middaeg | Deceuer Catch-All

Entry tags:

fe: soren

Deceuer Catch-All

Who: Soren & OTA
When: All of Deceuer
Where: Various
What: Event prompts & general monthly catch-all
Warnings: Will be updated when applicable.

☆~*It's Snowing Dragons*~☆

The light snow doesn't bother him when he's donned in clothes enchanted to keep him warm. His wings still take the brunt of the chill, so to help keep his blood circulating, he decides now is as good a time as any to get some flight practice in. Besides, if he does nothing at all, the pain wedged deep inside his ribcage but quelled by the aid of magical painkillers begins to throb more noticeably.

He tries to stay out of locales bustling with people. Always he finds that he cannot seem to gain any leverage from the ground-up; starting from a high place yields better results. There's a certain... "high" in being able to scale the distance from one ledge to the next.

However, he's still woefully incapable of mastering full flight. As such, there are plenty of crashes to contest against the highs. Quite literally. Most of the time, he manages to plop down somewhere of no consequence, but even Soren blunders every now and then.

And who knows where you are when an unshifted dragon boy comes tumbling gracelessly out of the air to land... on your head? in your footpath? on an icy pond? in a nearby snowdrift? or maybe he ruined the snowmonster some neighborhood kids were putting their finishing touches on...

☆~*Snow Way Out*~☆

Dragons aren't the only things falling from the sky... The snow remains unrelenting in its advance, and the murmurs of the locals inform Soren that precipitation like this is unprecedented. Flimsier roofs groan beneath the sheer weight of their frosty cloaks. Men, women, and children hunch their shoulders and chatter their teeth. And as for Soren?

I. Well, he's glad he invested in those clothes last Jeuril. His breath plumes in the air like smoke, and his slight frame rattles against the chill, but if he were to be left without a magical source of heat, he would surely slip into sluggishness.

But as it turns out, the wind whips in whimsical ways. A gale going against the grain breaks past him, stripping his garments of his magic... and the only heat available to him.

"...!" He stops. Not because he wants to, but because he can scarcely command his muscles to move. Literal shock tints his bright ruby eyes, rendering him a shivering statue of himself. If he cannot mobilize somewhere warm, and fast, he might just freeze half to death out here.

"Th-this is b-b-bad..." He sucks in a painful gulp of air through his teeth. "I must...!"

II. And it's even worse if this happens while he's anywhere near the breaks in the Bright Wall.

The distorted form of a creature tormented by a gluttonous impulse to destroy slithers into his vision. A Shade. His heart stops there. If his clothes malfunction, then none of his charms against the Cwyld will save him, either. He takes a shuddering, trudging step back. His wings feel ten times as heavy to move. There's no way he could ever hope to escape nor defend himself.

Not by himself. Movement catches the other side of his field of vision. He cranes his neck and finds another Mirrorbound like him. In his overwhelming panic and desperation, he calls for help.

"Shade! I... I c-can't move!"

☆~*All Snowed In*~☆

Unable to reach his dwelling in the barracks easily from the Coven, Soren elects to stay warm in one of the dormitories. There's no way he wants to risk it out in the tundra, not when his body is so vulnerable to chill.

Of course, it also means he can't venture out to grab whatever supplies he needs, nor can he check up on the security of his storehouse... and worse, his hoard. But it also means he can't acquire any more of those heartache-helping potions to dull the pain. He draws the blanket around himself and contents watches the flames in the hearth dance. Maybe he could even pretend that they're capable of licking the frozen wasteland that permeates his aching chest. He feels numb, even without the cold to assist.

His roommate for the night walks in right then. At the very least, a distraction might be welcome. Slowly, he turns his head to look them over.

☆~*Can't Miss the Mistletoe*~☆

No matter how much he avoids those festive little sprigs or times his passage just right so he can slip by them unpaired with anyone, it still manages to happen. After a certain point, you learn how to ford past all the embarrassment of it and escape from the situation as gracefully as possible.

I. Soren sighs as he's invisibly snared next to his new partner and looks them in the eye, resigned to his fate but determined to resume his life. Most likely, he looks a little tired thanks to the frigid weather.

"Let's get this over with. Give me your hand, please."

II. ...or maybe he's oddly compelled, and the partner he's stuck with is given rosy cheeks and skirted eye contact as he loses against an uphill battle with his urge to share in a token of affection. C'mon, Soren... You know you wanna kiss!

[[ If you would like a custom prompt, I would be happy to deliver. Use whatever tagging style (action, prose, etc.) you are comfortable with. ]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Even for Waver, who runs hot compared to humans, the supernaturally freezing weather is taking a toll. He's bundled up -- in regular clothes, since enchantments aren't working reliably -- and trudging his way wearily through the snow trying to get home. It hadn't been so bad when he was leaving the harbor. He'd thought he could make it.

Unfortunately, the wind's howling is only getting wilder, and the snow flurries rougher and stronger, pelting his shivering frame. Doing his best to keep the wind out of his eyes, Waver ducks his head, tucks his coats as close as he can, and speeds up.

He runs right into Soren. Who knows how long the poor dragon has been stuck there in the cold, and what state he's in by now?

Waver just barrels straight into a living popsicle.

In all tragedy, his temperature is growing alarmingly close to matching one. He'd tried to trudge through the frosty expanse, but such a feat proves impossible when his blood is freezing and the snow clings to his calves. He can't even achieve flight yet. He's sleepy... so sleepy, so cold. At this point, his eyelids keep drooping as he desperately grasps at his slippery consciousness. He'd been losing sight of it just as Waver rams right into him. The collision knocks him awake again, but also face-first into the embrace of snow.

"...Ergh..." he moans on brittle breath. If he's being attacked out here, he's a goner. He's already accepted as much.

"Wah-- sorry! Sorry, are you all right?"

Waver immediately scrambles to help him out of the snow, and only when he manages to pull the young man up enough to see him better does he recognize it's someone he knows.

"...Soren?"

He looks terrible. And knowing he's a dragon and how much harder this weather is on their kind, Waver drags him out of the snow with an expression of genuine concern over what's visible of his face above the scarf wound tightly around the lower half muffling his words.

"Why are you standing out here? Get inside!"

Soren hears Waver before he sees him. He forces his heavy eyelids to open and transmit the bleary image of the concerned turnskin to his brain. Like his limp, stiff body, his mind operates as a numb and sluggish pace. While he can't bring himself to feel ashamed for being caught ready to pass out in the snow, relief does seep in nice and slow at this turn of events. He might survive. Better yet, he's acquainted with this person. It beats being discovered by a stranger he has no reason to trust at all.

When he moves his mouth to speak, it's like forcing a rusted gear to turn.

"My... enchantment... G-Gone... w-with the... the wind..."

Waver helps him up. Luckily, Soren is about his size, and Waver's additional Turnskin strength helps him out in this case; he can and will bodily haul Soren out of the snowbank and support him if he needs help standing, slipping an arm around the dragon's waist.

"We're not too far from my place," Waver assures him quickly, not asking further questions when it becomes apparent the poor guy can barely talk. He looks really badly off. Waver knows Berserker gets really cranky and complains when it's too cold, but this looks actually dangerous, not simply uncomfortable.

"Come on. You can make it. Just a couple of minutes. Don't pass out on me, you hear?"

"...I'll... stay."

Awake, he means to say, but the effort to complete his sentence outweighs his willingness to when the gist of it can be parsed anyway. Just knowing he will be dislodged from this inhospitable landscape in only a matter of minutes reinvigorates his morale. He tries to help Waver's efforts by moving his own legs, which becomes significantly easier now that he has the support he needs.

Besides, he can't help but notice how warm his company is now that he's flush up next to him. He practically glows with inviting heat. It's enough to make him want to lean into it just a little more, recline against it like one of those heat slabs found all across the Western Residential District. Under normal circumstances, he would shy away from the touch of other people, but in this special case, he forgets his reservations and craves more of it instead.

Considering the circumstances, Waver doesn't mind. He knows that, even though he himself actually feels quite cold right now, his body temperature runs higher since he's been transformed into this stupid doglike form. In this case, at least there's something about it that can be helpful.

Waver's arm around the small dragon tightens, tucking him as close as he can while they walk. Together, they trudge through the snow, Waver guiding them by instinct more than sight or smell in the deathly bitter cold that numbs his nose and drives the snow with icy wind into their faces.

Thankfully, Waver had assessed the distance accurately; it's only a few minutes battling the storm before they finally arrive. Fumbling open the door, Waver lets them into the building, ushering the half-frozen dragon in before him and then tightly shutting it once more to keep out the chill as much as possible. Even though it's technically still daytime, the whole building is dark inside. The magical glow that usually illuminates the steps is nowhere to be seen, and any natural light that usually would filter in has been blocked out by the stormy skies outside.

The darkness doesn't bother Waver, with his Turnskin eyes, but it is rather gloomy. At least it's a little quieter indoors.

"C'mon," he urges Soren again, directing him up the stairs.

"I'm on the fifth floor." Hopefully, Soren can climb that far.

And then, all that morale spirals downward. Ascending even one floor seems a momentous task from his position. Having to scale five of them?

It's not like he has a choice. Depending on one condition.

"It's... warmer up there?"

The apartment building isn't as unforgiving as the raw tundra elements, but it's still too cold for Soren in all his scaly, cold-blooded glory to be able to function at full-capacity. As he is now, the urge to find a secure and comfortable hidey-space to curl up and let drowsiness overtake him trumps all other biological cues. If there is a fire there or another promising heat source, he might be a little more willing to haul his lethargic self up a few stories. He's half-tempted to ask if Waver wouldn't mind letting him curl up next to him down here in his desperation for warmth, but his ordinary reservations still manage to hold him back by a few threads.

"It is. Warmer air rises, after all."

Waver's still trying to cajole him up the stairs with a combination of a soft, encouraging tone and his hand on Soren's shoulder. The staircase is a little narrow for them to comfortably fit side by side, so he sort of nudges Soren from behind, trying to maneuver them both.

"Plus, we got lucky. My flat's actually got a real hearth. We've stocked up on wood, so it should be no issue to just get a fire started."

That last point is enough to convince him to propel himself up the stairs with a little more steam. Waver's continuous support helps both on a physical and a motivational level, too. He only hopes that he doesn't trip on his new tail, a sinuous affair spanning four feet and growing by the day. A cluster of red spines decorates the tip. Other than that, the tightness of their space and the barest tease of body heat is satisfying on an instinctual level.

For a while, his speed picks up. By the second flight, he even finds it a little bit easier to keep his belly close to the stairs, to wind up them on all fours by involving his hands in the effort. Tiredness is a constant contestant, however, and he inches down to slower and slower rates of stairs-per-second, drawing in the sharp, cold air in quicker and heavier pants. They're only on the third flight before his vision clouds in dark edges and his trembling limbs can't take anymore. He slumps right in his tracks.

"Sorry... My body, it feels so... heavy..."

Edited 2019-12-17 04:06 (UTC)

The tail is a bit annoying, but Waver won't comment on it. He knows it isn't exactly there by choice. Carefully, he just avoids it and keeps to the side rather than directly behind Soren, only staying there because he's got real reason to think Soren might just tumble down the stairs if he missteps or suddenly freezes up like he had in the road.

When Soren starts to droop, supporting himself with his hands on the steps, Waver tries to pull him back up a few times but eventually gives up. If this is what it takes, he can crawl up the stairs if he wants to.

Unfortunately, it seems even that's not going to cut it. Waver can't help but groan. Sympathetic as he is to the poor dragon's situation, this is still a pain in the ass.

"Hey. Soren. Get up." Waver's voice is firm, though not harsh. He grabs Soren by the upper arm and yanks.

"We can take a break, but there's no point. It'll be warmer when we get there. Rest then, by the fire. I can't carry you upstairs. I said get up."

This is tough. The apartment bloc may be a degree or few warmer than the outside, but it's not enough to sufficiently liven him up. Waver's demands pelt him and he heeds them, but no matter how much he goads him to move, it never makes it easier on him.

He's lucky someone was willing to lend him a hand, though. It's only unfortunate he has to be such an armful about his surprising gesture of goodwill. A small fragment of his psyche fears that he'll just abandon him as a lost cause if he doesn't somehow pull his act together soon enough.

"I'd... l-love to, but..."

My blood is currently freezing solid? Something like that.

At any rate, he's not going to just give up the ghost on the stairwell or anything. Waver jerking him up does shake him out of that sleepy spell and offers him some extra leverage to take one small step for dragons. If he were a better dragon at this point, he might be able to take a giant leap for dragonkind with those wings of his, but they're iced over and he's still learning how to fly.

"No buts," Waver cuts in sharply.

"Keep going. Or I'm going to leave you here."

His threat ends up being perhaps slightly less effective because it's said as he's shrugging off his top layer -- a heavy woolen cloak -- and his scarf to shove them both at Soren's pathetically wilting form.

"You can shiver by yourself in the stairwell, or you can come with me and warm up by the fire."

He says that, but he's helping Soren put the cloak on at the same time anyway...

It may be the top layer, but the fabric still manages to retain some of that covetable body heat, and Soren is now draped in it. The scarf in particular chases the chill away like waking up banishes a bad dream. Alertness settles in; his muscles loosen with the donated warmth. He never would have personally suggested taking his clothes off for him, but it's turning out to be an effective solution.

He takes another step, then another, and another, fighting an upstairs battle that he's now better equipped to win. "You didn't have t-to help me," he counters at a murmur.

Luckily, Waver can afford to shed some layers far more easily than Soren can. Even though it's still rather chilly even inside, without the enchantments and magitech protecting the building from the frigid temperatures as usual, it's still significantly warmer. Without the wind-chill, it seems even more reasonable. Waver's higher basal temperature of course helps him as well, and so it's not too much of a problem to let Soren have his cloak.

Losing the scarf is more difficult, but he turns up the collar of his jacket to protect his now-exposed neck from the sudden chill and resumes shoving Soren up the stairs.

Thankfully, the predicament keeps him from thinking too hard about the last encounter they'd had, which he only remembers barely, but enough to know it was embarrassing. At least it's not as bad this time. Or at least it's not as embarrassing for him.

He sighs at Soren's protests.

"You'd rather I have left you out in the snow? I know I didn't have to do anything, you idiot. Now shut up and focus on moving your ass."

Thankfully, the end is in sight. Waver will shove and drag him as needed onto the next landing, nodding up the final flight of steps.

"Come on. It's right there," Waver grunts, nearly tripping over Soren's tail when they turn. "Hurry up."

He pulls the cloak tighter around himself and slogs up the final set with greater ease than demonstrated before. It might be best not to protest or verbally question any help when he's so desperate for it, and he's not in a state to examine it too closely. It's normal for acquaintances to look out for each other, especially if that acquaintance plans on helping to support his business.

They make it to the top and Soren stands by for Waver to open the door, tucking his tail away into the corner so it won't continue to be an obstacle.

Fumbling with the keys between his gloved fingers, Waver gets the door open as quickly as he can and ushers Soren inside before closing it tightly behind them.

Inside, the apartment would have been cozy -- if not for the fact that it's still pretty much freezing, not to mention dark. The most important feature of the place right now, though, is the fireplace. Near it is an arm chair in front of a large bookshelf, and on the other side a box full of chopped firewood, tongs and a poker.

"Go sit down by the hearth," Waver instructs, quickly running down a narrow corridor on the other side of the living room, which clearly leads to a bedroom judging by the huge armful of blankets Waver returns with. He practically dumps them right on top of Soren.

It'll take a few moments to start the fire and longer to actually have it heat the room up. Waver gets started on it, finding the matches on the small table by the chair and shoving more firewood and kindling into the hearth before lighting it up. The fire sparks to life quickly enough, catches, and begins to slowly spread to the wood.

Waver sighs in relief.

"All right. There you go. See? You made it."

He doesn't even need to be told to sit near the fireplace; he's already heading for it. By the time he makes his slow advance and crouches before it like a worshipper at a shrine, Waver unceremoniously dumps just about all the blankets in the apartment on top of him.

"..."

The pile doesn't even move after that. Soren's finds himself very comfortable swaddled in sheets like this. This is exactly what his body has been screaming for him to do since the blackout: find somewhere warm and dry to huddle into and take a nap while the rest of the world freezes all to hell. But he's not sleeping just yet, even if he finds himself nodding off to the sound of knocking wood and the scratch of matches.

It looks like Waver is talking to a pile of blankies. They respond with Soren's quiet voice.

"...Thank you. This is... much better."

Waver pokes the fire a few more times, sending up a few small sparks.

"You're welcome. Now don't start spouting idiocy again about how I didn't have to do anything or whatever. Shut up and be grateful."

There's a rustling of clothes and retreating footsteps. Waver's voice sounds from slightly farther away.

"I'm making tea. Do you prefer black or herbal?"

The pile speaks.

"...Black is fine."

Caffeine content might stir his brain to more alertness. Sleeping feels great right now, but he doesn't want to crash just yet in an acquaintance's home he's never set foot in before, even if he did take great pains in hauling him back to his house to offer him his own dwelling for shelter. He has no idea who else might live here or to what level he's infringing on someone else's space.

In truth, he is grateful for the help. He really couldn't have made it out there on his own. Would he have done the same? Probably, to a certain extent. For a complete stranger? Unlikely, unless they happened to be someone eminent enough that imposing such a sense of indebtedness would turn things in Soren's favor. He shifts a little inside his nest to curl up in the turnskin's leftover heat even more, for it seems that he really can't produce any of his own to insulate with. It's comfortable. Drowsiness sets in again.

Soren can nod off if he likes. The soft sounds of Waver moving about in the kitchen meld with the quiet crackling of the fire as it burns hotter and fills the whole hearth. Thankfully, the stove doesn't have to rely on magitech. Waver uses the good old-fashioned method of just putting the kettle on the fire and waiting until the water boils, pacing to keep warm.

Eventually, the scent of strong black tea joins the woodfire scent to fill the room, hearty and warm.

Waver returns, nudging the sad blanket pile with his toe. Gently.

"Hey. D'you fall asleep? Drink this. It'll warm you up."

The covers rustle and shift. Soren's straight, pointed horns part the way for his sleepy face blinking the bleariness from his vision, followed by his shoulders and then his arms as he wriggles the rest of his upper half from his makeshift bed to receive his cup without splashing any of it.

"Thank you," he murmurs after a yawn. He brings the cup close to himself, basking in the steam with its invigorating aroma. The blazing fire encourages him to remain exposed enough to refresh himself with tea.

Edited 2019-12-17 23:29 (UTC)

"No problem. Now, move over."

Waver, balancing his own mug of tea, toes off his shoes and begins to crawl into the makeshift nest.

He scoots aside to make room as best he can, curling his submerged tail to the non-vacant side out of consideration for personal space. Some of the blankets drag along with the spikes.

A tinge of apprehension worms beneath his scales, typical of his guardedness in sharing spaces with others in such close and intimate quarters, but not enough to unsettle him or taint the overall comfort spreading nicely through him. Altogether, being welcomed into another's home even as an impromptu emergency guest kindles a gentle spark of warmth within, one that tingles due to how unused to it he's becoming. It helps combat the broken ache that's been throbbing at varying intensities since his Bond snapped in half. It reminds him of a time he had somewhere to call home.

Perhaps he'd taken it for granted. His current companion is nowhere near close enough to consider family. But he's not unknown to him, either, and Soren understands more about him than he likely realizes. He never did return that notebook he lended him to use as a communication aid when his voice had been taken, full of notes jotted down during Coven lectures and study sessions. Like him, he had come from a place of knowing magic to being devoid of the power to use it. He knows what sorts of questions he asks in the margins, what piques his interest, the breadth of his prior knowledge and even his frustrations and hopes. Waver Velvet is an intelligent and studious young man with a keen interest in magical theory but is not particularly adept with it himself, even when he was able to use it. He opened a window with which to peer into the system of magic that belonged to whatever world he hailed from, foreign concepts such as magic circuits and the Root littering the pages. Comparisons with Talam were drawn frequently, just as Soren had done when first introduced to the sophisticated magic of this realm. But to Waver, Soren is far more obscured.

He takes his first sip of tea and enjoys the heat that slides down his throat. Conversations that aren't fashioned for some overarching purpose are one of his weaker points; he's not favorable company for most and is aware of this social shortcoming. Nonetheless, they do have plenty of fruitful and interesting topics they can comb through between them.

"This weather is m-miserable, isn't it? It must be interfering with your plans to set up shop."

Edited (i missed a word oopsie) 2019-12-18 02:36 (UTC)

Halfway inside the blanket pile, Waver sets his mug down on the floor in front of them and shrugs off his coat. He sets it aside, sort of joining into the mass of other cloth, before he finishes burrowing carefully and picking his tea back up once he's more or less entirely covered.

Soren is beside him, close enough to snuggle up if either of them leaned just an inch or two closer.

"A bit," Waver replies, shrugging vaguely at Soren's observation. "We started working on it, but the big problem is that the building's old. We had to fortify it a bit, but with the enchantments glitching... well, we did some physical, non-magical work on the roof too. I hope it holds against the wind."

Pausing to take a sip of the tea he's been warming his hands on, Waver lets out a soft hum of approval. Nice and hot.

"And where were you going out in that mess?"

"Returning home." He dunks the majority of his focus into the dark liquid contrasting with the white vessel contrasting with the midnight-black hands that hold it, a somber cast to his firelit features. "I needed certain... palliatives. I was getting them from the Coven."

Waver's ears twitch forward with interest, or maybe a bit of concern. He cocks his head. It's an instinctive habit he's accidentally fallen into.

"I work at an apothecary. I've got some supplies. Are you hurt?"

He gives Waver his eyes. "I had a Bond that was broken. She disappeared. I could feel it when she did, even though I never watched her go." He retreats his attention to the hearth. "Ever since then, there has been a low, constant ache in my chest. Like something has been removed... So upon the infirmary's recommendation, I've been taking potions that are supposed to lessen the pain of such losses."

He can feel the pang rear its thorny head a little harder now: deep, sore, pulsing with his slow heartbeat.

"But they wouldn't help me any longer. Oh, they were kind in the way they spoke. But they told me that... while they had given me some before, they were trying to reserve these concoctions for particularly severe cases... Deaths and the like. Especially now that supplies are becoming scarcer to find due to the inclement weather. They pointed me to a few apothecaries that sell them, instead. I never made it very far..."

Edited 2019-12-19 00:33 (UTC)

Waver's face falls immediately, his ears drooping with the pang of worried sympathy that comes with hearing of Soren's plight. It frightens him to even imagine, and his fingers tighten on the tea mug, the empathy clear in his eyes as they meet Soren's.

"I'm really sorry you lost your Bonded." To him, the thought is deeply painful not only because of the broken Bond and the benefits of being magically stabilized that would shatter with it, but because he's come to associate it as such a deep and personal relationship. It immediately denotes losing a loved one.

Waver bites his lip, listening to the rest of Soren's story. It makes sense that the Coven is out of supplies, but still it seems a bit callous. It sounds like a horribly difficult pain to try to ease.

"If you can tell me what ingredients you need, I might be able to sell them to you when the weather clears up enough that we can get to Tymael's. Until then, though... I'm afraid we're stuck in here."

"...That's fine. I can bear the pain. I'm growing accustomed to being in some level of discomfort these days. From a Monster to a Monster, I'm sure you understand."

The sympathy, so clear and stricken by the glow of the firelight, shine like embers for him. It makes him tense, a little more on guard and like something is squirming inside of him. It's not something he's used to getting from many people, mostly because he usually kept his trials and vulnerabilities locked up tight from others. You can never be absolutely sure who is ready and willing to exploit those weaknesses. Besides, his feelings are a heavy burden that are his own to bear, and forcing Waver to hear it, especially when he barely has anything to do with him, really only amounts to causing trouble for him. In a way, he's glad that he's selling the herbs to him and not forcing him to accept some kind of charity. Waver's inconvenienced himself enough over him as it is. It's his own problem and he should deal with it.

He draws his eyes shut and breathes the steam in from his nose. "I will try not to be too much of a nuisance... Mostly, I will just sleep and conserve my energy. I won't eat much, either."

It's because Waver understands that he feels so sympathetic. Waver sighs softly, nodding in silence as Soren assures him he won't be in the way. It's a little painful, somehow, that Soren feels the need to do that.

"It's fine. There's not much either of us can do until the storm lets up, right? So who cares..."

It sounds a bit rough around the edges, but it's an offer: stay, rest, don't worry.

"Eat if you're hungry though. We've got food."

"...Fine." He sips at the hot and fragrantly robust brew. "You went through all of that fuss to save me. I might as well make it worth it by leaving healthier than I came."

Hopefully that will assuage his concern a little more, since it's pretty clear that his previous assurance that he wouldn't be a thorn in his side seemed to have disturbed him. As much as makes Soren uneasy to be put in a position where he owes someone his life, such an act touches him somewhere deep. Whatever motivated his rescuer to salvage him from the snow, even if it was to avoid losing support for his fledgling business (or perhaps to be able to use this as leverage to ask him for future favors), he still finds himself grateful for his hospitality.

The heat from these various sources should ideally renew vitality within him, but fatigue still settles over Soren, and he's growing increasingly comfortable here. The wariness dissipates gradually, too. He can't sense any ill intent whatsoever, especially not in light of that genuine display of empathy. Someone whose interest merely lied in taking advantage of him later probably wouldn't be so concerned for his well-being. Reflecting over this, he relaxes further into his cloak-and- blanket heap, subconsciously leans closer to the beguiling warmth of his host.

"...Who do you live with, by the way?"

"My Bonded."

He's far more than that, but that's the easiest answer for Waver to give. People tend to side-eye if he says my King.

Considering the conversation though, he does feel a bit guilty.

If Soren wants to lean in, Waver won't stop him. He understands from being close to another dragon how enticing his warmth is when it's cold out, and how difficult it is to stay alert as a cold-blooded creature in weather like this.

"He's out right now. Helping at the poorer districts by the wall, I think."

"How benevolent." No hint of admiration leaks into his weary tone. Yako probably would have been doing the same. Why, if Ike were here, he would be doing the same, too. He may come across as nonchalant, but the truth of how he feels about people like that rests in his patterns. Not that Waver is privy to any of this. "Who is he?"

That question is, surprisingly, much more difficult for Waver to answer than he might have expected.

My King, he might say, and then have to explain (no, it's not some weird roleplay thing, why would you think that??). My former Servant? Same problem. Heroic Spirit of Alexander the Great in his prime as two thousand years of legend and history blended have made people think of him now? Yeah, no.

He could say Iskandar is his... boyfriend??

Waver's cheeks seem to grow redder as he mulls this over, taking a couple seconds longer than he should before finally settling on, "Someone I knew before I was brought here. A... a partner. And friend."

He ended up saying too much anyway, didn't he?

He didn't need to say much of anything for Soren to have garnered the vast scope of his feelings. It's cradled in his hesitance, strung on his voice, on the shine of his eyes, glowing in the heat in his cheeks. This isn't just a partner or a friend. It could be his world. Jealousy coils its thorny length around his heart as he reaches for Ike in the prison of his mind only to have the man vanish like a wispy cloud into the ink of the night sky. He closes his eyes and endures the same pain of a hollowed existence he has learned to deal with for months.

"That's nice." No venom leaks into his weary tone. "What is his name?"

"Ri--" Waver starts to answer automatically, then corrects himself. That's not his name, after all.

"It's Iskandar."

That's not a forgettable name, and the appearance that goes with it isn't exactly forgettable, either. "Oh... I've met him before. Yes, I can definitely see him out in the storm helping others." But what was Waver about to say? Was it a simple stutter? He decides not to pry about it.

"Oh, you have?"

Waver smiles, faint but with a glimmer of pride.

"Yeah... that's the kind of person he is. How did you meet him?"

"It was in the dream with the wildfire, before he arrived through his mirror," explains Soren after a sip of tea. "I guided him to where I knew it was safe. In those dreams, I can fly. ...He did not want me to carry him, stubbornly insisting that he could walk it even with his injury. Who was I to trample upon his pride? If he wanted to take the harder way even when an easier choice is presented to him, that's his decision. He could be afraid of heights for all I know."

Or suspicious of his small frame's capacity to carry him. Not like he can really blame him for that sort of wariness...

Alphys is caught off guard when she's rooted to the spot, so much that she nearly pitches forward. She barely manages to regain her balance via flailing her arms wildly, and only then does she realize the man next to her is speaking.

"Huh? M-my hand...?" She looks up, and finally sees it: mistletoe. And they're stuck under it. "O-oh, jeez, a-are you sure about this? T-there's gotta be another way, right?"

She's a skittish one, isn't she? Soren looks just a little more tired as he gazes down at the bespectacled Monster and wishes she would just relax, because freaking out is starting to make this more awkward than it has to be.

"This doesn't have to be a big deal." He extends his clawed black-scaled hand palm-up for her to take. "I can make this a quick and simple transaction."

'Skittish' is putting it lightly. She's vibrating like an anxious chihuahua, and not just because of the cold.

"I've j-just never done this before!" Alphys squeals. "T-the mistletoe, I mean. I've totally kissed people before!"

She continues to make things worse.

Oh, wow. And here he thought she'd at least calm down after that. He raises an eyebrow at her, hand still waiting.

"Then... how is this any different? Is the added presence of a magical plant putting you off somehow, or...?"

"W-well, I guess it's not?" Alphys wrings her hands nervously. "B-but it sort of is? I mean, aren't you supposed to do this with somebody you really care about?"

Why is awkwardness so contagious? Soren is starting to feel itchy and he wants to leave.

"Look." He bobs his hand to bring attention to how vacant it still is. "Allow me to put it this way. Would you rather stand here all day tormenting yourself with the anxiety of kissing me? Or would you prefer we just get it over with and move on with our lives like it never happened?"

You aren't the person I want to have my first kiss under the mistletoe with! is what she desperately wants to say, but when she opens her mouth nothing but a squeak comes out. Because she knows he's right, and no amount of stammering and shuffling her feet is going to make Undyne appear.

"Fffffine! Okay! Just get it over with!"

"ABOUT TIME!!" shouts Mettaton from the sidelines, clapping his gloved hands softly. "I WAS WONDERING IF I'D HAVE TO CALL THE COVEN FOR HELP PEELING YOU TWO APART LIKE CHEWED BUBBLEGUM FROM PAVEMENT. BUT WE'RE FINALLY GETTING SOMEWHERE!"

Mettaton pumps a fist, a red heart glowing on his screen.

"NOW JUST PRETEND HE HAS GILLS, AND KNOWS HOW TO USE A POINTY SPEAR!! YOU'VE GOT THIS, BABY!"

And just like that, Mettaton offers the pair a wave before wheeling off. He was never here to do anything helpful.

The sudden and loud burst of synthetic voice forces Soren's head to swivel around in the direction of this interruption. His face darkens from surprise to perplexed annoyance. Just when he was about to kiss the girl and get it all over with...!

"Um... What?" He turns back to Alphys. "Do you know... er, him?" The voice sounded like a 'him' and was capable of forming intelligent speech, the only criteria keeping him from referring to the faceless box-shaped bunny robot as 'it' instead. Honestly, Soren's still not completely sure what that whole thing was about. It was incredibly surreal. "What does my ability to wield a spear have anything to do with..."

His waiting palm smacks into his face as the distinct feeling that he might have run into some fishy form of innuendo hits him. "No, nevermind. I won't ask any more."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Deceuer Catch-All

snow way out, i.

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sorry for the lateass lackluster tag...... :'(

you really thought i'd forgive you??

:'(((

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kisstletoes......

henlo lizer

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