could be wrought out with a simple massage. Furthermore, he felt unusually energetic all of a sudden, as if that mind-blowing foot rub had just cranked up his stamina – even with Lautrec's ring still on his finger.
He glanced down at her only to frown at the pout she was issuing toward the clean floor. Had he done something to offend her? Or had he indulged in her gift a little too much? He had been voicing his joy rather loudly. Maybe she found this act diminutive? If that were so then why had she offered? Was it to simply make him feel better after his stressful encounter with Seath?
Argon shook his head. None of those were the answer. He could tell by looking at her. Besides, if there was one thing he knew she revelled in more than eating freshly roasted salmon, it was trying to please him.
As odd as it sounded, it was the truth. He had noticed it ever since the time he had seen her semi-nude at Darkroot's Basin. The undead coughed as he remembered the sight that would forever be imbedded into his mind. Although it had been a harmless accident, he would be lying if he said he didn't want to see it again – with her permission, of course.
His head dived into that event like a shark after fresh food. Despite the dark lighting and loud crashing of the waterfall, his eyes had locked onto her generous curves with ease and memorised the sounds of her nervous breathing as if it was all he ever wanted to hear.
He knew he was not a man of pathetic conscience, like the others out there that roiled around in lasciviousness; however, he could never forget the way his hands had wanted to reach out and stroke her wet skin, or embrace her warm body and feel her soft breath against his neck. After that day had ended, there had been an unsmotherable fire lit within him that yearned to do all sorts of things to her.
But he had forced that sizzling heat in his stomach to cool down, burying it daily under a mountain of other thoughts – not willing to allow himself to become a deplorable fiend like the many plebeians loitered around the world, washed from head to toe in humanity's carnal corruption.
He wasn't attempting to seem like he was not attracted to her, he was infatuated with the crossbreed. He just didn't want to fall into the same pit so many others did; and hurt her. Because he was still scared of messing up. He was still afraid he would take it too far if he allowed the uncontrollable orb of desire within him to run rampant. Confidence on the battlefield wasn't the same as confidence in the self, after all. And after the identity crisis he had just endured, Argon wasn't sure if he could control the lesser part of him, should it be left to roam free.
As the undead pondered on the matter, hands steepled together as he pressed his elbows into his knees, Priscilla was falling into a deeper dilemma, obsessing over whether the man above her admired size over shape.
She had filled out decently over the years – even if she wished they were slightly bigger – so she knew she had size down to the tee. As far as shape went, though, she wasn't entirely certain if they were too round or not round enough.
But it didn't matter what she thought, it mattered what Argon thought. Did he even like her chest to begin with? Was he even a chest kind of guy? What was his actual preference regarding them? And even if he did like hers, there was still the issue that one of them were smaller than the other, although the difference wasn't really visible. She wasn't sure if that was the case for all women or just her but would he mind? He would obviously notice it if she were to show him…
The skin of her cheeks burned red. Would they even reach that level when he and she would bare it all to one another?
"U-Uhm… w-well, I'm actually not really picky about stuff like that," Priscilla looked up at Argon in horror as he began to sputter, his face the personification of embarrassed. "Your chest is p-p-perfect in my opinion and I don't really have a preference – I love breasts in all their wonderful shapes and sizes, I guess. I think all women have a breast smaller than their twin, according to Laurentius, and as for whether you and I will eventually reach that point in our relationship, I… I… uh…"
The pale-haired goddess stared up at the Chosen Undead, aghast, as her blush threatened to peel her skin off and spill her humiliation all over the Archive's. She had that said out LOUD?! This was bad, just terrible, utterly embarrassing, and mentally scarring!
"L-Look… Priscilla, I think we-"
" EEEEK!" she squealed before shoving him backward. The undead flailed as he tumbled, falling onto his rear as the legs of his chair splintered to pieces. All he wanted to do was give her a straight answer.
Priscilla covered her face with her hands as she screamed internally, steam rising from her ears like an overboiled kettle of water. She could admit, it was her fault that she had spoken her thoughts about such private matters aloud in front of him, but she hadn't expected him to ANSWER! How was she supposed to look him in the face after such a slip up? And why had he opened his adorably cute mouth when what he should have done was pretend like it never happened in the first place?!
Then again, his input was what she had been after and he had given it up freely, so perhaps this wasn't a loss after all? No! It most certainly was, she had acquired such insight at the cost of her dignity! She had surely made herself look bad in his eyes after that. After all, who would find a breast-obsessed crossbreed appealing?
Unbeknownst to her… Argon was silently lighting up like a prism stone at how much hotter his fluffy tailed companion had just become. Even as he sat there rubbing his rump from the fall, he was already thinking about how much he adored the woman loudly mewling in front of him.
She had just spoken about her internal peeve whilst worrying about whether I would find her striking, despite the fact that she kinda knows I find her breath-taking. Furthermore… that squeak was so damn cute. I think I'm in love- wait, I'm already in love… I think I'm twice in love. Does that even make sense?
Both believers in love laid against the floor, their thoughts clashing as they contradicted one another in silence, looks of shock, embarrassment, joy, excitement and smugness crossing both their features in the span of a few moments.
And as usual, Havel stared down at the two of them with a deadpan expression, his mind foaming with incredulous revelations of how people could possibly be more idiotic or clueless. Honestly, simply seeing his compatriots act like fools was making him feel his age. When more time passed without any of the two saying a word or moving from their spot, the Archbishop let out a gruff sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
When did people become this oblivious?
Things had surely changed since his time, there was no doubting that. However… what puzzled him more than the fluctuating – and quite honestly bipolar – relationship of the Chosen Undead and Lifehunt crossbreed was the fact of the tree of them were still milling about in the Duke's Archives. Really, why were they even resting in these expansive halls longer than they needed to?
Oh, yes, he remembered now. After their horrendous battle against the ugly lizard – which had really been more of Argon and Priscilla than it had been of him and Seath – the dragon had deigned it suitable that all of them were now 'friendlies'.
Quite frankly, it had made Havel scoff and fold his arms in contempt. As he would ever be friendly toward that monstrosity.
Although… he had given up on his revenge and focused on 'forgiving' the scaleless beast, as Priscilla had made him promise. That being said, it did not mean he wouldn't try to gank the dragon whilst he was still recuperating in some crystal-infused room of healing. Really, he would do it. All he needed was a prompting from Seath to piss him off and he would be off to play a game of 'Smash Bros', as Argon had coined it.
Surprisingly enough, the ancient dragon had seemed to shift from his indignant behaviour to something more composed, and less prone to experimentation. He still retained his superiority complex, as the ex-Bishop had experienced after finding the dragon within his study, collapsing bookshelves and crushing Mimic's with his tails to find a specific book within his vast collection.
Havel had nearly picked up his Dragontooth and severed his recently healed tail, too. He hadn't liked being ignored by the behemoth when he was attempting to talk to him, but after more hissing from the great brute and a few death treats from Havel to smash the beasts teeth out and fashion them as spare weapons; the armoured undead had come to the realisation that since his nemesis was doing his best to reform… perhaps he should too. Thus, here he was, helping out the dragon's Channeller's dispose of atrocious smut as his companions rolled around with their unspoken feelings.
It was all positively infuriating for the Archbishop, but he would relent and hold his tongue. Lloyd knew they all deserved a good rest after the various bombshells that had been dropped atop their skulls.
"Say, now that we're in a better headspace, can you explain how you were able to create a bonfire from scratch?"
Argon pouted at his previous misfortune before blinking and looking up at the older man. That was a brilliant question for several reasons. Bonfire's themselves were a mystery to any undead that came across them and asking any one of the Keeper's that tended to them was easier to suggest than actually do since they were scarcely found. Even if you were to find one, the chances of the Keeper possessing the knowledge you seek and actually agreeing to tell you were chances so slim, the odds of reviving the Everlasting Dragons would be a better task to handle.
Besides that conundrum though, the real question was how Argon was able to summon the eternal flames in the first place. According to the minimal information the undead had gathered during his travels, it was Lord Gwyn who had commanded that these bonfires be spread throughout Lordran in advance for the Chosen Undead to access when the time came. In light of this, Argon had to agree that although he didn't agree with the fallen King's ideals, he sure had thought one step ahead. Or would it be more apt to say he was one thousand one thousand years ahead of everyone?
"I thought it was only the Fire Keeper's that were granted control of the ancient Flame?" Priscilla frowned as she dusted her knees and stood. Both Argon and Havel nodded in reply. She was correct in that assumption, only Fire Keepers could control the flames of the bonfires. Which is why it astounded all three of them to know that Argon had done it simply by planting that coiled sword into the ground.
"Perhaps you possess a deeper gene than the Undead Curse," Havel mused with a finger scratching his chin. "Tell me, was your mother a guardian of the Flame as well?"
Argon shook his head. "Far from it, I'm afraid. And even if she was, that ability would be wasted on me. Those powers are specifically tailored for the fairer sex, I wouldn't be compatible."
"An oddity indeed." Priscilla offered as she stared at the ground in thought.
"Maybe it wasn't me in the first place." Havel and Priscilla looked up at Argon as he stretched his arms skywards.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, what if a Keeper activated it this entire time? We've already established that I can't control those flames. So, the only logical explanation is that a Keeper found the location of the sword I stabbed into the ground and lit it up."
"And which Keeper would be close enough to sense a bonfire that deep underground?" Havel questioned.
"I can think about one, at the very least," Argon nodded to himself, "a real Tsundere, loves to defend a certain cross-dressing fem-boy."
"The Darkmoon Knightess?" Priscilla exclaimed.
"She's a charmer, that one. Looks like she was keeping an eye on us from the time we left her."
"A surprise considering the way you nearly broke every bone in her body before calling her suffering meagre." Havel jibed, flicking off lint from a nook in his armour. Argon frowned at him.
"I think what's surprising is the fact that you haven't changed out of your platemail yet." He pointed at the greyscale stone armour that resembled a dry turd after intense constipation. "What's the matter? Too shy to show that muffin top of yours?"
"I'll have you know that I'm still lean, despite my aged physique," Havel snarled. "And if you must know… I don't own another set of clothing besides my armour."
Argon sweat-dropped. "Dude… that's just gross."
"WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO, WALK AROUND BARE?!"
"I'm guessing the idea of asking me for apparel never once crossed your bald mind?" Argon replied, poking a finger through his ear. It was good to know the old man's voice hadn't softened but grew in shrillness. How his ears would feel the pain on their future travels.
"Uh…" Havel raised a finger to counter but found none. He really hadn't thought about asking Argon. He was beat there.
"But, even if you did ask me, I wouldn't have anything in your size."
And instantly, Argon lost his one-up over the Archbishop.
"THEN WHY THE IZALITH DID YOU MENTION IT?!"
"It's the thought that counts. Anyway, if you need spare clothes, just ask Seath."
"And why would I bother asking him of all beings?"
"Well that's a tough one," Argon asked sarcastically as he cupped his chin, "maybe because his Channeller's are nearly the same build as you."
Havel's retort died on his tongue. He hadn't thought of that either. Damn Argon and his sudden splash of wisdom.
A nearby scholar of Seath walked past them, carrying another box of tomes as he mumbled unintelligibly. The undead turned his head toward the mage before an idea struck him in the temple.
"Yo, six-eyes!"
The Channeller stopped mid-step and turned around to face the three of them.
"Uwgh?"
"Yes, I mean you." Argon nodded.
"Hsh en grmph aarj."
"You're right, the morning is quite lovely."
"Lrrv doph hosh' tue. Qurep yun."
"A shame you're burning books? But those are BL."
"Rpht dl."
"What do mean 'so what'?" the undead frowned.
"Ujsh udh me, ubi ujsh-do." Argon paled.
"So you're the one importing them into the Archive. You should be ashamed."
The scholar shrugged as the Chosen Undead sighed out. Havel and Priscilla, meanwhile, looked at the undead as if he had grown a second head – or four more pairs of eyes.
"Anyway, I need some new threads for the old man here." He said pointing his thumb at Havel who growled back.
"Phredth?"
"Yeah, threads. You know… clothes, garments... threads."
"Mm! Uenc wee."
"He said to follow him." Argon slapped Havel on the back.
The Archbishop looked at him as if he were mad.
"I'm not going to follow him."
"Ung, yuph-yuph."
"He said he won't try anything funny." The Chosen Undead translated.
"I don't care what he says, I'm not going!" Havel exclaimed, crossing his arms stubbornly.
"Hyuff." The Channeller snorted.
"He-he-he, I agree with you there." Argon grinned.
"Okay, what did he just say about me and why were you laughing?" the Archbishop
"Don't stress the small stuff. Just go."
"But you just said he was the smut importer!"
"As long as you don't touch him, I'm sure you'll be fine."
"Hrrmp Gng!" the Channeller slammed his foot down against the floor in mild anger.
"We can't be sure it won't rub off, now can we?" Argon tilted his head toward him and the scholar's shoulders drooped, admitting defeat.
"Why are you trying to chase me away? Have I not been a good companion all this time?!" Havel pleaded with a worried frown.
"Don't worry Sir Havel, I'm sure you'll be fine." Priscilla placed a hand on the Bishop's arm and watched as his skin turned ashen.
"No… not you too Priscilla."
"It's been a while since you could wear something more comfortable at our days of rest. Why not accept the kind offer?"
Havel opened his mouth to refuse but no words escaped his lips. Whether he liked it or not, her reasoning was flawless. That, and he really did need other clothing. But the thought of being led to said garments by a lover of degenerate smut within the house of his nemesis… was just brutal torture. And to make matters worse, it was Argon who had initiated it.
"Okay." Havel teared up as he was dragged – with much difficultly – by the pauldron of his armour by the Channeller who muttered something even Argon could not decipher before both of them disappeared up a flight of stairs and through a branching hallway.
"Well he better watch his rump."
"Argon!"
"What? You know I'm right. That reminds me, I forgot to tell him not to drop the soap should they take him to the bathing area."
"Why shouldn't he drop the soap?" Priscilla asked innocently.
The undead looked at her for a moment before sighing out. "Please stay this pure forever. Our resident Pyromancer would fry me if you ever came to know human indecency."
The crossbreed frowned. Whatever did he mean by that?
Laurentius held his breath as he inched forward, his cloth-covered boots silencing most of his footsteps against the gravelled floor covered with more soot than the inside of a chimney. The sentry of the current floor was standing guard near the edge of a pair of bottom-heavy dragon statues that seemed to float in mid-air. Said constructs of rock were a danger, since some only pretended to be decorative features to the Ruins of Izalith. They were what the Pyromancer could call the only intelligent beings within this underground chasm of supernova, what with how they baited intruders before breathing torrents of flame at them until flesh melted off bone.
That being said, the sentry before Laurentius was not one of those sentient moulds of dry rock, but rather another seven-foot-tall Capra Demon staring blankly at the next corner, his machetes dragging against the floor.
These were easier to handle, even in groups, if you had the right tools. And after the Pyromancer's encounter with Solaire, their battle against that bug-like Demon with stubby legs, and the discovery of Queren, yet another child of the Witch, he could say that he was fairly primed to deal with such foes on his own now. Oh, yes, and he forgot to mention their recent party member, who seemed to sleep more while upright than horizontal. There was also the way in which Siegmeyer seemed to speak as if he were submerged in water…
It had been different working with more than one person on his travels, he could agree. In the past, it was just him who had travelled to Lordran on his lonesome, excitement bubbling in his chest as he worked his way through the lost kingdom, eager to visit the birthplace of his craft.
Of course, his carelessness back then had gotten him into all sorts of trouble, from running into hordes of hollows to being stuffed in a barrel, awaiting his end by a pair of oversized cannibals with bloodied rags for clothing.
But then Argon had come along, a curious undead who had worn miss-matched armour and the strangest mask he had ever seen. Laurentius recalled how casually the undead had lent him his aid, kicking down crates and wooden chests to get to him whilst simultaneously chucking throwing knives at the hollows behind him, without looking back.
The Pyromancer had thanked him profusely, only to endure a smack on the head and an insane amount of insults before the strange fellow had slapped a hand on his shoulder and forced him to go deeper into the Depths as payment for being rescued. Laurentius had whined the entire way down, jumping at almost everything that made an iota of noise before witnessing his saviour draw a Zweihander and cleave a titanic rat's head from its wriggling body with a scoff. That was the day the swamp-dweller had found his first friend in world where your own shadow could backstab you if you weren't vigilant. It had been the day when he had found companionship better than loneliness, conversation better than meditation… when he had found a person to share in his joy of the art of flame instead of being blasphemed for its use.
And soon, his jolly companionship had turned to a trio of friends, when Argon had seemingly brought a goddess out of a painting with nothing more than his lovable senselessness and a ragged doll from his old cell. The days had grown more bearable for him after that, and soon Laurentius had found that he had grown so accustomed to company that he hated loneliness.
And then… his growing desire to be around people had reached its all time peak; and that was when he had fallen in love.
It was an odd thing for him to admit, that he had become smitten for a woman he had just met, who seemed to radiate light like the flames he held in the palm of his hands, but it was true. He felt a precise connection with the Izalith survivor, and it wasn't because she was the creator of Pyromancy.
Everything about her had pulled him in, really. From her soft voice and sharp words, to her gentle eyes and wry smile. Heck, even the way she moved around had garnered his undivided attention. It was like he were transfixed by her elegance, wanting to dabble more in her ways rather than enter the forgotten realm he had come here for in the first place.
As the Pyromancer clubbed the Capra Demon on the head with a large rock and chopped into its white skull with his axe, he thought about Quelana – he had been doing so frequently after their hasty departure.
She had been so mystified when he had agreed to help her end the torture her mother was going through. And although it had been Argon who had basically forced the job onto him, Laurentius hadn't hated him for it. Because for the first time in his life, he had wanted to listen to the feelings in his heart rather than the fear in his mind. He had wanted to stay and help Quelana, Quelaan and Eingyi, instead of running away like he had always done because of constant persecution.
And due to that decision, he had found more meaning to his existence than visiting his ancestral home. Because he had taken a leap of faith, allowing himself to commune with strangers instead of keeping to himself, he had made bonds no god or power could separate; filled the void in his heart he thought would remain desolate… and now, he had found so many comrades that he barely knew what to do with them all.
Granted, all of them were strange, himself included. They all had quirks unique to the rest and flaws they could only overcome with the help of others; but that didn't matter to Laurentius. What had was the fact that they had accepted him as their own, not caring a single bit for his origins or the 'heretical art' he had founded his life upon. And that was why he was truly happy, for the one thing he had dreamed for had finally come true, even in a land that was more precarious than safe.
Although, from time to time these friends did tend to run him ragged. Why, just the other day, after returning Queren to his original form and meeting Siegmeyer, the swamp-dweller had to rip a giant parasite off of Solaire's head when the jolly fool had insisted that the orb above the scarab-sized things head was his 'sun'.
Of course, after he, the Onion knight and Queren had killed a dozen or so others from hopping onto their heads and gutting the glowing one the Sun Warrior had obsessed about, they had managed to make an odd helm out of the bug's remains so that Solaire could wear it. Needless to say, the man had cheered, placed the glowing object over his head, paraded around like an imbecile, and then promptly threw the bug helm into his inventory before saying that his 'sun' was not here. Whatever that had meant. Either way, the rest of them had sighed in relief that they wouldn't be seeing that thing any time soon. Just the thought of walking next to their Sun-Bro wearing some glowing parasite on his head was punishment enough.
Laurentius sighed out as the demon below him finally uttered out its last breath before vanishing into souls. He felt them flood into his Darksign as the fatigue in his body evaporated. That would be the last of the foes on this floor, his companions had fanned out a while ago to take down the rest. It was about time he returned to their campsite near that cosy bonfire anyway; he was eager to take a recreational nap, despite his undead body not really needing it.
Unfortunately, a bolt was thrown into his works when he turned the next corner of the arid area only to see a swirling of black and crimson energy above a pool of dark, slimy water. Where said pool had come from was a mystery since the Izalith Ruins lacked any source of liquid save for lava springs, but he could care less about that and more about his current enemy – who, he might add, had been appearing quite regularly since his party's dissection.
Laurentius took a small swig of Estus and grunted out a sigh. Despite not possessing any injuries, he found that drinking the elixir unnecessarily actually cooled him down bit.
He watched as the Darkwraith before him rose from its kneeling position, pockets of dark water falling from the gaps in its charcoal armour as the monstrosity drew an unconventional blade from its hip.
The Pyromancer dropped into a fighting stance as his bright chaos flame burst to life in the palm of his right hand. Likewise, the Darkwraith's bled an off-white before it stomped forward, eager to drain him dry before return to whatever putrid depths it had come from.
Laurentius huffed. There had been a strange influx of these legendary terrors in Izalith, and although they were famed for being near invincible due to their unorthodox fighting capabilities, the Pyromancy had to wonder whether there was some morose plot being played.
For one, the wraith's he and his companions had encountered thus far had seemed far more mediocre than the tales had depicted. And for some reason, they seemed to be constantly invading the closer his party got to the heart of the fallen city. He wondered whether the stories of these devastating foes were just exaggerated or whether the ones attacking them were simply just the grunts sent to ruffle their confidence. Or perhaps these brief scuffles were just a method of surveying his party and their movements? Either way… Laurentius didn't like where his thoughts were leading him regarding these lifeless monsters.
"Wonder how Argon's faring out there?" He muttered before rushing the Darkwraith, eager to return to his friends so that they could finally end this constant cycle of demons. It was his turn to tell a folktale today, and he would be damned if he missed out on it. He still had his tale about basilisks to talk about, after all.
"He's probably got it worse, considering his bad luck…"
"Got any fours?" Priscilla scrunched up her nose in displeasure before handing Argon a pair of neatly coloured playing cards.
"Okay then, how about some nine's?"
The crossbreed hmphed, before tossing him three more cards, puffing up her cheeks in jealousy as he made up a fifth set of numbers.
"Alright…" Argon nodded to himself as he scratched the black veins covering his right side. "You must have a king or two."
Priscilla flung her hands into the air, an assortment of suites and numbers falling to the ground around the two of them with a clatter due to their wood-based structure. Argon merely cocked a brow at her display.
"That's not sportsmanlike at all."
"How do you always know what's in my hand?!" she exclaimed cutely, and for a moment the undead had to push down the urge to pet her on the head – least he lose a finger.
"Simple, I've played this a lot."
"No, that can't be right." She argued and he chuckled in amusement.
"It can't? And why is that?"
"Because you only asked for what was exactly in my hand."
The undead shrugged, shuffling and re-dealing the cards out between the two of them. "Process of elimination."
"How can you already know which cards I have in my hand after we've just begun the game?!"
Again, Argon shrugged, thoroughly annoying the crossbreed in front of him.
"Just math, I guess." He yawned out before looking back at his companion. "Go ahead, its your turn this time."
Priscilla nodded with a determined look before staring at the cards in her hand. It was yet another wondrous oddity he had shared with her since their time together, and she was truly transfixed with it like she had been with the others.
These finely made plates of shaved wood, imprinted with ink to form beautiful images and elegant text were quite extraordinary. According to Argon, he had purchased them off a travelling merchant from the East many years ago before being imprisoned in the Undead Asylum. From what she had found out about the strange, yet addictive array of woodblocks, they were called the Collection of Miscellanea; an old creation meant to entertain groups of people with their thought-provoking games involving multiple strategies.
To place things into greater perspective, apparently the game they were currently playing was but one in an infinite number. The very idea that there were more than one of these highly entertaining tourneys was enough to blow her mind away.
"Wait, a moment Argon." Priscilla said, narrowing her eyes at him as she kept her handful of cards close to her face. "How can I be sure you won't cheat again?"
"Wha? I did not cheat."
"Did too."
"Did not."
"Did too," the crossbreed nodded to herself, convinced otherwise.
Argon merely sighed out. He wouldn't be able to prove it, anyway. Not like he could explain the whole method of calculating algorithms to determine how one can decipher what their opponent possesses in their hand within a few short minutes. That would just make him seem smarter than he allowed people to believe. And even though she knew he was savvy; he was trying to appear stupid to the world in general. It was a dilemma he'd rather not face.
"Fine, I won't cheat this time."
"Good!" she cheered, a bright smile on her face as she swayed her upper body from side to side, her tail wagging in joy. She looked as chipper as bloat-head's back in Oolacile. Until she suddenly stopped and frowned at him.
"Do you promise you won't do it again?"
Argon sweat-dropped.
"Of course I won't! Here, to make it fair, let's have a wager."
"What kind of wager?"
"Uhh… well, what would you like if you win?"
She tapped her mouth with her cards for a moment before looking up at the endless levels within the Archive's. What was something Argon could give her that she would want? Well, besides her craving for his method of cooking fresh salmon for her and his embarrassing confession of how he thought her assets were 'perfect' – the thought still made her flush red – she couldn't really think about anything really noteworthy.
She already had everything she ever wanted since her departure from the Painted World, Argon had sought to that almost immediately. Thus, the range of her wants were rather minute. She supposed that if she could want something from the undead… it would more or less likely be something physical, like a form of labour perhaps.
Her eyes glittered in realisation and she looked back at the expectant undead. Why had she not thought of it sooner?
"I would like a massage."
"Really?" Argon tilted his head to the side. "You could ask for almost anything and you choose a massage?"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tease me about it." She pouted. It wasn't her fault it was the best thing she could think of on such short notice.
Argon chuckled, raising up his hand in a placating manner. "Relax, I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I'm just surprised you'd ask for something like that."
"But why?" she frowned.
"Because I would give one to you regardless if you won or lost. In fact, I'd do it daily if you wanted me to."
"You would do it for me on a daily basis?" her voice was tinged with astonishment. She would have never guessed he would be so agreeing toward something like that, or that thoughtful. "You aren't joking with me, again, are you?"
He chuckled again before sorting through his cards. "I'm completely serious. Who wouldn't want to touch you on a daily basis?"
His sly grin made her face turn red before she squealed and hide behind her hands. There he went again making her want to hammer and hug him at the same time with his sincerity and sly implications. It was a wonder she hadn't died from embarrassment with how much he made her want to curl into a ball and disappear from all his tongue-in-cheek renditions of flattery. Was it too much for him to dial back his bluntness when it came to expressing his feelings for her? A girl could only take so much before her heart burst out of her chest.
"F-Fine… but I still want a massage if I win."
"Back or shoulders?" he asked with a smile.
"Oh, well…" she looked away from him. "I thought it would have been…"
She muttered out the last word but it was too soft for Argon to hear, so he leaned in closer.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
Priscilla slid her shy gaze at him, face still shielded by her cards. "Phil-blerrry…"
"Sorry, what?"
She shut her eyes and said it louder.
"F-F-Full body."
Argon's heterochromatic eyes widened in shock before her offered her a cheshire smile.
"Well now, that was pretty bold of you to ask for. Do you enjoy my touch that much?"
"Nn!" he laughed as she dropped her cards and tried to push him away, her face so bright he thought she would explode. It was simply adorable watching her squirm like that.
"Alright, fine…" Argon said, giving her space as he sat back down and picked up his cards. "If you win, I'll massage you from head to toe, just like you asked."
Priscilla peered at him through the gaps in her fingers. He was grinning at her like normal, but there was no longer than mischievous glint in his eyes. He really meant it. Gingerly, she dropped her hands from her face and picked up her own set of cards, peering at the textures against the wood to clear her mind. She didn't know what she was so worried about, this was just a silly game they were playing. One that would earn her a reward regardless of the outcome, she corrected herself, but a game, still. There was no cause for her to worry. Rather, she should be excited. A massage from Argon was sure to be blissful after she had experienced his gentle touch that one time when she had sprained her ankle jumping down a high wall.
There was nothing to be afraid of. She was in good hands, great hands, in fact.
"So… what would you like if you wi-"
"I wanna fluff your tail." He said bluntly.
"I-I beg you p-pardon?"
"I wanna fluff it. Fluff it real good." He repeated with a serious face, eyes trained on her wagging appendage like a hawk.
Priscilla gulped. Normally she would be fine to indulge him in whatever he wanted from her, but 'fluffing' her tail? What in the Great Lords did he mean by that?! And why did it make her feel giddy inside?
"And this fluffing… what does it… entail exactly?" she asked prodding her index fingers together.
"Oh, you'll just have to wait and find out." he said impishly.
Priscilla paled as she looked down at her cards. She had been wrong. There was an urgent need to worry.
"Ah, now that was refreshing." Havel sighed out, slinging a damp towel over his armour-less shoulder, his new gambeson hanging off his broad torso.
Contrary to his own words, the walk to acquire new clothing, and incidentally wash off the burdens of the past via the Channeller's impressive bathing area, had gone smashingly – no pun intended. The scholar and originator of the throng of male-on-male erotic literature that he had had a hand in burning that same morning had actually been a friendly chap, if not a confusing one. With his use of elaborate gestures and throaty murmurs, he had done his utmost to ensure Havel was well equipped with an assortment of outfits to last until the end of the world – which wasn't far off now that the Archbishop thought about it.
When he had enquired as to why the scholar and his cohorts spoke in such a blubbering lingo, he had been surprised to learn that it was upon Seath's insistence, not their own volition. According to the lengthy hand movements and muffled moans the Channeller – or Gregory, as Havel had come to know him as – had used to educate the Archbishop, the oblivious language they all spoke in – which Seath no doubt concocted – was actually a means to funnel their power into greater increments when casting sorceries, thus the term "Channeller". Not only that, but it somehow also aided the scholars in tapping into the natural energy the Archive itself possessed, which availed them the ability of teleporting throughout the great castle without needing to use their own reserves of magic.
Nevertheless, Havel had seen Gregory off after a good soak and a relaxing shoulder massage – which Gregory had been surprisingly exceptional at – before the Bishop had chosen to return to the comfortable atmosphere of his companions. And also because he wanted to rain on the lovey-dovey parade they no doubt conjured whilst he was away.
However, what had greeted him upon his descent to the first floor of the Archive had not been an agonisingly slow build-up to a romantic moment like he had been hoping. Instead, he found a whining and whimpering Priscilla sitting with her back against Argon as the Chosen Undead buried his face into her fluffy tail as if he were a child again.
What was even worse about this picture was that Argon was mumbling unintelligibly as he groped, stroked, rubbed and cuddled the poor crossbreed's tail with reckless abandon whilst uttering words like "fluffy-floof", "heavenly cloud" and "floof for life".
It was all extremely uncomfortable, especially with the way Priscilla was squirming and moaning along with each poke and prod Argon offered the wriggling length of furriness. Seriously, as if hearing Argon's heady breaths were enough, now he had to hear Priscilla's as well? This day was just full of surprises.
"A-Argon, I think th-that's enou- OOH! No. Please don't pet my tail so close to the base."
"Oh? Are you more sensitive the lower I get?" Argon sniggered out as his hands crested lower, caressing her soft fur with his sinful touch.
"Nm! S-S-Stop… if you continue I-I'll…"
"Hmm, now I really want to know what happens next."
"Y-You wouldn't!" she screamed in horror.
"Oh, yes. I would."
"S-Sir Havel! Please… help m-"
"What does this button do?!"
"AAAAHHHHH-MMMPH!"
Havel watched as the crossbreed shivered before convulsing from Argon's touch as he cackled madly, enjoying her discomfort, though it seemed like the complete opposite, as he continued to revel in her tail – a pile of thinly carved wood pieces scattered about the two of them.
The Archbishop shook his head, turned around and began walking away as Priscilla cried out for a roguish Argon to cease his machinations, his feet reaching the foot of the stairs before she found the energy to speak again.
"H-Haven't you ha-had enough by n-now?" she said, a line of drool falling down her chin. "You've had your way with my t-t-tail for nearly an hour already…"
"Come now, don't be a sore loser. The agreement was that I could fluff your tail if I won, and I did. Fair and square."
"B-But this is t-too much!"
"We didn't exactly specify how long our reward would be, now did we?" Argon countered with a grin.
"But I can't take this anym- OOOOHHHHH!"
Havel pulled down a lever and sighed in relief as the lift platform took him back up to Gregory. He didn't see hide nor fur of either of his companions until the next day. But apparently loud mewls and moans were heard until early dawn.
Ahh, its been a good while since I've written anything that comedic. I know I skimped on the tail fluffing but I promise to write a proper session of Argon loving the heck out of that tail in a later chapter (with Priscilla's permission, of course).
Mmm… that fluffy tail…
- stop daydreaming
SMACK!
Gah! Thank you, Illogical Me. I was nearly sucked into the Floof-verse for a second there.
- I'm sure you were.
Seriously, after watching the entire series of The Helpful Fox Senko-san, I cannot get fluffy-floof tail's out of my head. And Priscilla's makes it even worse.
- that reminds me, why haven't you written a chapter on fluffing her tail sooner?
Hm, good question. I really have no answer for that…
Anyways, hope you enjoyed the filler chapter. I plan to do one more involving Laurentius and Co. reaching and killing the Bed of Chaos before we get back to the main action (although, I suppose you could assume that me going back to Laurentius and Co. IS the main action).
Have a great day, stay blessed and get home safely!
Oyasumi.
N/B – It really is odd that I post the majority of these chapters at night. Like, seriously, its extremely odd. Oh well, who cares. Goodnight everybody!