Sheeva looked at the shelf of stems, roots, leaves, and various other plant appendages while awaiting the powdered feverfew and yarrow mix she requested from the lady behind the counter, listening to the clink and grind of the mortar and pestle while trying to decide if she needed to purchase anything else while she was here. A late bloomer, Sophia was beginning her puberty phase, learning first-hand the downs and downs of menstruation, breast development, and cramps. To ease Sophia’s mortifying transition into womanhood, Sheeva offered to retrieve some medicines that would help, though the highest quality herbs were almost exclusively available to the demographic of the Eastern Quarters.
Sheeva was grateful she was there when the first sign of spotting happened, worried that the children might panic, believing that Sophia might be dying. After calming Sophia down with tea and a soothing, comforting hug as the elders in the temple had for herself, she fully explained what she knew of puberty and sexual development, though she hadn’t delved into talking about sex beyond the obvious answer to the question of “where babies came from.”
Never having experienced it herself, she wished to avoid giving the young woman wrong advice and had openly admitted that she knew nothing beyond what intercourse was biologically meant for. She huffed at herself and realized that she might not have any other choice than to ask Mildred for assistance explaining if Sophia had questions Sheeva couldn’t answer…but could she risk intentionally allowing their paths to cross?
“Here you are, ma’am: a twenty-eighty mix of feverfew and yarrow root. Do you need anything else?” She asked.
Sheeva had expected to see a solid block of powdered herbs that she would have to pinch and tuck in her lip like Tarrakkian tobacco. Instead, it had been packed and pressed into individual, cubic-centimeter-pellets that could be simply popped in the mouth, crushed, and swallowed down with water.
“Hm. Not at this moment, but I may be back later,” She answered, reaching into her pocket for her coin purse and pulling out a silver, ten-Inue coin. She dropped it into the lady’s outstretched hand, then waited for the change, trying to ignore the reminder of how, when shoveling the coin purse into Tazaro’s hands, he seemed to be toying with her in such a…uniquely exciting way. The visible amusement on his face had stirred something equally amusing, and she recognized it as the same riling amusement she had whenever she visited the temple medic, Ivan Marx.
In their late teens Cassie would often tease Sheeva about the budding crush she had on the twenty-six-year-old man thanks to his kind smile, salt-and-pepper-hair, and gorgeous eyes. After much thought, Sheeva realized she likely only felt so attracted to the man because he had patiently stitched her up time and time again. He had tended to her wounds with a gentle touch and soft voice that she had never received nor heard before, save for the short interactions between her and Rose as she carried her from the steps to the medical wing.
Any lonely person would have found themselves drawn.
“Thank you for your business, ma’am. May the mountain always be visible,” The lady smiled, stating a common phrase for those of Pacemian descent and inadvertently reminding Sheeva that she had changed her eye color to purple.
“Ah, yes. And…for you, as well,” She tipped her head, turning heel and heading towards the door, wondering if the response was at all what should have been said.
Exiting the shop, she rubbed at her eyes as they burned, then scratched at her cheeks as they itched from the warm buzz that spilled over her face. She sniffled, then retrieved a handkerchief to blow her nose, apparently irritated by the funguar spores lingering in the stuffy shop. She briefly considered suggesting that the woman cover the potentially hazardous spouts of the motile fungi with a mesh to capture their spores, or to flat-out plugged the things up with a cork…though that would make them whine and chitter in anger.
As she made her way down the main cobblestone street towards the run-down house on Dekkir Street, Sheeva found herself distracted, still musing on how oddly relaxed she felt in Tazaro’s company, especially lax enough to sleep, and how thankful she was for his generosity.
Eager to shove it from her mind in order to refrain from getting her hopes up, like she had for the young battalion leader in Teafshire, she wished to focus more on ensuring everyone’s overall safety instead. Sheeva shook her head as she thought: everyone, or just Tazaro? and waved the matter off with a hand–accidentally knocking a man’s hat off in the process as he passed her.
What bothered her most was not the malodorous potpourri of rotting onion, but the distinct, derogatory phrase he barked of: watch where you’re going, Cruinian svruhna!
Shocked and alarmed at the stranger’s apparent knowledge of her heritage more than the insult towards promiscuity, she looked back to see where he had gone, wishing to question him as to how he knew her true face since she habitually altered her appearance. She couldn’t see him among the crowd, and, considering the stench, he would be easy to spot since anyone would have given the man a rather wide berth.
Not seeing any such clearing form in the large crowd, Sheeva looked up the street, then towards the cafe to see if he had ducked inside it…then spotted her reflection in the windowpane. Her eyes had faded from purple to red, and her hair had changed back into its black locks, pulled into a ponytail by way of her favored red ribbon.
She scoffed at herself, shook her head, closed her eyes, and hid her hand beneath her cloak as she recast her disguising spell, though only to hide her eyes; the sudden change of hair color would be much more noticeable than the subtlety of someone’s eye color.
However, she froze when she opened her eyes and examined her work, then the surroundings behind her in the glass.
In the reflection and off in the distance, there he stood: Llyud Halma, with that tall, thin stature, wiry, greasy black hair, those wild, yellow eyes, that long, crooked nose, and that damned smirk.
She wheeled around just in time for a gaggle of giggling gossip girls to cross before her vision, talking behind frilly, lacy fans and pinned into a vertical “swan pose” by ridiculous, restricting corsets. Naturally, they would happen to be walking down across the way at that moment. She ignored the squabbles of “Oh my!” and “How rude!” as she pushed through, likely knocking one over onto her behind.
If she had bowled someone over, Sheeva didn’t bother to look.
By the time she reached the other side of the street, Llyud was nowhere to be found. Looking to her left, there was no way he would have headed that way, direction blocked by the fenced-off pen of live cluckatrice pecking away at grubs on the ground. She looked to the right, where the street stretched towards the center plaza.
She took off, peering ahead to see if she could spot him, but, unable to find his stature among the sparse people heading towards the shrine for Lucassen, the Bard God, she figured he had dashed off into an alleyway. Eyeing the first one she came to, she took a brave chance and headed down it, though there was no one to originally be found.
If Llyud had come this way, he must have already reached the other side.
Sheeva hurried through, and as she passed a dead-end strip, she skidded to a halt and heard him call out to her with a taunting: “Ope, ya almost got me!” Drawing Abraxas, she peered cautiously around the corner, scanning the dead-end alley with caution. There was nothing there but dust bins and scattered trash blown about by the wind.
“Boo! Behind you!” She heard, with an airy laugh and a sweet stench of more trash.
Immediately, she wheeled around with a high strike, aiming to slash across his face, but only swiped at air.
The other side of the dead-end alley greeted her, filled with more dustbins lined against the back wall and rotting food by the entrance, lumped into a pile.
“Tee-hee, over here!” She heard to her right, and as she whipped her head in the direction, she saw nothing and doubted that Llyud would simply double back just to taunt her.
She scoffed at herself; who was she kidding?
Llyud would certainly waste time with an escape by doubling back because: “Oh, how I love to gloat, loser!”
The whole cross-alley was nothing but dustbins and trash–and despite the Eastern Quarter’s outward cleanliness, it seemed their willingness to simply put their crap in the bins bordered on an incapability.
As she felt the itchiness of her eyes, again, Sheeva rubbed at them, then leaned against the wall, feeling tired. She tried to work herself through her confusion.
With the height of the buildings, Llyud wouldn’t have time to scale them, and even if he somehow had wings, it would still take time to unveil them and flap hard enough to get away in the mere seconds it had taken her to give chase. She had been far too close on his heels for him to have simply run out of sight, which seemingly left her with only one option.
“I must be hallucinating,” She muttered, looking up at the sky in hopes that she was wrong. Was it even possible for someone to want something so badly they started imagining things?
Sheeva shook her head in denial.
Maybe, she’d been changing her eyes too much, and the possible side effects were hallucinations, considering she had set up wards on the shrines around the city, linked to crudely-chiseled charms that she had worked on while unable to properly sleep. In all honesty, chiseling a look-alike symbol to the ones she etched into the statues was Tazaro’s idea, and Sheeva felt a little sheepish; had she thought of the same idea before placing the wards in the homes and the workshop, perhaps she could have literally saved her own skin.
Of course, whether or not the sigils shining on her skin were a permanent fixture was anyone’s guess.
Frustrated, she kicked at a pile of trash, lobbing a clump of rotten fruits and vegetables across the way.
“No, no,” She blurted, clenching her fists in irritation as her face scrunched. With a heavy sigh, she relaxed, and rubbed at her tired eyes again. “Come on, get your shit together.”
Still, being so riled up had her worried, and she decided to head back to Southgate and check in on everyone, though no one had left their respective buildings; the children were still in the abandoned house, Mildred and Tyler were still at home, and Tazaro was still in the workshop.
Being that the abandoned house on Dekkir Street was the closest of the three and that she was already dropping off menstrual relief medication to Sophia anyway, Sheeva headed for the place, keeping a watchful eye over her shoulder and around her surroundings.
She knocked on the door of the creaky house, and waited. Arc’s voice sounded from inside this time as he spoke their passphrase: Where do the Tinker Owls roost? Relieved that they took care to follow her instructions, paranoid as she might seem, Sheeva responded with the answer: In the belfry of the clocktower.
As the locks inside clicked and the door swung open, Sheeva allowed her smile to break through, and felt herself visibly relax as the muscles in her back seemed to unwind.
“Thank you, Arc, for continuing to be so diligent,” She complimented, shrugging off her pack and setting it on the floor. She knelt down to rummage through it for the pain medicine, as well as the clean set of menstrual rags she had bought from another store. These were of higher quality: soft, strong, and with a new bonus; disposable, though they could be washed if need be.
“Where is Sophia? How is she feeling?” She asked.
“Upstairs, miss. She’s resting. Said she wanted to be away from everyone else for a while,” Arc answered, seeming worried.
Sheeva patted him on the head and pulled him close for a one-armed hug.
“I am not surprised,” Sheeva muttered with a sympathetic chuckle. “But, that’s okay. It’s nothing you or the others have done. She may just be feeling…embarrassed,” Sheeva decided, recalling how she had felt about it at first.
Oh, how mortifyingly awkward puberty had been.
She headed up the steps and checked in the first room, then the second, then the last, finding Sophia curled up on a mattress and likely pouting, back turned to the door.
“Go away!” Sophia grumbled.
Sheeva did not take offense, and stood her ground.
“It’s just me, dearie,” She announced, then pursed her lips at herself.
To assume such a role seemed as natural as breathing, and it made her somewhat uncomfortable.
“Ah, but, uh, I have brought you some things to help. Medicine, specifically for these times, and…these,” She answered, lifting the items in question. Sophia sat up and turned to Sheeva, but didn’t look at her, still seeming just as embarrassed as she pouted at the floor.
“Here, start with eating this.” Sheeva offered a cube, which she dropped into Sophia’s hand. “Just take one to deal with the pain, and wait a while for your body to start digesting it. That should help. When you run out and you need more, ask at an apothecary for a twenty-eighty ratio of feverfew and yarrow root.”
Putting aside her own discomfort, Sheeva comforted Sophia, the young woman’s head resting in her lap as she softly sang the lullabye Rose would sing to her, and it soothed the ache of longing she felt, wishing Rose had been there to comfort her while she was experience the shocking changes to her own body.
Eventually, Sophia fell asleep, and after carefully tucking her into bed, Sheeva left and meandered down the stairs. Placated and finding a sense of fulfillment, it didn’t bother her when the others swarmed in worry, and she gently assured that everything would be fine.
Once the commotion had died down and Sheeva had distracted them by urging them to continue to learn to write and read, she found herself relaxed enough to reflect on what had happened on the streets earlier in the day, still certain she had simply imagined things.
If she was not imagining things, however, the charms system Tazaro had suggested probably wasn’t going to work, though it wasn’t the end of the world. Many times while developing spells she tried and failed, revised, and tried and failed again, and couldn’t begin to fathom how many mud, stick, and grass creatures she had accidentally exploded when first learning to cast her Familiar spell. Had she been working with real subjects, she would not have gone as far as she did to test what she could and could not do.
A giggling brought her out of thought, and she looked to Yelena, wondering what could have been so amusing, considering she herself had been bored to death of tracing the same letter over and over and over again.
“What is so funny?” She asked.
“What do you mean?” Josef asked.
“Yelena was giggling at something,” Sheeva answered.
“No, I wasn’t,” Yelena pointed out, pausing in her work.
“Oh? No? You weren’t?” Sheeva asked, listening hard. As she heard it again, she looked at them to see if they heard it, too. Apparently, they had, as they looked among each other in confusion.
She stood, and stepped towards the stairs, listening to see if the eerie giggling was coming from Sophia’s room, upstairs. As the noise sounded to her left, she looked towards the direction. There wasn’t anyone in the kitchen, and as the door to the bathroom was still open, there wasn’t anyone in there, either. When a humming of a lullaby that tugged at familiarity began to sound out from the door beneath the stairs that led to the cellar, Sheeva curiously pressed her ear to the door to affirm that she was, indeed, hearing the haunting tune.
“Beware The Bunghee Dog, so large and grey,
Don’t misbehave, or he’ll take you away!
He lingers in graveyards and sand dunes to prey
On the wee little children that dare but to stray!
With eyes like blood, he’ll make you bleed yours
Galloping towards you on all of his fours!
He’ll take you, and eat you, and do it with glee,”
“...when he drags your body ‘neath the Wild Fig Tree,” Sheeva finished, feeling her stomach churn with terror’s grip as she recalled the sing-songy melody that, if her birth mother happened to have a good day, would gather her and her siblings together to sing.
“Pshh, What is the Bunghee dog?” Josef asked as he scoffed at the lullaby. “Some type of monster they sing about to threaten kids who don’t go to bed on time?”
“It’s–” Sheeva began, then stopped, trying to shake the reminder of her birth mother tickling her and her siblings as she barked “take you!” and “eat you!” and “do it with glee!”
She shook her head to clear the reminder that, perhaps things hadn’t always been bad, though a handful of times certainly did not outweigh, nor begin to counter, all the twisted abuse that had been done.
She couldn’t say it, but, according to her birth mother, The Bunghee Dog was an omen of death. A black, shaggy-haired dog as large as a bearog that could close a mile distance with only a couple bounds, and leap into tall buildings at a simple jump, and, should one ever cross paths, they were to be cautious of the color of its beady eyes. If they were yellow, all was safe, and no harm would come to pass. If they were red, however, it was a sign that someone that you knew, or “maybe even you,” was marked to die.
“It’s nothing. A monster that people tell their children about to get them to behave,” Sheeva dismissed.
“Tee-hee! I’m gonna get you!” The voice continued in a singsongy way that unnerved Sheeva greatly.
Sheeva sucked in a breath and shivered as she backed away from the door, heart pounding in her chest as memory sent her reeling. Still, as whatever little girl was singing in the cellar began to repeat the song, there was no doubt in any of their minds that someone else was in the house.
Sheeva stole a glance at the sigil on the wall. It was still intact, and hadn’t been chipped or scuffed in any way. Considering there was no incessant buzzing in her ear, the chance that the alarm was still enacted was unlikely. She wondered if the potency of her magic had faded over the month it had been since she’d placed it, and realized the thing might actually need some form of upkeep or recharge.
Summoning courage while trying not to think about the cold, musty cellar or the hardness of wooden flooring on her frail, malnourished, five-year-old self, Sheeva reached for the handle and opened the door, staring into the darkness. She paused, then looked at the children.
Did any of you let someone in? She mouthed sternly, feeling the terseness of her brow as her eyes hardened. They adamantly shook their heads “no,” all of them appearing just as weirded out as she felt.
Whipping her head back to the stairs as the sounds of footsteps charged up them, Sheeva backed off and stepped between the intruder and the children, arms outstretched as she ushered them behind her as well as she could to shield.
“Boo!” Cecilia, with her blue dress, blonde hair, and orange eyes barked as she pounced out of the cellar in a fit of giggles. It elicited an estranged mix of terror and surprise from Sheeva as she further tucked the children back and flinched.
“Tee-hee, I got you, didn’t I? I told you I would get you!” The child laughed.
Sheeva shook her head and stood up, advancing in bounds as she reached for the child’s arm.
“Get out!” Sheeva barked, angered as her heart pounded in her chest. “You cannot be in here!”
Sheeva stopped upon realizing what she’d said.
“No, wait: you cannot be in here. How did you-how did you get in?” She questioned.
Cecilia giggled again, and the noise grated on Sheeva’s ears and sent a shiver of unrest down her spine.
“Through the back door, silly!” She responded.
Sheeva looked at the back door, and saw a muddy track of footprints leading toward the cellar door.
Furious, Sheeva marched towards the back door.
“Leave,” Sheeva ordered. “And don’t ever step foot in this house again. If you do, child, I’ll tell your parents, and if they do nothing, so help me, I will punish you.”
“But I just wanted to play–
Sheeva yanked the child out onto the porch, rudely shut the door in the child’s face, and brushed off the dust from her hand onto her pants.
–aw, pooey,” She heard behind the door before the child stormed off.
Trying to ignore the feeling of guilt for possibly harming the child, Sheeva took several deep breaths to calm herself down.
“I am sorry you had to see that,” She apologized, unable to look the other children in the eye.
“N-no, ma’am. We were–we understand. We don’t know how she got in,” Arc explained. "And, we wouldn't have let her in, anyway. She gives Josef and me the creeps," Nook answered. Sheeva chuckled lightly.
"After that singing, me too," She admitted.
Trying to put the reminder of the nursery rhyme out of her head, Sheeva stared at the sigil on the wall, inspecting it even more closely. Sure enough, there were no nicks, scratches, or blemishes, though the blood had long dried and become a shade of brown, supporting Sheeva’s idea that the thing would need to be charged every once in a while.
“What’s wrong, miss?” Josef asked, stepping closer to inspect the sigil, too. “We haven’t touched this, I swear. Nor did we let Cecilia in, either. We haven’t seen her since you shooed her away that day–not since you made us promise. We’ve held to that promise, miss, I swear,” He explained.
Sheeva slowly nodded, fully believing him, considering she had checked in at random times with the bird that Tazaro had come to call “Pteryx,” and aside from that one day, it seemed they had followed her instructions without fail.
"I believe you, Josef. I just thought that perhaps I need to recharge the sigil from time to time–like replacing a worn piece of clothing." She explained.
Hoping it would work, Sheeva pressed her hand to the sigil and focused. From her feet to the palm pressed against the cool wall, she felt a body-wide tingle, flash of warmth, then a quick-chill as the energy she channeled transferred into the sigil. The same, secure blue ooze spilled over the walls and along the ceiling and floors to cover the house again.
The drain brought her to a knee but did not make her faint as it had the first time, and as she breathed through her sudden dizziness, the others surrounded her, eager to assist. She waved her hand to show that she was fine, stood, and headed for the front door.
“If these wards need upkeep, I’ll need to recharge the other wards I have placed, so I’m going to go do that. I will be back by the end of the evening, and if I’m, uh, too weak to move, I’ll send a bird and have it peck at the window three times.” Sheeva announced, stooping to rummage through her bag for her energy pills. She popped one into her mouth, then pocketed a few, figuring that she would need them for such rapid, costly spellcasting.
“A bird? You have a pet, miss?” Yelena asked excitedly. It broke through Sheeva’s worry, and she chuckled at herself.
“Hm. In a way,” She murmured mysteriously. “Suppose you may call it, uh, Pteryx.”
Before they could hold her any longer, Sheeva bid herself goodbye and backtracked towards Mildred’s house. The sigil in the frame was a bit of a reach, but Sheeva used the excuse of returning the spare key to the clasp tucked beneath the welcome sign hanging above their front door when Tyler popped his head out and asked her what she was doing.
By the time she reached Tazaro’s apartment, it was already dark, and as the yellow sigil flashed, she waited outside while Tazaro’s roommate, Vincent, left for his evening shift at the hospital. With a quick hop and a couple of hard flaps, Sheeva caught the third-floor rail to their balcony and climbed over it, replenished the sigil’s energy reserve there, then climbed back over and leapt down, slowing her fall with a spread of her wings to catch air.
Naturally, Tazaro was in the workshop, stating that he was “almost done” with the Stargazer, though seemed content putting down his tools to accompany and learn more about how spellcasting worked. She allowed herself a short break, enjoying the conversation and snacks they shared while listening to a sweet, cheery piano tune from the old phonograph popping and clicking nearby, though any lull in conversation had her thinking about the events earlier in the day and feeling frustrated about them.
Upon pointing out that his charms idea might not have worked, Tazaro seemed bummed, but it didn’t seem to stop him as he suggested other reasons why it might not have worked or what could be done differently “next time.”
Though she could have chosen to fly, Sheeva walked back to the abandoned house on Dekkir Street, unwilling to become dizzy and crash into a brick chimney. The children were all asleep, save for Josef, who was attempting to read by the dim glow of embers from the fireplace as he kept watch for the evening. Sheeva took some time to help him, casting her light orb to better illuminate the book he was squinting at.
After curling up at the foot of the large mattress that the children still shared, Sheeva fell asleep quickly, exhausted.
----------------------------------------
A couple of weeks had passed since Sheeva thought she saw Llyud in the Eastern Quarters, and, with a growing number of disturbances in Southgate, Sheeva concentrated her efforts there. With sightings being so close to the Chorea family home, the Abandoned House on Dekkir Street, and Rin’s Workshop, it made Sheeva nervous. Starting from the beginning, she began to revisit all the bars, shops, shrines, and various streets of the southern part of Roussell.
A late, springtime rain drizzled the streets, but with her even-layered, full-body shield, Sheeva didn’t notice the extra moisture as she stepped into the street from beneath the cover of the Chorea family's home.
The maze was no longer daunting, and she quickly made her way towards the plaza. Glancing at the windows to the workshop, she noted that it was dark, though recalled feeling the tingle in her arm as Rin left, followed by Tazaro, though much earlier than usual.
Given the time, Sheeva thought as she checked her pocket watch, he should be arriving home within half an hour.
She wouldn't need to worry, she felt.
"The Red Stallion" was the first bar she had searched, and, like "The Green Lantern," had a red-tinted glass cover, though not one used to notify the borders of the "Sinner's Corridor"--that she still had not checked out, embarrassed about overhearing the cacophony of love making.
Pulling back her hood, Sheeva stepped inside, ready and eager to confront if need be. Ducking to the right to scan the room, she found more of the same things she was accustomed to for a bar: drunken singing patrons, those that practically lived in the bar sitting on stools or in corners, and others playing cards or chatting with themselves.
A sudden ruckus snared her attention, and as she looked towards it, found herself surprised to see who was among the small group sitting in a booth towards the back wall.
Across the way and unaware they were being observed, Micah swore and Vincent groaned in irritation about another loss in a round of poker, while Tazaro smirked pridefully. After gulping his fill in congratulations to himself, he set his drink down, though a little more unceremoniously than he should have, and began to count the pile of coins he’d amassed from the last round of poker.
Twenty, thirty, forty, and finally: forty-six Inue clinked into his satchel, all in denominations of copper five-pieces or fewer, and as it added a substantial weight to the bag that already threatened to burst at the seams, he made a note to trade in what he could for larger denominations at the bank. Long, slender fingers pulled the weathered drawstring tight and tied it off, a piece of medical tape bandaging his pointer finger, currently recovering from a gnarly split thanks to a slip of his chisel.
“Shit, I should know better than to play this with you; you’re too good at this, man! You’ve bluffed your way through almost every round and still managed to psyche us out! I swear your poker face has gotten better,” Micah grunted, though, with the softened inflection to his voice, Tazaro could tell he’d impressed his childhood friend.
“You should know better than to play against him by now, Micah,” Vincent stated as he reached for the deck and shuffled the beaten cards. They no longer snapped together in a nice, neat way, but instead, tended to fall out of place as they shifted together, and, as they did just that, Vincent groaned and tried again. The physician’s second attempt was a neater shuffle, and as he piled them into an orderly stack, he set it close to Tazaro.
“Cut the deck—and don’t do that ridiculous—Vincent stopped as Tazaro did just the thing that he was about to protest; flick the top card of the deck with his middle finger and call it a “cut” with a knowing smirk on his face.
“Ugh, I hate it when you do that! It’s not an actual cut of the deck! It doesn’t count!” He sighed, sitting back in his chair and grabbing up the deck in annoyance to deal the next round.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Sure, that’s kinda frustrating, but does it piss you off more than the fact that he just took two days’ worth of pay from both of us? Because that just fuckin' happened.” Micah asked, sighing in defeat. At least he had the next few months’ worth of bills paid ahead and could afford the minor loss.
“Don’t worry, guys. If I get rich from the Stargazer, I’ll be sure to pay you back for this,” Tazaro promised. "Consider it a healthy investment!"
He picked up the new cards, thought about them, and set them down again. This must be the hand equivalent of a critical fail.
“Raise,” He commented, curious to see if he could get by with the hand of absolute crap.
“Yeah, well, promise to show us how it works when it’s not rain–
“Ah, so you don’t spend all your time in the workshop, it seems,” A familiar voice said, causing Tazaro’s stomach to flip and his stoic face to break. He quickly composed himself and looked; Sheeva stood at the end of the table with a passive smile–though those that didn’t know her as well as he barely did, they might say she was frowning. It showed more in the calmness of her eyes, currently not steeled into a hawk-eyed stare.
“Hah! Only ‘cuz we had to drag him out of there!” Micah commented. “Nice to see you again, Your Highness!”
Sheeva’s previously passive expression fell into one of annoyance, and she groaned.
“Ugh, not you, too,” she grumbled in a pout that Tazaro found cute. “Stop calling me that,” she asked sternly. Micah nodded and sat back a little from his lean on the table.
“Gotcha…Warrior-girl,” He muttered under his breath.
The unamused expression deadpanned across her face, and she sighed.
Suppose that’s better, and as long as it’s not “Drools,” I suppose that is fine, too.
She tsked in dismissal, not about to verbally acknowledge the nickname. Noticing the silent stranger, though recognizing him as Vincent, Tazaro’s roommate, she stepped forward a little closer to the table in order to reach across with an extended hand.
“We haven’t met yet, but Tazaro has mentioned you. The name’s Sheeva,” She stressed, directing a look toward Micah, who flashed her a smile. “Sheeva Jules.”
Eager to witness the surprisingly firm handshake for himself, Vincent reached and accepted the shake. Indeed, the shake was different, as were the unusually pointy incisors, unnatural curvature of her pupils nested in plum-colored irises, and the rounded pointedness of her ears, peeking out beneath long black hair.
“Hm, nice to meet you. Oh–excuse me, I meant to say: Slavgor oui.” He smiled, trying to mind his manners and use the responses of other Pacemians that he’d had to treat on occasion.
“Ah. Tam, slavgor…oui,” Sheeva repeated, though she didn’t know what the phrase meant nor what to say in response, figuring it to simply be a generalized greeting in Pacemian.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he sat back, grabbed his wine, and sipped, thinking to himself.
From what I understand, Pacemians are supposed to respond with “Gora bendicia oui.” Anyone who’s grown up in the culture would know that. I get the feeling you aren’t who you say you are.
“This is…” Sheeva paused, looking at the drinks scattered around the table. “A lot,” She commented. With so many sightings and whispers of Llyud, she was concerned, and felt the safest places Tazaro could be were anywhere with a warding spell that had been authorized to let him be there. “I did not meant to interrupt you. If you’re celebrating something, I shall take my–
–No, not at all! I finished building the Stargazer yesterday, but it was raining, so I didn’t get to check it out, and tonight, these guys pretty much kidnapped me for celebration,” He explained. “Plus, it’s still raining, so...” He trailed off, realizing he couldn’t exactly ask Sheeva to be the first to check it out with him in front of his two friends, who’d just been telling him that they wanted to see the machine in action.
“Oh, you finished it?” Sheeva asked, visibly pleased. The last time she had checked up on the progress, it had been covered with a sheet, so she assumed it was still being constructed.
“I did!” He boasted, feeling the grin span his face. “Didn’t sleep for shit, and nearly tore out half of my hair, but who needs sleep when you have a fuck-tonne of tea and a ninja to scare the hell out of you to keep you awake?”
Sheeva chuckled and shook her head. Despite the method, a goal completed was a goal completed. She smiled, pleased that he had finished the goal he had set out to achieve.
“Congratulations. Maybe now you can see the skies up close. Enjoy it.” Sheeva suggested. “It’s really…something.”
However, now that he wouldn’t have much reason to be in the woodworker’s shop so late into the evening, their frequent visits might end, and she felt her spirits drop as she realized so. They lifted slightly upon deciding she would make another excuse to see him outside of the weekly family dinners that they shared.
Feeling the tingle of the rose sigil, Sheeva crossed her arms, distracted by the reminder. Tyler and Jax were likely leaving for their cover of a coworker’s evening shift.
Tazaro tsked, thinking that because he was done with the project, if touring the skies wouldn’t be of much interest to Sheeva, she would be “checking in” on him less and less. He inwardly snorted at himself; he had a plethora of things to make from his old sketchbook, including an upgrade to bastardly printing presses.
“Y’know, I was, uh, thinking about getting started on one of the other projects, too, so–if you want to, uh…” Tazaro paused, realizing he was in the company of friends and that he hadn’t exactly told either of them that she would visit occasionally. They would nag at him for days about details.
Though he couldn't hear what was being said over the noisy chatter of the group behind them, the seriousness of Sheeva’s face made Vincent wonder just how much she’d been running herself ragged by chasing Llyud.
“Pardon my saying so, but you seem tired. We’ll be here all night if you want to take a break,” Vincent offered, catching glances with Micah, then slightly tipping his head toward Tazaro.
“Oh, all night?” Tazaro turned to look at Vincent, feeling like he’d been swindled into staying longer than he’d initially agreed to. “I thought we were just gonna be a couple–Tazaro’s eyes widened and he grunted out a held-back “hrng?!” of pain as Micah kicked his shin with a steel-toed boot under the table. The angry scowl on Tazaro’s face was quickly replaced by a furtive look as Micah gave him a look with a curled eyebrow, suggesting he just “go with it.”
“Uh, of course! Sure! Here all night!” Tazaro agreed nervously.
Sheeva’s own smirk broke before she could stop it, amused. Tazaro’s friends badgered him like Cassie and Kyle had badgered her.
“Suppose I may join your motley crew, but first I should take a look at the notice board,” She agreed, stepping away to do so. She barely heard Micah ask: "what are we, a band?"
She took down the newspaper hanging in the corner, opened it, and scanned its pages for anything mysterious, meanwhile, pleased. At his suggestion that he might start building something else, they might continue meeting as they had been.
Maybe, she might even garner enough courage to take his face in her hands and kiss him, still embarrassed at the striking bout of cold feet she had gotten a few weeks ago.
Fuck’s sake, Sheeva. “Denial of Magic.” Really, of all the ridiculous things…
At least she had the undisclosed fact tucked in her back pocket, but if she found herself in such a situation again, she would have no choice but to face it.
As soon as Sheeva was out of earshot, Tazaro turned to Micah and shoved Micah’s foot with his.
“Dude, did you have to break my shin? Tok za vilg, man!” He hissed, rubbing at the sore and now likely bruised limb. He lifted his pantleg to see, and a rosy red mark shined back at him. “What the fuck?”
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Micah brushed off with a snicker. “Anyway…you two get along well, don’t you? Ask her to check that Star…machine–
–Stargazer,” Vincent interrupted in correction.
“Aye, that. Stargazer. Ask her to check it out with you first,” Micah insisted.
“Wh-but, I thought you guys wanted to–
–Bah, don’t worry about it. We can see it afterward. But, uh, I guess since she’s the one who originally inspired you to–
–Feh! You assume so,” Tazaro tried to butt in, but found himself bowled over as Micah continued to speak.
–make the thing in the first place and has apparently visited you–which you never told us about–
–’Cuz you would just sit there and tease me,” Tazaro countered, but was again bowled over.
–so how dare you, first of all, and second of all, don’t mess this up.” Micah insisted.
“I’m gonna have to agree with him, Taz. You let this slip, you’re not gonna get another chance in a million years. You should have seen your face; you lit up, man!”
“I thought that maybe I had,” He admitted as he fidgeted with the condensation on his glass before he picked it up and finished the last swig. “I was gonna kiss her. We were alone, having a nice time, had her hand in mine; a perfect setup,” He mumbled, spinning the now empty glass around a pivot on its base.
“So why didn’t you?” Micah questioned. Tazaro looked up at his longtime friend, slightly dazed, though not from the alcohol. Rather, the memory of staring into the ball of light hovering above her palm was something he would never forget. It also didn’t help that mass amounts of explanations he received about Sheeva’s trial-and-error methods for magic were rapidly firing, along with a flash of memory at her flummoxed blush as she looked away while being so close.
“I-I got cold feet and chickened out,” He lied, glancing across the way to see where Sheeva was. She was interrogating someone at a table a couple spots over.
“Oh,” Micah replied, recalling one of his more awkward fumbles. “Well, at least she still wants to talk to you!” He offered to cheer Tazaro up.
Tazaro chuckled.
“Yeah, no, I’m fine. Thanks, though–appreciate you trying to cheer me up.”
Micah opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped as Sheeva approached the table once more. Dismissing what he was about to say, Micah stood and announced he was going to use the restroom, then offered Sheeva his seat, giving Tazaro a wink behind Sheeva’s back.
Tazaro barely opened his mouth before Vincent spoke up.
“You know, I could have sworn your eyes were plum-colored, but I can clearly see I was wrong. Care to share?” He asked, thin lips curling into a knowing smile as he eyed her behind thin-framed spectacles. The Ivan Marx look-alike had Sheeva on the spot, and her eyes widened briefly as her nerves spiked.
“It is just a trick of the light,” She dismissed.
“Trick of the light,” Tazaro offered.
Vincent glanced between the two upon their jinx, then squinted his eyes in disbelief.
“No…really. It’s a trick of the light. When it’s bright, they look purple. When it’s dark they look red. Right?” Tazaro asked, nudging her foot beneath the table with his. “The perks of having mixed parents, huh?” He shrugged with a smile.
Sheeva’s eyes softened from a previously steely what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look as she slowly picked up on his suggestion.
“I…I don’t appreciate you bringing my parents into this, but…yes.” She nodded slowly, though frowning. “My mother was Cruinian, and my father was–
–Pacemian?” Vincent finished.
Tazaro caught her eye and winked, and Sheeva scoffed, realizing what he’d been trying to do. Two could play at this game, and perhaps, he’d witness first-hand the dismissal she put up with on the day-to-day.
“A Ta’hal,” She corrected, locking eyes with Tazaro, who looked back in shock.
When Vincent began to chuckle, both of them looked at him.
“That’s a harsh way of saying your father’s a bastard–comparing him to something that doesn’t exist! Hah! I’ll have to use that sometime!” Vincent commented, finishing off the last of his drink.
Sheeva gave Tazaro a look as if to say see what I mean?
“Well, that explains why you didn’t know to say ‘Gora bendicia oui–Mountain’s blessings.’ I hear their culture is tight-knit, and ingrained in them as soon as they can walk.”
Sheeva narrowed her eyes, realizing she’d been put to a silent test, and seriously began to reconsider her typical disguise, or to at least shadow and study a Pacemian caravan the next time she came across one.
“I’m gonna go get us another round, and one for you, Sheeva, if you’d like?” Vincent offered, standing and pausing.
“Please,” She answered. “And, thank you,” She added, resting her chin in her hand to hide her pursed, disappointed frown.
Vincent nodded and sauntered over to the bar to talk up the bartender. He glanced over his shoulder, witnessing the start of a hushed, angry conversation as Sheeva hissed something at Tazaro. Figuring it to be her not appreciating Tazaro airing her family affairs, Vincent turned back and waited while the bartender poured drinks for an order rung in by the waitress.
“What the fuck are you doing? Are you insane, Tazaro? You can’t just tell people that! What am I gonna do, give them proof? For fuck’s sake!” Sheeva hissed, giving him a glowering look that slightly unnerved him. He didn’t appreciate the look, nor the accusatory tone in her voice.
“Are you? You’re the one telling him the truth!” Tazaro countered, leaning into the conversation.
“Yeah, and as you saw, no one believes me! They think I’m joking! No one will believe me unless I show them!” She hissed back, struggling to keep her voice down to a whisper. “Do not force my hand like this!”
“Well, I was just trying to help!” He defended nonchalantly. “Besides, you swindle with darts and arm wrestles, right? Why not swindle with a little magic, too?”
“I didn’t ask you to–Sheeva began, then stopped as it dawned on her. “Wait, you were offering a cover-up?”
“Yeah,” He said confidently, sitting back and smiling at his cleverness. “A damn good one, too." He explained. Still, as it didn’t seem to soothe her, Tazaro sighed, and leaned back onto the table to drop his voice low in a mutter. "Also…once Vincent sniffs something curious, he’ll chase it like a blood hound until you give him a red herring. I had to do something,” he explained.
Flustered with embarrassment, Sheeva found herself stuck.
“How about a little heads up, next time?” She grumbled, sitting back and crossing her arms as she pouted.
“I tried,” He replied, nudging her foot with his once again, causing her to jump, mildly startled, then immediately kick back. He paused, then tilted his head in curiosity. Maybe she really had missed his cue a few weeks ago.
“Or did that go over your head, too?” He taunted, mildly enjoying watching her squirm. The blush that spread across her face was a delight, and it kindled the flame of hope that she had indeed gotten cold feet rather than not being romantically interested in him at all.
“Vilg ott, Tazaro Chorea,” She huffed lightly, shoving at his foot with hers before scooting the chair back to get out of reach.
"Wow! Childish, aren't you?" He exclaimed, amused.
At her insistent silence, Tazaro took no offense, and broke his gaze to look at something across the way. He began to think he would have to be more direct if he were to get his point across–maybe even utterly blunt, so that she couldn’t pretend she didn’t pick up on it and rather tell him if the answer was really “no.”
Suppose it’s better to know now than to continue playing such a game. I’d rather be harshly rejected than seen as a creep.
Attempting to shrug off her nerves, Sheeva took a deep breath, and tried to focus on the more pressing matter. While Tazaro’s method to sweep things under the rug was incredibly risky, it seemed to pay off, and well enough that she would have an excuse to tuck away in her back pocket, should she be caught without a disguise.
“I…I guess I should thank you for having my back," she began after a moment. "I really didn’t know what to–
She stopped abruptly as Micah rejoined the table, announcing his presence with a loud, booming: “Hey, what’d I miss?” Sheeva's sigh of annoyance went unnoticed.
“Our fathers are bastards, and Vincent’s grabbing drinks,” Tazaro filled, hiding his smile behind a hand.
“Oh, yours too, huh? Welcome to the club, though Tyler has been a pretty good stand-in, I think. I look up to him, too,” Micah commented. As Sheeva pursed her lips and frowned, Micah clicked his tongue and offered a change of subject.
“How’s the search going?” He asked, hoping she’d had a better time of it now that they had plastered his name all over the place.
Her lips pursed even more, and she propped her chin in her hand and avoided their gaze.
“Not well, and I don’t want to talk about that right now,” She replied, unwilling to wrestle with the fact that she felt more and more delusional with each missed encounter. In an effort to seem less abrasive, she fished the printed sketch of Llyud from her pocket and set it down, then retrieved the painted sketch for comparison.
“Though, I do wish you had taken my plight more seriously–his nose has definitely become a diving board for pixies,” She huffed, using the bellhop’s description in appreciation.
Micah snickered.
“Well, you know–while it is funny, it wasn’t without reason. Maybe he sees it and gets so upset, he makes a mistake,” Micah explained. “If he’s as full of himself as you told me, he’s bound to screw up, somehow.”
Impressed, Sheeva curled an eyebrow.
“So it was bait?” She asked.
“Yup,” Micah answered, emphasizing the word with a ‘pop’.
She chuckled, and sat back, pleased with the possible allies she had made.
You have dangerously clever friends, Tazaro Chorea.
“Though, I will say, considering we haven’t seen or heard of anything by now tells me that he’s not here.” Micah suggested.
Sheeva grew taciturn and even more nervous at the understanding that maybe she was just delusional, stood, and made to leave.
“Pardon me. I may just head out, after all. I think I need to rest for a while,” She excused herself, standing to leave.
Micah caught Tazaro’s eye and tipped his head by way of a silent “go,” and Tazaro didn’t need to be suggested twice.
“You heading home? I’ll walk with you,” Tazaro offered, standing as well and snatching his jacket up from the back of the chair.
“You don’t need to–
–Ah, let him, Sheeva. You’re so busy protecting us, who’s protecting you?” Micah asked with a sly smile.
Figuring it would be for the better in case the phantom of Llyud did show its face again, Sheeva nodded in acceptance. As they began to walk away, Tazaro glanced back to mouth a “thanks,” receiving a smile in return.
It didn’t seem that the rain had let up at all as they stepped out of the building and onto the main road “The Red” was located on. Sheeva casually cast a full-body shield on both herself and Tazaro to keep the cold rain at bay, and walked at a faster pace than normal as she hurried to get back into the safety of the Chorea Family home.
“Hey, Sheeva, I–
She halted and gave an exasperated sigh.
“If you’re to apologize for earlier, you can just…let it be. I get why you did what you did, and it’s not like…” She paused, searching for words. “You betrayed any secrets. You just found another way to hide them,” She concluded with a shrug of her shoulders as she attempted to dissolve the tension there.
“It’s over, it’s done, and we…now have a way to play this off as a trick, right?” She chuckled, feeling slightly optimistic. The more she thought about it, the more apparent it became that it was a sleight she could easily work with.
“Besides, it is clever, and strangely, I look forward to coming up with new–
She stopped abruptly as she heard the zing of a blade and glanced behind just in time to see a blur rushing for them, fast. Thinking quick, she shoved Tazaro aside, then drew Abraxas to counter and strike, catching something with her blade, but as it came back murky, thought she’d simply slashed a wine-skin. She didn’t have time to scan the attacker for a slashed, dripping wine-skin as he dashed forward with another strike.
The harsh cry of a blade against blade rang out as she blocked the strike, face-to-face with the yellow-eyed bastard with a crazed look in his eye. The harsh stench on her olfactory senses burned into her nose and stung behind her eyes, and she scrunched her nose in dislike.
“You smell even worse than you look, you bastard,” She coughed, though relishing in the look that reflected his wounded ego.
“You’re the one who made my nose look so–oh, fuck off, it’s not that bad!” He sidestepped, and went to slash at her backside, but as she dropped to a knee and swept at his feet to knock him down.
With a pained grunt, he landed on his back. Sheeva closed the distance and raised the blade above her head, ready to bring it down on him, but as he shot a dark void from his chest, it hit her square in the chest and threw her back, knocking her off of her feet as it sailed her through the air. Abraxas clanged loudly somewhere nearby, but, stunned, she didn’t have time to look as she struggled to sit up.
Whatever that attack was, it was new, and…had she really seen the muscle of his heart beating in his chest like something on display?
Beyond blurry vision, she briefly saw the flesh of his chest shift back together from whatever attack he’d unleashed, and grimaced in disgust. She managed to stand and find her footing, bracing herself with another full-body shield as he neared on stumbling footsteps, apparently worn out from the dazzling spell.
If he did it again, perhaps she’d manage to dodge the beam and rip his heart out from his chest.
He charged again and she blocked with both forearms, ducked an overhead swing, grabbed his arm and yanked it behind him, then attempted to throw him over her shoulders as she would to her childhood rival whenever their bickers escalated into brawls.
As he rolled over to smack the ground, he kicked at her and tripped her once more.
Sheeva clawed at him, disturbed by slimy skin, and as she stopped his face from getting closer to hers with an outstretched hand, the force exerted on his eyeball from her thumb was enough to make it squish, like a rotten tomato. She groaned in major disgust, drew back her hand, and punched him in the mouth.
The crack of a pallet board across Llyud’s back caused him to look from Sheeva to the new contestant, and as Sheeva saw Tazaro’s shoes in her tunnel-blindness, became worried.
Llyud jumped up and off of Sheeva, staring at the two through one eye while seeming to weigh his options, blood dripping down his face from the other, now a hollow socket. He turned tail and ran.
Sheeva blinked, then gave chase, trailing the sigil for her roots spell as she pursued. She slapped her hand through, and roots sprung from the ground to clasp at his heels…and missed as he jumped out of reach. The roots clutched at air before disappearing back into the ground with nothing to wrap around.
“Shit!” She swore, skidding to a sharp turn as Llyud took a left into an alleyway.
Sheeva hurried into the thin alley, and as Llyud clambered on top of dustbins to leap the wooden fence midway, Sheeva bore her wings and leapt, too, hoping to gain on him.
She cried out as she smacked face-first into a barrier that flickered in a bright, fluorescent green, sending a shockwave over her body that caused her wings to still and her body to flop to the ground.
As the temporary petrification ended, she pushed herself up, and looked at the barrier, then at the ground. She looked up, wondering if there was a height limit to the barrier, and as it stretched into the dark, cloudy heavens like a beam, realized there was no “flying over the top” to escape it.
She had run herself right into a trap.
“VILG SA!” She screamed, getting to her feet and charging at the wall in frustration, channeling as much energy as she could muster into an energy-packed fist. It knocked her back, and as she hit the other side, fell to the ground in a petrified heap like a statue.
“Fuck,” She whimpered in a tiny voice that accompanied her tears of frustration.
After a few seconds, the paralysis lifted, and she pushed herself up again, forcing herself not to touch the barrier. Wanting to know if Llyud had taken his leave or was simply gloating from the other side of the fence, Sheeva flew as carefully as she could, high enough that she could peek. Nothing but dustbins and scattered trash remained.
Beyond the film of fluorescent green, Tazaro was running towards her while saying something, but she couldn’t discern what beyond the soft hum of the trap. Abraxas was in his hands, and she felt relieved that Llyud hadn’t snatched it up and taken it with him.
Realizing he didn’t know how the trap worked, Sheeva dropped and quickly raised her hands, barking at him to stop, though doubtful that he could hear her, either. He slowed to a stop, looking in awe at the trap, then raised a curious hand.
“What on earth is–
“No, don’t touch–Sheeva tried to warn, but before she could finish the sentence, Tazaro had already touched the wall.
“Ah, damn it,” She blurted, planting her face in her palm.
While it didn’t seem to knock him back as it had to her, it still had a petrifying effect that, thankfully, only lasted a few seconds as Tazaro’s face was stuck, eyes wide in wonder and mouth agape in an awed smile, arm and pointer finger outstretched.
With a flash, the petrification fell.
–This?” Tazaro finished his previous sentence as though he hadn’t been interrupted, and he stepped back, blinking in confusion, then looked at his finger before shoveling his free hand into his pocket. Looking at the sword in his other hand, Tazaro caught eyes with Sheeva before lifting it to poke at the wall. Sheeva took a step back and moved as far as she could out of the way, lest the wall fling it forward like a released arrow on a drawn bow.
No petrification happened when Tazaro pierced the wall, though the field simply wrapped around the blade. Still, Sheeva was relieved that he had figured such a thing out without the both of them having to try to play charades through the veil.
Trying not to touch the wall, Sheeva searched for something he could use to interrupt the flow of energy to the barrier, spotting an overturned wine-crate behind him to his left. Eagerly, she pointed at it.
As he hurried over to it and picked it up, Sheeva took one end as he pierced the veil, then helped him lower it to the ground. Like interrupting the flow of a waterfall, the wine crate split a gash in the trap, large enough that Sheeva could climb through by turning sideways. She tucked her wings away, then stepped up, taking Tazaro’s offered hand for support as she shimmied her way through, nervous as she felt the heat of the magical veil warm her already flush face.
Still, the damn wall nipped at her foot as she turned to hurry through, and she stumbled forth, mouth caught open in a scream of surprise that stopped suddenly as she leaned against Tazaro’s frame as still as a statue. The scream then resumed as the effect timed out and she collapsed, thankful that he was there to support her as she fought to find her footing.
“What is that?” He asked, amazed, his hold on her seeming to soften as he stared at the pillar of light.
“A-a trap,” Sheeva answered, stupefied to be so close, let alone with hands on his apparently firm chest and an arm wrapped around her waistline. She pushed herself out of the hold and collected herself, reaching for Abraxas, still clutched in his hand.
“Thank you. I would not have been able to get out of that, had you not been there. At least last time I had bodies to stack,” She stated, returning her weapon to its scabbard and pretending she didn’t hear Tazaro’s concerned blurt of: “I’m sorry–what?”
“For future reference, don’t touch strange, colorful things,” she warned.
“Y-yeah. I, I don’t know what happened, but I feel like I, uh, lost time or something–like blacking out,” He muttered, still trying to grasp the events. “I must be drunk,” He reasoned, looking at his hands. Sure, he’d been in fistfights before, but to attack with an improvised weapon was something entirely new.
With her chest still aching from the dark blast, Sheeva winced as she pressed against her sternum, then realized the burned hole in the fabric of her shirt. Beneath the remnants of her shirt, she saw a slight burn, and was grateful for the body-shield she consistently cast.
“Damn, this was one of my favorite shirts,” She sighed, causing Tazaro to look, wondering what the particular shirt was. He immediately looked away in shyness and turned his back on her as he realized the tattered remains of her shirt.
“S-sorry, didn’t mean to–Um…” He babbled. He cleared his throat, shed his jacket, and handed it to her.
“Here,” He offered.
Sheeva didn’t refuse the offer, embarrassed about the circumstance, herself. The jacket was soft, light, pliable, and smelled of cedarwood and pine.
Naturally, she thought.
“Thank you,” She thanked. “We should hurry.” She commented, turning to head on down the alley and away from him, just enough that he might not witness the self-conscious squiggle of her mouth as she fought to keep a straight face.
“I don’t want to take the chance that Llyud’s still waiting nearby.” She insisted, hurrying towards the street and on towards Mildred’s home. She lifted her gaze to peer at the skies, though with how dark they were, she couldn’t see anything, then wiped the rain off of her face.
“You know, you didn’t tell me he could do magic, too. That would have been nice to know,” Tazaro grunted. “What was that attack, anyway? It was like his ribs just opened up and, and…Blegh!” He asked, mimicking a projectile vomit while motioning the crack open of a melon from the midst of his chest.
If it was meant to be funny, it didn’t make Sheeva laugh.
“I, I don’t know,” She admitted as her gait slowed. “It was new, and, believe it or not, his chest did open up. I, I saw his heart beating in his chest,” She shivered. “There’s definitely something different about him this time, and I don’t like it.”
“Was it the fact that he reeks?”
Sheeva’s boots clicked on the cobblestone as she scoffed and walked on, picking up her pace.
Alright. Not in the mood for jokes, I guess.
“In all seriousness, do you think he’s been watching you?” Tazaro asked, hurrying to catch up with her, then falling in step with her brisk pace that had him breaking a sweat.
“I don’t think so. He didn’t gloat about it like usual, nor did he give any indication. No look, no sneer, nothing. Besides, I have wards set up everywhere. I had hoped they would trip the minute he set foot in town, but…maybe not.” She explained, turning down the street towards the maze towards the Chorea Family home.
They paused at the front gate, relieved to find that the lights were off and nothing had been perturbed, save for the Midnight Bells chiming out their arrival.
“I swear Mom planted those things on purpose,” Tazaro sighed, wishing the things would shut up and immediately mature into the peppers they would use for cooking.
“Mm. No, that was me. Squeaking Leeks for daytime, Midnight Bells for night-time,” Sheeva explained. Tazaro raised his eyebrows, interested.
“Is this one of those ‘better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war’ type things?” He asked, tiptoeing past the Squeaking Leeks so as not to wake them. No one needed to hear the tiny “squee, squee, squee” amid the sweet tones of tinkling bells.
Sheeva shook her head. It had not been so, only set up as an extra measure of security.
Stepping past the lush garden, Sheeva paused to pluck a fully matured rogue tomato from the vine. Unlike it's brethren, it did not wail its protest and instead remained lifeless and silent, signaling its ripeness. Hungry, she shamelessly devoured the fruit, relieved at the slight restoration of energy. As she passed through the front door, she tapped the warding sigil to give it a boost to its range, pushing the threshold beyond the front porch and onto the fence surrounding the yards.
Intrigued, Tazaro tapped the sigil, too, which Sheeva noticed.
Confused, she turned to him.
“Why did you do that?” She asked.
“Cuz you did. Figured it was for luck, or something,” He answered, though he knew what it was for, now keenly aware of what the buzz on his face had been the few times he had knocked on the door to the room to chat when she’d first come to stay with them. “Unless…it’s some kind of Pacemian superstition?” He snickered, eliciting a scoff and roll of her eyes.
“Oh, don’t start with that. I am well aware of my mistakes, thank you,” She retorted with a small smile. She cleared her throat and stepped into the kitchen, running the sink to clear the stagnant water while grabbing two glasses from the cupboard.
She handed one to him while chugging the other, then refilled it.
“Give me a moment; I am going to change my shirt, and I’ll give you back your jacket when I’m done,” She announced, shuffling past him and up the stairs to the room she was staying in. After promptly changing the scorched set of chest-bindings with a fresh pair and discarding them in the trash with the scorched shirt, she picked out a more comfortable shirt with holes she’d cut and hemmed for easy wing-baring.
Feeling it was almost midnight, Sheeva checked her watch and found it to be much earlier than that; rather than nearing the fifteenth hour mark, the hour hand was only just past nine. Maybe they had lost too much time being petrified by Llyud’s trap.
Tazaro had already set up a place for himself to sleep on the couch using the throw blanket draped over the back and one of the old couch pillows. As she approached him with his jacket in hand, he stood and took it from her, then draped it over the back of the couch.
“You know, speaking of Pacemian superstitions, I was going to apologize earlier but we were interrupted by Micah.” Sheeva began, shifting around on her feet uncomfortably. “We should probably make a plan for next time, if there is one.”
Tazaro hummed, and nodded.
“Yeah, but it also wouldn’t have been an issue if I hadn’t said something in the first place. I owe you an apology for that. I really was trying to help you out, and I happen to know them best, so…” He trailed off, and shrugged, for what else could he say that hadn’t already been said?
“Well, hey–we could stand here and trade apologies all night, or we could just say we’re good, hm? And, to make it up to you, when it’s not pouring outside, we can see if the Stargazer works,” He offered, not about to point out her apparent disappointment that the late-night visits were potentially over.
When she smiled that genuine, bright smile, it was the most beautiful thing Tazaro had ever seen, and he wished he could paint–surely, such a pristine, heartwarming thing belonged in an art museum!
“Really?” She asked, visibly thrilled, which made him stammer even more.
“I, I think it’s only f–well, it’s not just that it’s fair, but I’d like you to be there, since you really did encourage me to make it. But, yeah; I’d like for you to join me when I check it out for the first time–pass or fail,” He blathered in nerves, wondering when her stance had become so endearing. “S-so, you, uh, wanna make it a d–
He let out a surprised bark and Sheeva jumped with a yelp as someone banged loudly on the front door.