“I can’t tell if you two love each other or bloody hate each other.” Hwalín sheathed her blades, then angrily shook the dirty slush off her skin. The eventful little skirmish with an eldritch being had rattled her, much to her chagrin. Her wild spirit pushed her to take a gamble and jump in—only to be rewarded with an embarrassing defeat. And now she wasn't sure if it had even been worth it anymore. The elf felt more like the unwilling pawn of a game played between higher beings. It was an unpleasant feeling to say the least. “Pick one already!”
“Thanks for the save, Q,” said Alma, feeling rather awkward. The ex-soldier inched a bit closer to the eldritch woman’s backside, keeping her guard up while peeking carefully over the woman’s shoulder. She glanced back and forth between the two beings. “What is up with you two, exactly? I’m still not sure if I should feel like I’m in mortal danger or not.”
Derleth strode toward them, still slowly applauding. “Now then. I doubt she may have told you this,” he said, clearly about to pontificate to the two mortals, “But the woman you know as Qu’l-Nia is quite famous among our kind.”
“Derleth…” Qu’l-Nia groaned softly.
“She’s always been shockingly modest about it, but they did not address her as ‘Dancer’ simply without cause. The balletic movements she learned in life transcended beyond a simple three-dimensional concept, and to witness it is an existence unto itself. Of course, this made her quite the celebrity. Large assemblies often joined together in droves to watch her perform. To witness her flutter about the supernal. And up until my exile, I always made sure to have a front row seat. Ever since I’ve known her, she has always been quite the adept.”
“Aye, she might have given off some hints that she was into dancing and singing,” replied Hwalín.
“She mentioned… something about being called a dancer once.” Alma recalled a hazy memory from a fireside night not too long ago. “And the fact that you keep calling her Dancer—I guess I’m not completely surprised. It’s still weird to think how long you two have known each other. Like, you haven’t seen each other in what? Tens of Thousands of years? And you’re still over here sharing memories of stuff that seem like only yesterday. It’s hard to wrap one’s brain around.”
“Time is meaningless to us, I’m afraid. I suppose, in that, there’s no true rush,” stated Derleth. He glanced at both Alma and Hwalín with a knowing look. “So be it, Daughter of Man, Warrior of Hecatia. Let the Dancer regale you with her luminary exploits. When you are ready to speak once again, I shall be waiting.”
Derleth jumped high into the air. Alma tried to track him, but by the time she raised her head to look upward, he was already nowhere to be seen.
“You immortals are something else,” the Hecatian huffed. “Not really lovers, yet not exactly enemies. Definitely not friends. It’s all a blasted shit-heap.”
“It is a complicated existence,” agreed Qu’l-Nia. “We strive to stay one step ahead of the other. Akin to a complicated dance.”
Alma thought she had noticed a smirk crawl across the eldritch woman’s face. Rather than be put off by it, the sniper felt slightly endeared to her.
“But yes. When it comes to incomprehensibly long lifespans, it is easy to forget the fraction of things that came before it. My skills as a dancer come from my miniscule time as a mortal and it is the only thing that has remained imprinted on my quintessence. Even in my true form, those times are but sparse flashes of memory to me. The only thing I can really seem to recall is that a lot of my learned movements had come from a very archaic form of classical dance. I believe we called it ballet.”
“Wow. You’re really some kind of pro after all, huh?” asked Alma, in complete astonishment. “Seems like there’s way more to you than just unfathomable madness, Ms. Eldritch Terror. I can’t believe it. But nothing ever comes as a surprise when it comes to you. Say, maybe you can dance for us sometime?”
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“It is too broad in scope for you to be able to comprehend and appreciate fully, but it is nice of you to show an interest.” Qu’l-Nia smiled sweetly in what seemed like another genuine bout of emotion. “The request alone is enough to make me… happy.”
“But you know…” Alma analyzed the eldritch woman from head to toe. She always found it weird that—for an eldritch creature from beyond the universe—her mode of dress was so suggestively plain. “You aren’t really dressed for dancing. White shirt, white pants, white shoes. It’s like you were doing your damnedest to not stick out. Which I guess makes sense if you don’t want people knowing you’re a godlike being, but didn’t you say you sustain yourself by having people look at you, or whatever?”
“Ah, I can answer that,” Hwalín chimed in. “This probably won’t surprise you, but when I first found Nia, she was completely naked.”
“For Macha’s sake, I want to believe you’re joking, but I know you’re not.”
“Indeed, that is how I manifested into this world. Hwalín was the first childling not to simply give me the side-eye before walking away.”
“Well, I did do that first thing. But the woman needed help, what could I say? I ain’t heartless. Sides, I was a few Hecatian ales down and figured it might all just be one big hallucination. So I let her crash at my place while I got her some clothes. I wanna say I picked them out for that smart reason you gave, but actually it was just the cheapest stuff they had. But I picked white because the country’s HOT and she looked like she had never even heard of the sun.”
“You helped her out? Just like that? I seriously thought you’d have just left her in a bar somewhere.”
“Oy, what kind of elf do you take me for?” Hwalín crossed her arms judgingly. “Well, I might’ve thought about it. You know? As a joke.”
“I am glad you did not. Or neither of us would be on this increasingly epic adventure of ours.”
Hwalín nods, grinning, as she wraps her burly arms around both women’s shoulders. “Aye, I’m starting to get a kick out of these heartwarming moments of ours!”
“Q,” called Alma, grinning along with the elf as she squeezed her bicep in an effort to keep it from choking her. “You ever think of a change in wardrobe? Maybe something that screams ‘dancer’!”
“Aren’t you full of surprises, mate? Never took you for a fashionista with the equally plain rags you’ve got on.”
“They’re not plain,” stated the pouting Alma. “They’re tactical. The black jacket keeps me hidden at night and the white shirt helps me blend in with the snow. Come on, everyone knows camouflage is a sniper’s bread and butter. Wait. Shit. Heli’s influence strikes again.”
“I have never given it much thought, Alma,” replied Qu’l-Nia. “Before I came here, I had never had a need for clothing. At least, not since I shed my original mortal coil. I did not even remember the sensation of bodily modesty. I simply had my form and that was all.”
“You can’t just walk around in your true form, I’m guessing? Is it like super ginormous or something?”
“The physics of this universe cannot even support such an endeavor. As much as I would love to show you my limitless form, it is simply not possible. However, if you are suggesting a change in my appearance to more closely match my true self, then I suppose that might be something I could trial.”
“Cool! Maybe since you’re dancer-themed and all, you could wear some kind of fancy dress or something.”
“You even like to play dress-up,” Hwalín teased. “You have a girly side you been hiding or is this more of the witch’s influence?”
“What? Of course it is!” cried Alma, before mumbling under her breath, “And I definitely didn’t buy little dresses for my dolls up until I was ten years old…”
The eldritch woman had grown curious and wanted to ask the elf her opinion as well.
“Me? What do I think? Wear whatever suits you, Nia. I ain’t a real big judge of fashion. My fit’s pretty practical. “Hwalín raised her arms and put on a show of flexing her muscles. She was obviously quite proud of them. She crisscrossed her arms in front of her, clanging her vambraces together loudly. “Course I do like to show off the fruits of my training. Why else would I wear such revealing clothes?” The Hecatian stuck out her butt and flexed that as well, clapping a hand onto it. She looked at Alma. “It’s pretty tight, mate. You wanna cop a feel?”
“I… Maybe?” Alma reached her hand out, but reflexively pulled back. “N-No. I’ll take your word for it.”
“Are you sure, Alma? It is quite firm.” Qu’l-Nia was running her hand across Hwalín’s behind with an inquisitive expression across her face.
“Well… okay.”