GAH. Real life is so exhausting right now... bleh. *collapses on desk* My life is so hectic. Ergh. I am tired. I need sleep... and anime time... *wails dramatically*
Um, sorry you had to endure a bit of my whining. I haven't had time to update anything, and I know I should be writing for Harry Pride instead of this, but I've been really busy. The next chapter's partially written, and I have it all planned out, I swear! Of course, first I say I have no time, and then I got and post this thing that's just as long as a Harry Pride chapter... *sweatdrop*
Anyway, this is just a small interlude that was too long to tack on as an omake for the next chapter, so, it gets its own chapter! Yay! I probably could have posted it as a separate oneshot, actually, but I was too lazy to make up a summary. So, this is sort of just a little character introspection thing (I've been writing a lot of those lately...) on our four main characters. Well, mostly Dark, Shadow, and Vaati, but Link's in there too. It's also in present tense, third person, because lately I've been reading fics by the amazing author black. , who writes in present tense third person. This is sort of imitating her style a bit- PURELY as a writing exercise for myself, so please don't flame me for copying her. Her writing style is too amazing for me to do justice to anyway.
Warning, though: if you're going to check her out, she does write primary slash (yaoi, gay, homosexual, whatever you want to call it). I personally don't have a problem with that, but if you don't like that kind of stuff, then don't read. From an objective point of view, though, her writing's amazing.
HUGE THANKS to ultima-owner, HyruleHearts1123, and alemery for reviewing!
So... long author's note is long. Gah. I'm sorry, I'm rambling... bleh. On with the interlude. Please let me know what you thought! I will be switching back to first person past tense for future chapters, so if you don't like this style, no worries. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned Legend of Zelda, I wouldn't be writing fanficton. I would be writing canon.
Oh, and in case you don't know- Louise is the fluffy white cat that's always hanging out at Telma's Bar. Wears a purple bow, helps you find the little statue to get Illia's memory back. Dunno why I chose her as narrator... I just needed someone with a good sense of smell.
It is a little-known fact that Louise, resident feline of Telma's Bar, is half blind.
She'd never had good eyesight, even as a kitten, so over the years she's learned to use her ears and her nose to compensate. It helps that she has an amazing memory, and remembers scents like humans do faces. Everything has a distinct one, like fingerprints, though some are definitely more unique than others.
The Terrible Three and their newest green-clad addition, for example.
Most people don't realize, since Louise is only a cat, but Dark, Shadow, and Vaati are her boys just as much as they are Telma's. Link as well now, she supposes, since the other hylian seems to have integrated quite smoothly into their little group. And they all smell different, with separate components that blend into a whole to create something simply… them.
Link smells of sunshine. He smells of sunshine and fresh air, of grassy fields and leaf-dappled forests. He smells of untainted purity, not jaded or scarred (mentally, not physically) like many of the youth living in Castle Town's alleys have become.
Blessed by the Goddesses, indeed. All animals can tell, too, not just Louise. It's why they trust him, why they come up to him and allow themselves to be pet or held. He's an easy person to trust, really. Full of cheerful smiles and open arms, kind and gentle and so used to taking people's words at face value that it's bordering on naïve. Or, well, it used to be, until he met the Terrible Three and learned what about what the world is like outside the safe little bubble that is Ordon Village.
He isn't quite as naïve anymore, but is still a little bit- all part of his charm, Telma remarked once with a fond expression. Louise knows what this means. Her human's taken Link as one of her own, as another boy who is hers just as much as he is Ordon's.
Faint, very faint, is also the scent of goats. Goats and cuccos, pumpkins and cheese, the distinctive trademarks of a farming village. It was stronger when he first appeared, Louise remembers. When he first walked in with a face like Dark's but eyes like the sky and hair like the sun. If Dark is the Night, then he is the Day, bright and sunny in stark contrast to the brothers who have always lived in the shadows and in the moonlight.
Overlaying it is leather, sweat, metal, and a strange something that makes her think of a wild beast, uncaged and free. Free from constraints and harnesses and ropes, free to run and leap and howl with the fierce joy that comes from being one's own master and nobody else's. Fiercely loyal, a faithful hound that may roam across the lands for days on end, but still has a constant sixth sense that will lead him back to his pack. Unbound and unchained, but, in the end, will always, always, come home.
Dark smells of fire, a lingering scent of burning cloth that seems to have no identifiable source that Louise can find. It's always puzzled her, this persistent odor of flames and ash that clings to his skin like invisible cobwebs. She's never been able to find out why, or how, this phenomenon occurs. It simply… does.
His scent isn't all flames, though- there's dirt and steel, the dried travel rations he always keeps on him just in case, and a sort of shadowy darkness that all three of the brothers seem to have. That's what comes of having grown in the harsh life of a street urchin, though. Shaped and molded from birth into something that will survive in this unforgiving world of thieves and cutthroats, where any sign of weakness means a not-always-swift and painful death.
Like his fair-haired counterpart, Dark, too, smells of a savage beast with fangs and claws bared and ready to strike. A sense of untamed wildness, even more so than Link, whom by comparison seems more a sheepdog than the other male's wolf. Not to say that Link isn't fierce and powerful in own right, no- because Link can transform from docile hound to snapping, growling creature with ivory fangs and eyes like blue fire in an instant.
But Dark… Dark is wild, Dark is ferocious. Dark is a black specter constantly prowling just beyond the reaches of light with hackles raised and ears pricked, a beast with glowing eyes that flash and gleam in a moonless night. Dark smells of smoke and steel, the razor-sharp edge of an old but still serviceable sword stolen from the guards in the dimness of twilight. When Louise thinks of him, she sees hair like pitch and eyes like blood, protective and strong and a leader to rival any captain all rolled into in one.
Demon, the people whisper.
Elder brother, she says to herself. Because that is what he is. The elder brother of two purple-haired teens who are just like him and not like him at the same time, their guardian and their sibling and their friend that they would follow anywhere. He loves them, and they love him. And isn't that proof enough that he's no demon, that he's just as mortal as everyone else?
Even for Link, though they're technically the same age, he acts the elder. It's obvious that although Link takes the reins on their quests, their dungeons, Dark is the one that he turns to for advice. Dark is the one that he looks towards for guidance, the friend and comrade and brother that he's never had before.
And Dark loves them all, because, in the end, they're all he has. Nothing in this life is always certain, but the oldest thief's bond with his family is something Louise knows will never change.
Vaati's scent contains hints of both, yet is confined to none- he smells of storms, of magic, of a gentle breeze that can become a roaring tornado within the space of a heartbeat. He smells of the sky, of the winds, of an untameable force hidden beneath baggy clothes and feminine features, of raging power just waiting to be unleashed. He is Mother Nature's wilderness incarnate, a maelstrom that sweeps through the land and leaves only destruction in its wake.
He is a whirlwind, all fast movements and invisible blades that blur through the air like the glinting edges of his shining daggers. He is a breath of fresh air and the mountain breeze and the rolling gusts that make green grasses ripple in wide, undulating waves, the rising thermals that carry keen-eyed hawks through the skies and blows soft cotton clouds over the lands.
There is the scent of forests and mushrooms and earthy wood, persistently dogging his footsteps even though Castle Town's harsh grey cobblestone is perhaps the farthest thing from a forest in the kingdom. Rich soil and ancient trees, twisted branches that reach for the sun with grasping fingers. Like Dark's flames, this has always been a mystery to Louise. Over time, she's learned to accept it. There will just be some things about those brothers that she will never understand, she realizes.
The lavender-haired Wind Mage is strong, Louise knows. He is a sorcerer with buckets of untapped potential, a sorcerer that could someday rival even the Princess if he put his mind to it. So, too, though, is the uneducated street rat a scholar. It's obvious whenever he's gone to the library, because then he'll smell of leather book covers and dusty pages, gained from hours of poring over thick volumes on just about every subject imaginable.
He taught himself to read, to write, and then turned around to teach his brothers when they asked. He's probably the smartest of them, intellectually, with a shrewd mind and tens of calculations running through his brain every second of the day. She can see them, invisible cogs turning and moving behind eyes like rubies that can be just as hard.
Vaati is a galestorm. A tornado. A clever scientist with a mind to rival the greatest of court researchers, if only they would look past his social station. Vaati is too-pale skin over a delicate (feminine, almost effeminate, one could say) frame, laced with malice and edged with cruelty.
He's gotten kinder as of late, though. She's noticed that he's softened a bit, started to smile more, and she's pretty sure she knows why, Still, he, too, has an undertone of darkness and feral grace, lithe and agile with a ferocity to send even the most ruthless of men fleeing with their tails between their legs. But out of all them, he is more feline, while his brothers are undeniably canine.
If Dark is the pack-leader who heads the charge, then Vaati is the silent sniper, the one who slinks through the shadows and strikes when his enemies least expect it. He is the underestimated one, dismissed because of his short stature and slight build, yet he wields one of the deadliest weapons of them all. He controls the very air itself, made visible only by the amethyst threads of connected magic that he exerts into one of the four great elements.
Vaati, the littlest (but not youngest) brother, the one who looks like a girl but fights like a wildcat, the one whose hands are stained with the most blood out of all the others. Who waits and stalks until he's close enough to strike, ambushing prey with one devastating attack.
Louise knows when he's fought someone, because then his hands- unmarked, but only because he washed them in the fountain -still smell of copper and iron, a sharp and metallic tang that can only belong to one thing.
He doesn't kill needlessly, though. Simply injures, incapacitates, ensures that they will never come near his family again. He's doing it for all the right reasons that Louise can understand with her knowledge of human morals. Vaati's simply executing his actions using methods that are a bit more… violent than some might expect from such a young-looking teen.
His age, though, is an illusion, because nobody survives the alleys without learning to grow up and grow up fast. Still, he's turned out pretty well, all things considered, she thinks.
He may be the silent hunter of the night, the pouncing cat that drops from above, but it's easy to forget that he's not even fully grown yet, still developing and learning. He's young, still, young but not innocent with sharp eyes and unnervingly cold smiles. People fear him, fear his power, just like they fear his brothers.
To Louise, though… Vaati is Vaati, and as far as she's concerned, that's all that matters.
Shadow smells of black powder. Black powder and embers, a slow-burning pulse like smoldering wood. The sharp odor of explosives, with hints of what can only be described as smooth glass as cold as ice.
A darkened mirror, reflecting the night when shown the day and exposing the soul when presented with the heart. Casting all it reflects into a pool of black oil, where they emerge as midnight specters with glittering fangs and cold eyes. A laughing voice that echoes beneath the pale white moon, sarcastic and mocking even as it practically drips with amusement and merry cheer.
In a way, though, Shadow's scent is the most complex of them all- like he's five different people all meshed into one, with four distinct scents underlying his own. Five different parts of the same whole, slotting perfectly into place like puzzle pieces. They entwine and combine like colored threads, all woven into the same tangled bundle of string that is Shadow. Another thing that Louise has never been able to understand; has never able to figure out why Shadow smells like he should be five instead of one.
There's the warm fire of a comforting hearth, a light in the darkness, welcoming and open. Dancing and flickering with cheerful pops and crackles, bright embers that drift into the air like little fireflies. There's the beautiful symmetry of ice, soft white flakes of frozen water, a scent that brings to mind snowball fights and laughing children. Intricate patterns of frost that paint pictures of ferns and trace perfect crystals on the earth. A strange combination, to be sure, two opposites that blend together with perfect balance.
Then, as a counterpoint, he has aggression and power and bull-headed stubbornness all wrapped up in a fierce, intense loyalty coupled with the immeasurable strength of a raging sea. He has anger and frustration, thoughtlessly hot-headed demonstrations of sheer brute force and the tendency to rush in without any planning or strategy at all- just spontaneous, on-the-spot actions and impulsive moves.
There's a musty scent of paper and old books, a scent that brings to mind dusty tomes with yellowed, time-worn pages like the ones Shad always reads. A sense of calculating plans and efficient movements, conserving strength until just the right time to strike. A mind that pinpoints every weakness and then hits those spots with a sniper's aim, unerringly and unfailingly correct.
A scholarly mind that loves the written word and can manipulate a silver tongue with frightening ease. An actor, who knows how to put on mask and play his part- perhaps playing it too well, slipping too far into the role of someone he is not.
This scent, the one of bowstrings and goose-feather fletchings, is the one that Louise thinks is most like Shadow. It isn't, of course, but she still gets the feeling that the person that this scent should have belonged to is very much like the purple-haired teen.
Enveloping them all like an open-armed leader is spring-green leaves and steel burning hot in the heat of summer, determination and drive fueling them all. The scent of morning dew on emerald leaves and fresh air after a rainstorm, the world washed clean and born anew in purifying waters that fall from the heavens to the earth. Driven and motivated by the need to protect, to guard, to fight for his family, for his kingdom, for his friends.
And on top of it all is Shadow, the strange boy-who-is-not-a-boy (none of them are, not really, their souls too old and too weighted for all that their bodies may appear young) who smells like black powder and laughing specters. The one who is a reflection, who feels like a mirror cold and smooth (I am real, I am a real person not a copy, she heard him whisper once in his sleep- but in the morning, he showed no sign of having any memory of his strange words).
His wildness, too, is not like Dark's or Link's. His feral, bestial side is more playful and snarky than theirs, and Louise has always imagined it as more of a half-pup, half-adult rather than the full-on Alphas his brother and his brother's blond counterpart are. Yet he feels old, as well, just like his brothers- much more so after they came back down from their City in the Sky, Louise thinks. All of them feel old, really, aged far beyond their years.
Something happened up there, she knows. Something happened up where the clouds are the ground and the stars are the sky. Something big, something life-altering.
It's impossible to hide. They went up there one day and came down another as changed people- no, changed men, because after all they've been through they aren't boys anymore. Still, their inherent characters are still the same. If anything, whatever happened has actually helped them.
The three seem more… comfortable, now, more sure of themselves. More confident. Happier, too. Louise isn't so blind that she hasn't noticed how they're smiling more, laughing more, joking around like they can actually afford to now instead of always watching their backs and worrying about their next meal or their next heist, unsure of even their continued survival.
Less like skittish alleycats, and more like well-fed, happy toms, she reflects. Neither has she missed all the muscle that they've been putting on, how their scrawny frames have filled out into something stronger and healthier. Traveling, adventuring… it suits them. They're more at ease now, too, more open and less guarded. By no means are they softer or less careful now, though- no! If anything, they are more powerful and more dangerous than ever.
Oh, yes. Louise can tell, all right. Foolish was the one who provoked them before, but now… she remembers when they came back stinking of tar and smoke, several days old and almost covered with the scents of monster dust, dirt, and grime. Remembers the swampy scent of lakewater that clung to their skin, along with splinters and dried peat thickly crusted beneath long ragged fingernails.
Or later, when they returned reeking of the stench of death, with sand in every joint and crevice and fragments of white-bleached bone in their hair. Pieces of beetle shell and half-burned holes had peppered their clothes, the entire group's faces sunburnt and haunted as they stumbled in before crashing on the nearest soft object and sleeping for two days straight.
And when they entered with frost hanging from their eyebrows and skin as cold as death, smelling of freezing snows and sharp, biting winds. Chattering teeth and lips tinged blue, stiff fingertips numb from the cold and nerveless hands practically unresponsive. How toughened they looked as they trooped into the bar with ice still cracking off their boots, drawing awed looks from every patron in the building as they all but collapsed onto the barstools before ordering the warmest possible thing Telma had.
Louise's mind flashes back to their most recent return, the one before they left for their City in the Sky. All four of them had come back with bleeding wounds and shards of marble in their hair, Shadow with a nick in his ear and Vaati with a new scar on his arm. Dark had smelled faintly of ozone, then, a scent that took a moment for her to place. And Link had been sporting ripped clothes with a long, thin line of red that slashed diagonally down the side of his neck- a testament to just how close he'd come to decapitation.
Yet, despite the life-blood slowly leaking from their bodies, they had survived. They had lived, and come out all the stronger for it. Battered and scarred, but alive.
Oh, yes. They are dangerous still, even more so now than ever before. This, Louise knows for sure.
But she also knows that beneath all that, they have good hearts and strong wills. They are still the wary three boys who slunk in one cold winter's night in search of free food and a warm fire to sit by. They are still the siblings who share a powerful bond not even time will break, even if they aren't all (technically) related. They are still her boys, and that, at least, will never change.
Not now, not ever.
