Sheeva jerked awake from her nightmare with an estranged cry, feeling the stab of Zakaraia’s silver-crested bastard sword embedded in her chest. Huffs of air wheezed past her throat as she struggled against the roots binding her in place, and her brain screamed in its panic as she choked on stagnant air.
Her ability to breathe finally kicked in, and the first full breath was a godsend, and after gulping like a fish out of water, her body finally had the strength to push itself up as her stinging, teary eyes registered the wall next to her face. Numb fingers pawed at and felt the pressure of the pillow previously lumped beneath her neck, and she slowly realized what had driven her brain to mimic Zakaraia’s hand around her throat as he ran her through.
Exhausted, Sheeva rolled onto her side and looked the rest of her body over in the dim light. It was bound by twisted, white sheets that coiled around her legs. She coughed away the lump in her throat and sat up to weakly shuffle herself back to lay against the headboard, eyes threatening to close from interrupted sleep.
She felt her head loll to the side as her body quickly slipped towards sleep, feeling the weight in her bones and muscles, but as the nightmare flashed itself in her mind’s eye, Sheeva shivered and whimpered and forced her eyes open again. Desperately, she wriggled herself free of the sheets, wincing and hissing from the pain in her wounds and hoping she had not added another week of recovery time.
Her legs draped over the side of the bed as she sat on the edge of it, panting and still feeling the sting of exhaustion in her eyeballs. She rubbed them, her temples, and her face with her cold hands. The chill helped soothe her feverish face. The clock ticked above the door, but as she looked at it to decipher the time, she found she couldn’t see straight, stricken by blurry double-vision.
Wiping at the tiredness of her eyes, she pulled at the collar of her shirt and plucked buttons to air the sweat off her chest. Attempting to ground herself further, she looked around the room in the dim light shining in from the window. The ragora seemed to peer at her in alarm, mouth slightly agape with confusion as it sat in its place on the corner of Tazaro’s desk. It cooed and reached for her with its vibrant, purple leaves, but Sheeva didn’t notice.
When her eyes threatened to close yet again, she forced herself to stand and look out the window at the moons–more correctly, moon, as Kursu shone brightly amid the starry sky, brightening from the opposite side of the horizon as the sun began to rise. Celeste was nowhere to be seen, either freshly into or working its way out of its new moon phase. Still feeling feverish and clammy, she opened the window for fresh air. The crisp, summer night air wicked the excessive heat from her face. As Sheeva leaned to poke her head out, the ragora chittered in worry and pushed at her hand for pets. She jumped and gasped, chuckled at her nerves and easy startle, and with a shaking hand, obliged its request.
The waxy, smooth shell rippled beneath her fingertips, and as she etched her nails gently to clear away the cuticle buildup, “Burke” ruffled its leaves with glee at the scratchings between where, if it had eyes, Sheeva imagined they would be. The xylem and phloem, synonymous with the Sferran vascular system, charted nutrients, water, and by-products around the ragora’s body and pulsed as she rested her finger on it. A solid and steady beat showed the sign of a happy, healthy plant, compared to the weak, aberrant one it had been when Sheeva first began to tend to the poor thing.
Fighting to gulp past a dry throat, Sheeva grabbed her water pouch to drink, and as she tilted it back, she found it was dry. She wondered when she had finished it, closed it up, and plopped it down with an exasperated sigh next to the open book she was reading before falling asleep. She considered picking it up to read, but when she considered how groggy she was, decided it would only put her to sleep at this point.
With Tazaro’s permission, of course, the book she chose to read was another item she wanted to take back to the temple, feeling that Cassie would like to dive into the shocking idea of farm animals overthrowing their keeper and running the land on their own. She found herself hoping that it worked out for them, amused with the fact that they had even laid out rules to follow rather than entertaining blind anarchy.
She rubbed at her puffy, swollen, tired eyes while she headed toward the kitchen for water, somehow remembering to button her shirt back up. She had a difficult time with it, more confused at why the light was on in the kitchen and at such an ungodly hour of the morning.
Rounding the corner, Sheeva saw Tazaro, wearing only sweatpants and sitting on the counter, arms crossed and a frustrated look on his face as he stared down at a half-eaten stack of pancakes. He looked up at her, mildly embarrassed at his half-naked state as she walked in, but she didn’t seem to pay it any mind whatsoever, heading toward the sink for water.
A look of pity flashed across his face at her exhausted state; hair tousled, button-up shirt askew, appearing to have missed a button in the darkness, shorts barely visible underneath the long hem of the shirt. She looked more tired than she had been before dinner, and as she grabbed a glass that they left down for her on the counter and filled it, he looked away, thinking that his gaze had lingered for too long.
She chugged the first glass, shuddering at the feeling of cold water filling an empty belly, then filled the glass again. Needing distraction from the shadow of cold steel against her neck, Sheeva pressed her warm hand against the nape of her neck and glanced at Tazaro’s reflection in the window across from the sink. She wondered why he was up so late. Or, perhaps he was up early; she still was unsure of the time.
“It is…” She paused to look at the clock. Her vision was still too blurry to see it clearly, but it was about two or three. “Late.” She decided, turning around to face him.
“Have you not slept?” She asked, concerned. By the sunken puffiness of his eyes, he had not. Tazaro shook his head and forced another bite of pancakes.
“I tried. Couldn’t.”
“So...pancakes help with that?” She asked, blinking sluggishly. She reached for the slider on the switch panel connected to the lanterns on the wall and shifted it to dim the room, not wanting to put up with the piercing, blinding lights.
“Heh. Sure. Breakfast at midnight. Or, uh, four in the morning.” He shrugged lazily, a minor, tired smile curling in the corner of his lips. “Why not?” He asked.
"Oh. Four." She mumbled to herself. "I see."
Sheeva chugged half of the second glass of water and looked at the chairs and table nearby, her body desperately crying to sit and sleep, much as she didn’t want to. She forced herself to lean against the uncomfortable, unforgiving, rigid counter. At least if she were to fall asleep standing up, perhaps Tazaro could catch her in time before she collided with the floor.
“It is just surprising, that is all.” She muttered.
Tazaro took a deep breath and sighed with a discontented “hm.” Sheeva looked over at him. A frown stuck on his face as he pushed a bite around on the plate with the fork tongs, and he almost seemed to pout about something.
“Mom would make pancakes for me whenever I was feeling down. I tried to recreate them. They didn’t really turn out like I remember them tasting.”
He forced it in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, the disappointed look not changing in the slightest.
“Yeah. I definitely messed this up.”
Sheeva set her glass down and reached for the fork.
“May I?”
He let her, waiting nervously while she speared a bite and tasted it. She fought a face and swallowed the bite.
“That bad, huh?” He asked apologetically. She allowed the pucker face to break out and slowly nodded, taking a sip of water to wash away the harsh assault on her taste buds.
“They’re, uh, tart?” She answered. “Too much baking powder. Use less and try, uh, cream. It will counter the tartness and even it out. The fats in cream help keep the pancakes moist, too–If you don’t mind my advice.” She added quickly, realizing she overstepped by not asking if he wanted guidance in the first place. It was a rookie cooking mistake not worth a scolding. Tazaro shook his head, spirits lifted.
“No, not at all. Thank you. I’ll remember that for next time–maybe they’ll turn out better.” He hoped.
“If you like, lemon and blueberry go well together. Apples and cinnamon, too.” She offered with a smile, now craving a bite of decadent, buttery, fluffy pancakes. “I’m surprised you don’t already know her recipe, considering you helped her with cooking more often than not.”
He chuckled and cleared his throat.
"Mom never showed me how to make her pancakes–promised she would when I ‘grew up, got married, and gave her grandkids." He beamed, the smile turning bittersweet.
"Anyway, I’m sorry they're terrible. It was a lot of guesswork." He explained, motioning to the lineup of ingredients he used still piled on the counter. Sheeva scanned them. Sugar. Flour. Eggs. Baking powder. A simple recipe, but it seemed something was missing.
“Did you use bananas?” She asked.
“What?" He asked, baffled. "No. I don’t like bananas.”
Sheeva stared at him for a moment, confused and amused with the curl of disgust on his lips.
“Oh? No? You don’t?”
“No. The seeds are annoying, and it leaves this–blech–a gritty, slimy film on your teeth. Bananas are gross!” He frowned in extreme distaste.
Sheeva chuckled and hid her smile, feeling her eyes lift.
“That is funny; Mildred used bananas–she probably had been the whole time.”
Tazaro looked over at her, somewhat hurt at the indignance, choosing to ignore the fact that his mom would use nasty-ass bananas.
“What, she told you how to make them?” He asked, mildly jealous. She shook her head.
“Not exactly. A, uh, little bird told me. After the first time Mildred made them for me, I, uh, had to know.”
“Ah. Do you think Mom knew you were spying on her?"
Sheeva's mischievous grin broke on her face, and she snorted as she turned her head away to gain her composure.
"Feh! Oh, she knew. She had to! You really couldn't get anything past her." She chuckled. Tazaro smirked and nodded in agreement.
“With as much bullshit as I tried to get away with as a teenager, you’re right about that.”
As Sheeva’s vision cleared and the sun began to peek up over the horizon, she looked at the clock again. It was closer to four than she had thought. She rubbed at her eyes again, still trying to shake the desperate need for sleep, and covered her mouth as she yawned. Tazaro watched her step toward the window and open the shutters, spilling the morning sun across the floor. He let out a gravelly sigh, annoyed with the lack of sleep he had gotten.
“What are you doing awake, anyway? You look rough.” He asked, feeling more remorseful when her passive calm turned sour.
“Nightmare. I do not want to go back to sleep for the moment. One of those where...”
Her hand touched her neck lightly as she swallowed again, feeling a knot form in her throat, and turned back to look out the window.
"Nevermind. It's not important. It is just a dream." She deflected.
Tazaro set his pancakes down, uninterested in finishing them as he took a deep breath; he’d woken from a nightmare, too, about three hours into finally getting to sleep, and he could probably empathize.
“One where you’re trapped in sleep? Think you’ve woken up, but really, you’re still asleep?” He finished her sentence, wondering if he wasn’t the only one. It would be an incredibly comforting fact if he wasn’t the only person rueing any kind of sleep lately.
Sheeva’s eyes widened, and she looked back at him, worried. Her nightmares had never been that vivid, but the prospect was chilling.
“What do you mean?” She asked timidly. Tazaro frowned. Maybe he was the only one.
“It’s hard to describe. You are lucid enough to know you’re dreaming–at least, you think so. You can see your room or objects in your room, but you can't grab anything. You can't breathe, and when you feel the weight of your blanket, you become certain it's what's suffocating you. After moving around a bit, you think you’re awake. You can even get up and walk around. Then, suddenly, poof! You’re back in the same position you were and realize you’re still suffocating.”
Sheeva slowly shook her head and wrapped her arms around her middle as well as she could for comfort.
“No, nothing like that.”
Tazaro cleared his throat, self-conscious and disturbingly vulnerable. He leaned back a little and averted his eyes to the design on the lampshade in the ceiling as if the little brown mushrooms would harbor some consolations.
“Just me, then? Good to know. Don’t mind me; I'm just going nuts, apparently.” He grumbled to himself.
Sheeva stared at him sadly for a moment, empathizing with his discomfort even though she had never experienced a nightmare like that. She found herself wondering what she would do if she couldn’t wake up. Would she scream for help? Would her voice even carry in real life if she was asleep? She shivered again and scratched at her neck behind her ear.
"I'm sorry, Tazaro. That is something...quite terrifying." She offered, unsure if it was a decent response. "And, they are all this way?"
Tazaro pushed himself off the counter and stood by the window next to her.
“Thankfully, no. I’ve been stuck watching Mom die. Over and over again.” He admitted, remembering Micah’s suggestion that he actually talk about it. "It's sad that those ones are more preferable." He added in honesty.
Sheeva pursed her lips together, feeling a flash of guilt. She nodded from personal experience.
“I was the same way after Rose.”
He raised his eyes to look at hers, finding the slightly beveled pupils a little more noticeable in the gleam of the morning sun. The red mixed with yellow sun rays caused a fiery glimmer he found pacifying, and his apprehension subsided. Suddenly, knowing that even ass-kicking warrior-girls suffered nightmares of their deceased mothers made him not feel so alone, and it dawned on him that she might know exactly what he was going through.
“What was yours about?” He asked, wanting to console her as he knew he would appreciate, if in her situation, and simultaneously wondering if she still had nightmares about Rose’s death. If she were to say yes, he feared he would still be plagued with replays years from now.
She scowled and began to twirl a lock of hair in her fingers to fidget, a habit she picked up in place of crossing her arms. Her hair shimmered with an almost indigo tint to it.
“Zakaraia.” A frightened frown stuck on her face, and she shifted around uncomfortably.
“I have never been arrogant in my skill nor flaunted my ability unnecessarily. Yes, I can hold myself against the general populace. But Zakaraia? He is on a different plane, and that is…" She paused, unwilling to put her feelings into words. "Terrifying." She forced, her voice quavering and small. It held no volume, and in her disgust with her timidness, anger took hold.
“You have to understand that I-I gave it my all. Everything I could. Even at the risk of death, because I–” She blurted, looking at him with tears in her eyes and a pleading look on her face. Feeling sheepish, she dropped it to his chest, but her self-disgust festered. “Part of me didn’t want to face the consequences of my failure. Part of me wanted to give you and Mildred a chance to survive.”
“You know that, don’t you?” She whispered in desperate agony, eyes darting to and fro as she looked back and forth at his, searching for truth. Her heart ached as it threatened to drive her back into her self-destructive, comfortable zone of despair, and she winced at it, dropping her gaze again. “Please know that.” She whispered.
How could she look at someone that placed her on such an undeserving pedestal?
“You and Micah believe I am capable of great things, but I-I’m not. All I have found of myself is absolute selfishness.” She admitted with a furious expression on her face, struggling not to give in to her mind’s willingness to crawl back into its self-realized niche. She'd come so far, and to take a step back now would only accelerate her regression.
Tazaro’s eyes flashed reproachfully, and his eyebrows furrowed, instantly irate. He wasn’t about to mention her statement about not wanting to face her failure, coming to terms recently with the fact that he had wished he was the one who died and not his mother.
“For fuck’s sake, you really don’t give yourself enough credit, do you?” He growled. She looked up in shock, and he pressed his hands to her cheeks.
“Of course, I know, and you're far from selfish. You-you–” He caught himself, realizing how harshly he still spoke. “You’re amazing, you know.” He assured softly, with an incredible tenderness that Sheeva latched onto, even in her frustrated state. She let her head rest in his strong hands, eyes closing with her tired, defeated sigh.
How foolish she’d been to allow him to get this close, as her chest began to ache with emotional pain and her stomach fluttered, and surely, her cheeks reddened in his palms. He gave a soft chuckle and an embarrassed smile as he moved a lock of hair out of her face to tuck it behind her ear. Stupefied, Sheeva could only stare before he pulled her into a loose hug, adding to her dumbed confusion.
“I know you gave it all you had, Sheeva.” He murmured, urging her to rest her head on his shoulder. “I dressed your wounds, and I carried you back here.” He began, tracing his fingers over the splint on her wing. “You are capable of great things, regardless of whether you’re comparing yourself to a, uh, crazy psycho or not. I mean, you’re alive, despite everything. You have wings and can fly. You can do fucking magic. That’s pretty great, isn’t it?”
“Better than that–and though you try to hide it–you genuinely care about people. You inspire people, and they care about you, too. That’s something, isn’t it? Besides, I’m sure that with all that you’ve done, for every person who thinks that you suck, there’s another person whose world you…rock.”
When Sheeva buried her scrunched, mournful face against his chest and looped her arm around the middle of his back, Tazaro settled into the hug, resting one hand awkwardly on her hip and the other on the back of her head. He felt the heat of her face on his skin, and after she didn’t immediately push him away, he relaxed even more.
She dropped her head, began to tremble, and took a shaky deep breath to try to calm herself. As the vividness of the nightmare she woke from returned to her, she pushed herself further into his space.
In wanting to hold her tighter, his hand slipped underneath her wing and between her shoulder blades to press Sheeva intently against his chest. The other wrapped around her waist and gripped it gently. He felt her tense and almost let go, but as she clung tighter, he felt her body relax and sink against him. It helped him to let go of his own tense breath and further succumb to the embrace.
“You are enough, so...stop trying to take on the world.”
She wrapped her uninjured arm around his torso and onto his shoulder and squeezed as though for dear life, and it somehow made his heart leap into his throat as he felt the powerful, slender fingers pressed into his back. It wasn’t until he felt wetness on his chest that he realized she began to weep, shaking while trying not to cry.
He glanced down, then stroked her hair as he rested his chin on the top of her head.
“Let it out, Sheeva. You’ll feel better. I got you.” He encouraged her. A dam of emotion broke, and he held her delicately as she leaned against him for support.
“I am so sorry. You deserved better. To not have known me at all. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.” Sheeva pleaded desperately amid sobs.
Tazaro waited it out as he thought of a meaningful answer, thankful that Vincent was not home tonight. He did not want him walking in on this bare, painful moment.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Sheeva. If anything, I think you need to forgive yourself. I don’t blame you for Mom’s death. I know you can hold your own. This guy...this guy might be a, uh, Sferran-Ta’hal like you. Maybe he had more training somewhere or something. Maybe he’s some crazy fucking demigod. Regardless, you didn’t kill my mother. He did. We can’t forget that. I’m not going to, at least.” He began when she had calmed down. He tried not to think about how awkwardly he was covered in sweat; she was like a furnace against him. One hand moved to massage her back gently.
“I’m-I am grateful to have known you at all.” He murmured, smiling softly.
He felt her nose dip against his skin as she nodded against his chest, apparently taking comfort in their closeness. How her eyelashes, despite being wet, brushed against his skin, and her reddened cheeks heated against his shoulder as she rested her head against it. How she sighed and hummed contentedly, almost as though swooning over his caress.
“Thank you.” She whispered. Her hushed voice tickled his chest and tingled in his ears and made his entire being swell with joy, glad to be the one she opened up to and allowed to witness her breakdown and hopefully shed a little light on her gloomy, must-bear-the-shame-of-the-world view in return. He pressed his cheek on the top of her head and held her a little tighter to himself.
“You’re welcome, Sheeva."
Sheeva basked in his warmth, losing herself in his embrace as she sighed deeply, allowing his words to etch themselves into her muddled, foggy brain. She gave a small chuckle and soaked in as much of the serenity she felt as possible, pressed herself further into his form, thankful that he had not pushed her away, but rather, solidified his hug. The small peck he placed on the top of her head made her heart flip in her chest, but, determined to play it off as nothing, Sheeva began to voice her gratitude.
"I appreciate your hospitality and for allowing me to mourn, and,” Sheeva paused, trying to collect her thoughts. “For your adamance regarding my innocence and forgiveness of myself." Her voice was incredibly docile, full of peace and sincerity, and almost happiness. Tazaro didn't look down at her but still felt her cheek pressed against his shoulder. "I want to work on that. I owe it to myself, I believe."
Tazaro felt a wave of relief wash over him, and he smiled.
"Good. I'm glad. You deserve that. Everyone does." He whispered, running his fingers along the outside of the bit of wing that poked out from her shirt while contemplating going through with giving her a tender kiss, as he almost had when he’d first held her face in his hands.
However, as he played with the vane of a feather, it pulled out of its spot. His face paled, and his breath caught as he stared at it in horror.
“Shit! Fuck! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that! It just fell out–I didn’t even pull on it that hard, I swear!” He babbled, voice an octave higher in his panicked alarm. She laughed and pulled away, wiping at her eyes with her hand, then dried off Tazaro’s chest with the sleeve of her shirt. He didn’t look at her, still mortified at the feather in his hand.
Way to fucking go, you imbecile! He thought to himself, turning the mood-shattering thing over in his hand.
“It is alright. It did not hurt. Because it fell out so easily, it is expected–part of the molting process.” She explained, waving the matter off and taking a step back.
“Molting?” He asked, finally looking at her. Whatever molting was, it sounded disturbing.
“Mm-hmm. Feathers are like scales. Reptiles shed. Bugs shed. Birds shed. It’s all the same.” She explained. She stepped back to the sink, grabbed her half-finished glass of water, downed it, filled it again, and headed for the hallway.
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She halted and looked back at him in the doorway, taking an interest in the way the morning sun illuminated natural spots of light hair amid his chestnut brown locks as they framed his face. She scoffed at herself and shook her head.
“Keep it if you want. Just don’t use it as a quill; my feathers are not pretty enough.” She paused, thinking about something. “And, don’t powder and snort it or eat it, either.” She chuckled and walked away, muttering something about “inbred backwoods bastards.”
Tazaro chuckled at Sheeva’s insult and smiled, noting how much better he felt. He turned the feather over in his fingers, admiring the sheen it reflected. Blinking with a thought, Tazaro made a sour face as he realized that he, too, would eventually molt and scrunched his nose at the idea of feathers all over the place. He huffed and snorted; between the two of them, perhaps they would shed enough to make a decent set of pillows.
He bared his own wings, gritting his teeth at the sting, still getting used to the stretch and pull as they slid out of his shoulders, and angled it to examine the thing. The pattern of feathers was much more noticeable now as they grew into place, beginning to hide the unappealing, leathery, pinkish-grey skin that reminded him of a naked cat.
Tazaro pulled out a chair from the dining table, turned it around, and sat, laying his head on the polished oakwood slab as he basked in the morning sun, the warmth lulling him back into a much-needed snooze.
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After spending a couple of days perfecting the cast of the illumination spell Sheeva taught him, Tazaro sat at his desk as he tested different ways to manipulate the light. So far, he could shrink and dim it or enlarge and brighten it by simply opening and closing his fist and bringing his hand close to the center of his body or moving it away. With the shutters closed and further covered with a sheet, Sheeva and Tazaro felt confident that outsiders would be unable to see weird, flashing lights from Tazaro’s bedroom window, allowing him to test out as many different things as he wanted to. Try as he might, Tazaro could not force the light through the wall or solid objects but could materialize the light inside an empty space, such as a lantern or a drawer, highly amused and eagerly beginning to plan ways he could prank someone.
However, his entertainment was cut short each time as he realized the number of people he could prank and later confide in was incredibly small, limited to Vincent, Micah, and Tyler, leading Tazaro to the decision that his newfound talents were best kept as secret as possible.
Sheeva occupied herself with the book she had started a week ago. Roughly halfway through, she felt disappointed at the turn of events and deceptions and betrayals between the two main characters, and if any of her favorites were to die, Sheeva told herself she would put the book down for good. It was a moot point since she was already well invested in the story and needed to see it through to its end, however bitter it might be.
Tazaro maneuvered the ball of light to rest in a beaker he’d been drinking water from, dimmed it, then brightened it, wondering if it would meet the limitations of the glass. Slowly opening his hand, he found that it did indeed swell to fill the container.
He felt her eyes on him, and in nerves, a burst of energy shot through to the ball of light. The container burst, spilling water all over his desk and into his lap. Too late, he groaned and shoved himself back, the wheels he attached to the legs of the chair squeaking as they did. They needed to be oiled again.
He grabbed a nearby towel and dabbed at his soaked pants, flashing her a sheepish warning frown as she giggled at his unintended antics.
Putting her book aside, Sheeva formed some loopy sigils, then one that looked like a flame, and waved her hand. The water on the table dissipated into steam, leaving the table perfectly dry, and as she tapped him, he felt the fabric of his pants and the towel he used become instantly dry and weightless.
“Now that one, I really want to know!” He commented, checking to see for sure if he was actually dry or if it was simply his imagination. If he could use it on himself, there would be no need for towels ever again!
“Perhaps when you get better with controlling your energies. Manipulating water is pretty difficult, though I will say you’ve done remarkably well. Bringing water to a new plane of existence? So few in training learn so much, so soon!” She teased with a hissing snicker at her own joke. He gave her a skeptical look, though his lip still curled, amused and impressed with her jab.
“Ha, ha.” He deadpanned, draping the now dry towel over the foot of his bed.
“Manipulating water is difficult, huh? As opposed to, what, making lights appear out of thin air?” He questioned. “Because–honestly–that one makes no sense, considering all the physics I’ve had to endure.”
Sheeva shrugged, taking “physics” to be some more of the crazy math she found in a textbook of his that she had opened out of curiosity. She’d closed it almost immediately, highly intimidated and perplexed, because why the hell would someone integrate the alphabet, and worse, symbols, with something that was already hard to do?
“I do not know everything, Tazaro, but it seems more difficult to work with water because of everything that can be done to water. You can freeze it into ice, you can melt it into a liquid, and you can boil it into steam.” She answered, demonstrating with her flask of water. She trailed a multiple-pointed sigil in the air and touched the water with the tip of her finger, and it froze solid in seconds, crackling and crisping as the familiar fogginess of ice crept down the side of the glass.
Just the tiny presentation drained her, and she supported herself on the dresser as she pushed herself back to lean against the mountain of pillows once more, settling into the fluffy things with an exhausted pshew!
“Oh. That took a lot out of you. Are you alright?” He voiced, concerned. She shrugged and waved it off, but he noticed her slow blinking and the flush of exertion on her face. With his beaker shattered and her glass of water frozen, Tazaro searched for her water pouch and handed it to her.
She chugged deeply, relieved at the feeling of cool water.
Musing on her sapped state, Tazaro frowned, fully realizing the stark difference between playing with light and playing with water. Sure, when he started practicing the illumination spell, it left him woozy or dizzy, but only if he had not eaten well or was dehydrated. Considering Sheeva likely had much more practice, had actually eaten well today, and had drunk plenty of water beforehand, he worried that this type of manipulation spell would probably leave him out-of-sorts for a while longer than ten seconds of dizziness.
“Do you have any fire spells that I could learn? I don’t know if I am ready for anything water-related.” He asked, unsure of himself.
The surprised look on her face took him for a turn.
“Oh? You do not believe so? I think you might be. Though I was teasing you, I, ah, was serious when I said you’d been doing remarkably well.”
His blush splayed on his cheeks in an instant, and he grinned broadly, beaming from ear to ear.
“Did I...say something funny?”
“I’m fine! Great! Heh, uh, you know what they say–pay a man a compliment, and he’ll remember it for the rest of his life!” Tazaro sputtered, turning towards his desk to look for a reasonable excuse for a subject change.
Sheeva hummed to herself thoughtfully, intrigued at the new phrase. Of all the “-isms” she had heard in her travels, this was a new one, but it seemed there was something sad about it.
Tazaro heard her give a disapproving hum and nibbled at his lip.
“Anyway, I’m more comfortable with something fire-related because I know I’ve already done it before if that makes sense.” He briefly heard her hum in agreement before continuing on. “I want to start with what I know before moving on, you know?” He explained.
Sheeva nodded, accepting his request.
“If that is what you want to do, we can work on fire breathing next week, though it might be something that needs to wait until we reach the temple. The last thing we need to add to Vincent’s plate is a burned-down home.” She agreed.
He nodded, grateful for her willingness to go along with the simple request.
“So, is it ever possible for a spell to, uh, kill you–like, if you used too much energy or something?” He asked, now even more concerned and wary, though he trusted she would not teach him any life-threatening spells unless they were in an emergency situation, and even then, she probably still wouldn’t. Sheeva thought for a moment, a dour, eerie aura looming about her.
“I’m sure there are. Dr. Marx might know more about that. I’d be willing to bet that most spells like that are forbidden and with obvious reason.” She admitted, squinting her eyes at the thought of a healing spell powerful enough to bring back the dead that would leave its caster as a pile of decaying rubble.
“What were you trying to do?” Sheeva asked, eager to change the subject.
Tazaro cleared his throat and straightened up to lean back in his chair, unaware of how tensely he awaited her response.
“Just playing around with the light. It seems you can change the brightness. Here. Let me show you.” He offered. With an amused grin, he scooted to the switch by his door, turned off the gas supply to the lantern, and rolled back over to her, an action that Sheeva huffed at since Ivan Marx enjoyed wheeling around on a spinning chair, as well. Tazaro focused, and with a wave of his hand, a new ball of light rose from his palm to illuminate their faces.
He closed his fingers together, and the ball shrunk, then became large as he opened them like he discovered. As he pushed his hand away from the center of his chest, the light brightened until it was almost blinding. Reigning it back, the light dimmed as he brought his hand close toward his chest.
“See? Isn’t that neat? I think it’s fun.” He asked, an excited grin on his face. She smirked at his childish fascination, even though she held the same curiosity.
Tazaro had thought of something she had never considered, and if she were honest, it embarrassed her. She began to wonder how many times she could have prevented blinding herself in the darkness with a misplaced spawn point that happened to be directly in front of her face.
“Yeah. It is.” She answered shortly, biting back the screwy, self-conscious smile that threatened her face. She found herself studying his face in the dim light, inspired by the unabashed joy on it. His citrine eyes glimmered with passion, eyes curved in a smile, no longer plagued by puffiness and a tired gaze. She felt her own eyes curl in turn, satisfied to note he found some level of peace, enough to sleep decently over the last week.
“Hm. I wonder…” Tazaro’s eyebrows furrowed in thought, and Sheeva watched the hue of light on his cheeks turn from white to red. Surprised, she looked down at the floating light, now glowing a bright, gentle red.
“How did you do that?” She asked. He directed the light to rest in the lantern that hung from the ceiling, and it splashed a gentle, rose-colored hue along the less-blank white walls. Tazaro had taken it upon himself to pin up more of his sketches and accomplishments over the last week, to which Sheeva enjoyed. Though she knew it wasn’t exclusive and that she repeatedly reminded herself that her feelings were likely some silly, delusional fantasy, she felt as though she were privy to a side of him that no one else had the benefit of seeing.
“Watch. Twist your hand like this.” He said, turning his hand like he was turning a dial. The ball of light flicked to orange, faded through to yellow, then filled with green and darkened to blue as he continued to turn. He sat back in his chair, mesmerized with how the light reflected off the mirror and filled the room with a warm, purple hue.
“It’s so freaking cool.” He muttered.
Sheeva waved her hand, casting a ball of light of her own. Testing out what he showed her, she found herself able to change the color as well. She almost squealed with excitement–how long it had been since she’d discovered something new! She directed it to sit beside Tazaro’s light and turned her hand until the shade was a serene shade of goldenrod. She gave a rare chuckle at herself and took a deep breath, enjoying the calm that washed over her.
Doubting her ability to say what she wanted to loudly enough, she leaned forward and rested her arms on her knees. She fixed her gaze on the floor and braced herself.
“You are a clever man, Tazaro. Thank you. Ah, I am sorry if I am out of place.” She murmured, trying to still her heartbeat as her worrisome thoughts began to race. Would he accept her compliment? Would it estrange them even further?
He seemed to avoid her whenever they occupied the kitchen simultaneously. It sent her into an overthinking mess, unable to determine whether or not she was rude, considering she did not ask to invade his space like she should have. In my defense, she consoled herself, I was pretty distraught, but he also did not push me away.
Tazaro swiveled around in his chair to look at her and leaned an arm on the bed, heavily confused. Her mouth was pressed in an adorable pout, and she brought her knees up toward her chest to hold them with her cast arm while twirling her hair in nerves with the other. He could not imagine the temple having anything to do with a reluctance to dish out compliments, even if unasked for or possibly unwarranted. Still, he had learned stranger things within the last couple of weeks.
“No, thank you. What would you possibly be out of place for?” He asked, hoping she would clarify.
Sheeva, feeling a spot of embarrassment upon realizing that he hadn’t even considered her compliments offensive or unwarranted, paused to collect herself. With a clearing breath and her bout of courage, she gathered the words to the tip of her tongue before she could swallow them back.
“Hm. Complimenting you in that way. It is not something I am used to. I was not sure if it would be unwelcome, or...” She paused to find a better way to explain. “Rude.” She decided.
He gave a soft chuckle.
“You’re silly sometimes, you know that? Sheeva,” He braced himself. “Friends compliment each other all the time.” He assured her. She stopped and let go of the lock of hair mingled between her fingers. It fell around the side of her face as pink tinted her cheeks, and he thought he saw the flash of surprise shadow her face before the corner of her mouth curled in a warm, gentle, out-of-character smile.
His heart jumped into his throat, and he immediately smiled back, put at ease to witness the sensitivity behind the stoic front she fought to keep up.
“Friends, huh?” She asked, giddy.
“Uh, well, yeah? I mean, we-we are friends, right?” He answered. Fidgeting to alleviate the awkwardness he was beginning to feel, he focused on the purple ball of light and began to trace patterns with his finger, amused when the light bounced back and forth with the directions he outlined in the air.
It wasn’t so much the fact that he considered her as a friend that had Sheeva on guard, but the reminder it gave toward the awkward conversation Sheeva had shared with Vincent following Tazaro’s winging three weeks ago. Eager to push her boundaries as he had suggested, Sheeva rationalized that, after everything that had happened, she and Tazaro could have ended up spiteful enemies instead of amicable friends.
“Hm. I suppose I could add you to my list.” She stated.
“Awesome. Am I the first one on that list?” Tazaro shot back with a joke, then shut his mouth, bracing for the biting retort.
Silence followed, and he turned his head to look at her. He must have struck a nerve; she was back in her fierce, stern, cold stare.
“Sorry, I was just teasing you. That was automatic.”
With the way she blinked and looked at him in confusion, Tazaro wondered if perhaps she had been reminded about something else, entirely.
“What? No, it is fine. I was…” She sighed deeply and pursed her lips with an annoyed expression as she chose her next words. “I am still getting used to, ah, showing this side of myself. Being this, ah, vulnerable.” She mused.
Still, she huffed at her hesitance, finding more and more that she was oddly confident in baring pieces of herself she’d kept hidden for years. It was something she’d realized in the middle of a sleepless night that left her feeling unnaturally cheerful, overwhelmingly grateful, and, when she managed to accept such a thing, pleased with herself and her growth.
Tazaro hummed in relation, all too familiar with the nerves she was likely experiencing. Every teasing jab he directed toward her seemed to make him put himself on thin ice, and every moment of silence after showing her something he was passionate about made his gut twist and turn in anticipation. Upon a deep moment of introspection on a sleepless night, he understood that Kirin had impacted him much more than he realized.
However, with how crestfallen or angry Sheeva seemed to get over something about herself, he had an inkling that personal experience took a major role in things.
“I–” He began, then hesitated, and when she looked at him expectantly, Tazaro found a spot of courage. “I know you told me about the Iphsium den, but are there other instances where you were…” He trailed off in thought of an accurate word. “Uh, judged?”
Her face fell, and she dropped her head, ashamed.
“There was a family I was staying with for a short time while recovering from a sprained ankle. I had a nasty brush with a Snow Sahagin along the northwest tundra.”
Her lip curled into a disgusted sneer, and Tazaro wondered what for but held his tongue, not wanting to receive another side-glance for interrupting.
“Their child, Johannes, had climbed himself into a tree and was terrified of climbing down, as, well, children seem to do.” She chuckled softly, recalling a moment where she had been stuck up in a tree and Rose had to rescue her.
“Anyway, this was when I was still naive and thought that people on the outside world would accept my winged state, as the people in Malfa Temple had. Johannes slipped and began to fall, so I bared my wings, flew up, and caught him. At the time, I didn’t care what the others thought. I only cared for Johannes’s safety. When it became apparent that I was not appreciated, I cast a befuddling spell on his parents and fled.” She explained, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them.
Tazaro sighed. He wished there was something that he could say. To be honest, if he and Sheeva hadn’t already been cordial or if he hadn’t been harboring a crush, Tazaro thought he might have been scared out of his wits, too, if she’d suddenly grown a giant pair of wings and taken flight.
“I have...had to accept that it is–ah, no…was,” She corrected herself, intent on remembering her important, late-night realizations. “Was impossible for someone to accept me as I am. Though people often don’t see my ta’hal side, I am still Cruinian, and it seems that even that is cause for prejudice. I feel that most people do not understand that I can be just as good as any other, and...well, I am Sferran, too.” She answered. It was her turn to fidget with her ball of light. Her red eyes held sadness in them, and he found himself frowning.
“Impossible, huh? You’re a very black-and-white person, aren’t you?”
She did not like the rabbit hole of thought the statement sent her down and struggled to crawl out of it before falling too deeply into it.
“I wish I could say it is not fair, but there are many things in life that are not fair, nor can I demand them to be.” She announced with a resigned sigh and tut of disapproval.
He remained silent for a few moments, angered on her behalf.
“But you’re right; it’s not fair!” He argued, finally finding his voice.
She scoffed away her speck of appreciation, knowing that there was a bigger matter at hand.
“What I determine as right or wrong and fair or unfair for myself may be different to another. Who am I to be selfish and force my opinions on others?” She countered.
“So, you’re just going to let yourself be looked down upon like that?” He countered, frustrated.
Sheeva grunted, and scowled at the thought. She’d already been looked down upon enough, and wasn’t about to take any more.
“To hell with that!” She snarled. “No. Others will think what they think. I don’t need to appease anyone.”
Inspired but wanting clarification, Tazaro cleared his throat, stood, sat next to her on the bed, then leaned back against the wall.
“I’m impressed. You’re not worried about what other people think?” He asked, amazed.
Sheeva froze slightly, realizing that, yes, she was still concerned with what some people thought–namely, the few friends she had made, and definitely, the man now sitting quite close. She gave a soft “feh!” at her nerves to ease the butterflies riled up in her stomach.
“...No.” She stated as evenly as she could. “Nothing to worry about if you don’t let it get to you. Sure, I hide my Ta’hal side and sometimes my Cruinian side, but only out of necessity. Better to hide than be run out of every town I come to and labeled as a monster.”
Tazaro’s head rested against the wall as he mulled her statement over. He noticed that she hadn’t personally labeled herself as a monster again, and it made him relieved.
“Hm. So is that why you play the good samaritan?” He asked with a mildly teasing grin. “Make a better name for Cruinians?”
“I do not play–She began quickly, defensive and self-conscious.
–Yeah, no, Sheeva, you kind of do.” He cut off, shaking his head at her.
Sheeva silenced as she thought about it in earnest, then smiled softly to herself. When she considered the children, the painter, and even her willingness to fight to the death for Tazaro and his mother, she realized she had turned into something of a “good samaritan.”
“Feh!” She huffed mockingly. “I, I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am!” He replied with a cocky grin that flashed on his face in an instant.
He glanced back at his light, finding it had faded without a sufficient focus, and directed a burst of energy to it. It was an odd feeling of tingling warmth flowing from his chest and down his arm, and finally, into his fingers, as though the ball were a yarn spool and he was the feed of thread.
Like a game of bocce ball, Tazaro bid his light to knock hers around the room to break her out of her thoughts. He chuckled at the well of cheer budding in his chest. She gave a huff of air at the childishness of it all, secretly amused with the way the lights bounced off themselves, the wall, ceiling, and furniture. When their lights collided with the dresser and caused the mirror sitting on top to wobble, they dismissed their spells immediately in caution, leaving them both shrouded in pure darkness.
“We should, um, be more careful.” She insisted as though to quell her sense of fun. Tazaro gave an eye roll, thankful they were still in darkness.
“Yeah. You were having fun, though. I saw that smile on your face.” He teased, reaching for the still frozen glass in the darkness, eager to use it to cool his blushing cheeks. He found it by the dim light that shined in through the cracks in the doorframe and beyond the blanket.
“You saw nothing.” She replied, a softened undertone hiding behind her snip.
Sheeva cast her light first, then dimmed it and bid it to hover over her head. He summoned his light, too, finding it was a little more complicated, beginning to feel the tire of it weigh on his body as it sapped from a wider area of his torso.
“You know, other than the stick up your ass, you’re pretty cool,” Tazaro announced. He grinned as he heard her chuckle, greatly surprised when she shoved him playfully with her foot.
“I do not have a stick up my ass, boy.” She grunted. “I like to think I use it to beat people up.” She corrected with a small laugh. His astonished, amused-with-the-image laughter rumbled from his chest, and it felt good. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wanting to hold onto his joy for a later time when he needed it.
Calmed, he looked for his light. It disappeared, no longer having the focus of its owner. Hers was still shining brightly, and he watched as it faded in and out of a color cycle while she circled her finger. He recast his and launched it up at the ceiling, watching it bounce softly like a ball dropped on the floor. He held his breath as it narrowly missed the glass lampshade, then sighed as it rolled toward the mirror set up on his dresser.
Movement beside him snared his attention, and he turned to look at her. Tazaro watched Sheeva shift to sit on her heels, then blinked as a warm, soft hand took his and squeezed. It made the butterflies in his stomach go haywire as his heart kicked into overdrive, especially with the serene, natural smile that spread into her rosy cheeks.
Curious, he glanced at their reflection in the mirror, wondering if such a thing was really happening or if he had fallen asleep and this was some vivid, tangible dream. It was not, and his orb of light made a fizzling sound followed by a small “pop” as it lost the energy feed from its caster.
“Thank you,” Sheeva whispered, eyes soft and captivating as she gazed back at him. Tazaro’s skin flared with thrill as he watched her peaceful rubies glance towards his lips before she looked away, the tiny curl of her smile tucked in the corner of her mouth.
“Any time, Sheeva.” He murmured, much more excited as he witnessed the unabashed joy in her beaming smile as he squeezed her hand in return and inched closer. He picked up on how sensitive his lips were by the vibration of his earnest words, and a ripple of goosebumps broke onto his arms as she shifted closer, too, eyes gently shut and lips mere inches from his. His heart swelled as he caressed the back of her knuckles with his thumb.
A knock sounded on the door that caused both of them to jump, gasping in surprise, then pull away, Sheeva swearing with a “damn it!” and Tazaro letting out a groan of frustration. As Sheeva’s fluttering heart regulated itself again, she directed a furious glare at whoever was behind the door.
Vincent’s voice sounded from behind it.
“Hey, just wanted to let you know, people outside can see your little, uh, light show, or whatever?”
The confusion shadowed their annoyance, and both heads turned to look at the window. The sheet that they had covered the thing with had fallen, a couple of tacks still holding strong as they fastened the fabric to the ledge. Tazaro had to admit, he was surprised, considering how many tacks he had used.
Sheeva, however, dropped her gaze to look as she saw the sheet shake in no wind, and glared at the ragora, caught red-handed with a corner of the sheet in its mouth. The damn cabbage had snatched the sheet and yanked it free and was currently nomming on the thing like it was a delicious steak.
She pointed her finger at it and threatened to “chop it up and cook it in a stew,” ignoring Tazaro’s blatant protest and blocking her advance towards it with a hand. Even though the “sentient cabbage” had no eyes, Tazaro swore it gave them a cheeky grin before sticking out a long purple, thorny tongue.
Vincent finally entered, amused, having heard Sheeva’s interesting threat of cooking the ragora into a stew.
“How will you manage that?” He asked with a smirk.
“I think julienned and sauteed with some red onion and sausage will do nicely,” Sheeva grumbled. Though she glanced at Tazaro, she felt her face redden as she caught him glancing back before he, too, looked away in sheepishness. She shuffled towards the head of the bed and pulled herself under the covers.
“Goodnight; I’m going to bed!” She announced, turning her back on them, despite what had to be an uncomfortable position.
“Yeah, me too,” Tazaro announced, too quickly to pass it off as casual.
He stepped past Vincent as calmly as he possibly could, not wanting to snare the man’s outrageously high perception, though as he felt eyes follow him, he knew it was pointless to hide. Vincent’s gaze followed, as did the snickers that trailed down the hallway as Vincent paused to shut the door, then pursued. Still attempting to continue the “I’m fine” facade, Tazaro reached for the throw blanket on the back of the couch. With an irritated huff, he plopped down onto it with his back to the room before Vincent had the chance to ask questions.
Still, ask questions Vincent did, and of course, it began with an accusatory: “What were you two doing?”
His stomach fluttered and his heart almost plopped out of his mouth.
“Nothing–Talking.” Tazaro forced, making a face at himself for his slip-up.
“Kissing is definitely a form of talk–
–we weren’t kissing.” Tazaro corrected, then huffed.
“Right. I wasn’t even gone that long, and you’re already–
–Knock it off, Vincent,” Tazaro snapped, sitting up to shoot Vincent a glare, though even he could tell it was a mussed-up, embarrassed smile.
Vincent simply gave a deadpan stare, and arched an eyebrow.
“I’m so convinced, Tazaro,” He stated sarcastically. “Not that it’s any of my business what you two were doing,” He added.
“You’re right–it’s not,” Tazaro fired back, apparently surprising Vincent with the retort.
Still Vincent chuckled, and sat down in his chair.
“Alright…so why the ‘bat-out-of-hell’ escape? A really, really awkward conversation?”
“No, no, we were…” He couldn’t dredge up an excuse, too disappointed and distracted with the rapidly beating thing in his chest. “We were pretty close to kissing.” He grumbled, trying to downplay his hopes as the shadow of excitement buzzed on his lips.
“Heh, called it.” Vincent agreed.
Tazaro frowned.
“You have terrible fucking timing, you know,” Tazaro grumbled, then glanced over his shoulder at Vincent, who was beginning his wind-down routine from a brisk walk: off with the glasses, chug a glass of water, cool down in his chair before gathering the energy to take a shower.
“If you weren’t smooching,” Vincent started, smirking as he watched Tazaro flip him a rude gesture. “What were you doing? What was with the flickering lights?”
Gathering up the rest of his haywire energy, Tazaro collected it into one last orb, waved his hand, and hovered the weak light over his hand, then showed Vincent everything that he had learned thanks to the old, reliable tactic of “fuck around and find out.”
“Wow! Now that’s cool!” He blurted, mesmerized by the tiny thing that now rested in the palm of his hand. He pushed it around with a finger, then bounced it in his hand.
“Yeah, it is. I’m gonna dispel it, though. Feeling pretty drained.” Tazaro muttered, raising his hand to dismiss it.
“No, wait, wait! I want to try something!” Vincent pleaded. Tazaro paused with an eyebrow curled, then nodded, curious.
Vincent rolled the thing into the middle of his palm, tucked a finger behind his thumb, and flicked at the ball of light, grinning like a fool as it sailed through the air and bounced a couple of times along the carpet before rolling underneath the ottoman.
“Ow! Tok za vilg, Vincent?” Tazaro barked out.
Vincent jerked in his chair, instantly remorseful.
“I’m sorry, that actually hurt you? I had no idea! I’m sorry–
–It didn’t, no. I’m just fucking with you!” Tazaro laughed, waving his hand to dismiss the spell. The pool of light from beneath the ottoman faded.
As Tazaro settled onto the couch and tucked the pillow beneath his head, he found his antics had not fully alleviated the awkwardness he still felt and wondered how much more they could take before one or both of them caved...or ran.
“I need to sleep. Have a good shift.” He grunted before closing his eyes and allowing the weight of tiredness to carry him off into a thankful slumber.