718 Vhalar 72...
Soup – a flavorful broth of bone marrow and mushrooms – steamed hot before him. It had been a good while since he’d last had real food; while Graciana had taught him much, cooking had not been something he’d been quick to pick up on, nor something she’d been particularly patient enough to instruct him in. In spite of how long it had been since he’d had the privilege of eating out of both pleasure and hunger, he now felt neither as he stared down at the pale brown liquid. The translucent threads of steam that drifted up from its surface smelled pleasant enough, but they inspired nothing within him.
He set his spoon back down upon his cloth napkin.
“And this… ‘changling’ you discovered, that girl knew of him before?” Graciana thoughtfully stirred her own bowl of soup, spoon never once scraping against the sides as it glided silently through the liquid within.
“She suspected something was different about him.” She had died far too quickly for him to ascertain whether she had expected the outcome of events or not. Most didn’t tend to plan for their own deaths, so he tentatively assumed she had not been an exception. “But the quality of the transformation was very nearly flawless.”
“Its blood was that cerulean… ‘slime’, you mean?”
He nodded, slowly, eyes distant in thought. “That, and it had difficulty speaking properly.”
Graciana arced a brow, spoon pausing in its circular path. “It spoke?”
“It attempted to appeal to my… humanity, I imagine.”
The spoon resumed its stirring. “Ah. The creature cried out for help then?”
“No.” His brow furrowed, eyes glimmering with careful contemplation. “It apologized.”
“Apologized?” She had begun to lift a spoonful of breakfast to her lips but paused at Mathias’ clarification. “Whatever for, darling?”
He slowly shook his head side to side. “I cannot say.”
“Curious.”
“The Tower does not concern you?” They had spent the morning discussing all that he’d learned during her absence. She, however, had elected to share no information whatsoever regarding the details of her foray into the Quacian wilds, and Mathias knew better than to ask her.
“The Tower has existed for centuries. You fell into a trap, darling.” She winked, lips curling in an amused smile. “These ‘changlings’, however-” The smile was replaced with a thoughtful frown that threatened to crease her forehead “-seem to be the beginning of a true, concerted invasion.”
“Scouts.”
“Exactly.”
“And you believe we should get involved?”
“I am… considering it, yes.” Her tone hardly echoed the intent of the words, casual as it was. “Do you believe we should get involved, darling?”
He mulled over the question, not answering right away. The changelings were fascinating – dangerous, yes, but then so much of that which was truly interesting tended to be as much a hazard to one’s health as curiosity itself. He wanted to know more about them – about the creep in general – but he also wanted little to do with being responsible for other people. The last time that had happened, he’d been stabbed in the stomach – or would have been stabbed.
“I believe it is wise to keep an eye on this… situation.”
Graciana chuckled, tearing off a small bit of bread from the loaf between them and lightly dunking it into her soup. “A very diplomatic answer.” Chewing and swallowing long before continuing, Mathias blankly watched her, patiently waiting for what she was to say next. “Then we shall remain as we ever have: a neutral party. If there is to be a war, I can guarantee you the people of this city will hardly stand as a united front. It is best we not cast our lots quite yet, I think.”
He nodded, nothing further to add to such speculation. Between the nobility, the Heaps, and the theocratum, the city was already at war with itself. Even a full-blown invasion staged by the ever-encroaching creep wouldn’t be enough to unite more than two of them – if even that happened at all. He felt no obligation to his people, nor to the Theocratum, nor to the crown. They were all just… meat.
“And what would you have me do in the meantime?”
“You can explain this, to start.” Without warning, the spoon flew through the air, slamming into his forehead. Only, it didn’t “slam”, instead he felt the briefest shiver in his skin, and, in the next moment, the spoon was in his lap. As if she hadn’t expected the spoon to be stopped by half of his forehead disappearing to reveal smooth black glass behind, Graciana’s eyes widened in mock shock.
Picking up the spoon from his lap, he carefully set it down next to his own. “Ah. Yes.“
“Any time, darling.”
“It is recent, as far as I am aware.” Though Graciana nodded, her eyes were fixed on his forehead, carefully studying the dark surface.
“It looks the same as it did when that woman tried to stab you.”
“That-“ Blinking once, he caught himself before he completed the question. “It seems to be the same everywhere. My entire body.”
Graciana curled her fingers in gesture to his shirt, which he lifted wordlessly. “No wound? No scar?”
“I believe it regenerated while I slept. It was gone before we even returned to Quacia”
“Curious.” She leaned forward, analyzing stare intensely set upon his forehead. “Any pain? Any sensation at all?” She knew full well how his spark interacted with his body already.
“Nothing.”
“Did you have plans for today?”
“Not that I-“
Without any hesitation, Graciana reached forward, dug her finger in between the thin layer of his skin and the cool, dark glass-like surface of his body, and proceeded to peel it away.
He could feel something akin to a light itch as the skin was removed – as it was slowly torn from his face, from his eyes and nose and lips. He could feel a subtle shift in temperature – what small amount of warmth had been kept inside met with the chilled morning air, drifting out from the dark glass of his now featureless face. As each piece of skin was coaxed free, it dissolved into the air – his skin, his hair… when she had exposed the entirety of his head down to the bottom of his neck, she stopped and stood back a step or two, eyeing him with a ravenous sort of curiosity.
“Fascinating.”
Picking up a spoon from the table, she threw it again. This time, it clanged loudly against his forehead, acting exactly as how one might expect it to before it clattered to the floor.
“I… felt that.” It had been more of a notification of impact – a vague understanding that he’d been struck. “There was no pain though.”
“It would seem, darling,” she started, picking up his arm by his wrist and lips curling in a pleasant smile. “You now have plans.”
The trial was spent exploring the limits of his new body. It didn’t take them long to discover that his skin was not capable of reactively defending him against cuts and burns when they were applied carefully and deliberately – it seemed that as long as there was enough force behind any aggressive action, his skin would “take action” as it were.
The “under-body” would not.
It weathered hammers, knives, fire, and fists. The stronger the blow, the greater he was able to feel the sensation of… something – of fracturing or splintering. They stopped after they discovered that the piercing strength of an arrow was, it seemed, his body’s weak-point. Though the arrow itself had bounced off of him, it had managed to splinter a sizable hole in his chest, deep enough that both he and Graciana determined it was probably best to pick up the pieces, put them back as best they could, and let him rest.
Throughout it all, he’d felt no pain – similar to how his body of flesh and blood had acted before, but now it was even more distant; it was a whisper, a suggestion, that he’d been struck, damaged, wounded. Convenient, considering both he and Graciana had, more or less, stripped him of his flesh and proceeded to hack, slash, stab, and pierce their way across most regions of his body.
As she set a bowl of broth beside him, the rich scent of its flavour wafting through his barren room and, for the first time since they’d returned, instilled within him something like hunger, she raised a brow as he carefully lifted it from his bedside table and took a liberal gulp. He could feel the heat, but the taste was somewhat muted and there was no sensation of pain from burning as it passed down his throat. “And now that you have been wounded, you discover your appetite?”
Swallowing a second mouthful, Mathias paused long enough to verify her observation with a brief nod. “So it would seem.”
The sun had since set, and his room was gently illuminated with the dull glow of a single bloodlight, one that was on the verge of rot.
“Then I suppose we shall continue our investigation in the morning, darling. For now,” she gently took the now empty bowl from him, rising up from the side of his bed with a soft smile. “Rest well.” She paused just briefly in the doorway before she glanced over her shoulder and offered a final, “And for tonight, avoid that… Fiona, if possible.”
Soup – a flavorful broth of bone marrow and mushrooms – steamed hot before him. It had been a good while since he’d last had real food; while Graciana had taught him much, cooking had not been something he’d been quick to pick up on, nor something she’d been particularly patient enough to instruct him in. In spite of how long it had been since he’d had the privilege of eating out of both pleasure and hunger, he now felt neither as he stared down at the pale brown liquid. The translucent threads of steam that drifted up from its surface smelled pleasant enough, but they inspired nothing within him.
He set his spoon back down upon his cloth napkin.
“And this… ‘changling’ you discovered, that girl knew of him before?” Graciana thoughtfully stirred her own bowl of soup, spoon never once scraping against the sides as it glided silently through the liquid within.
“She suspected something was different about him.” She had died far too quickly for him to ascertain whether she had expected the outcome of events or not. Most didn’t tend to plan for their own deaths, so he tentatively assumed she had not been an exception. “But the quality of the transformation was very nearly flawless.”
“Its blood was that cerulean… ‘slime’, you mean?”
He nodded, slowly, eyes distant in thought. “That, and it had difficulty speaking properly.”
Graciana arced a brow, spoon pausing in its circular path. “It spoke?”
“It attempted to appeal to my… humanity, I imagine.”
The spoon resumed its stirring. “Ah. The creature cried out for help then?”
“No.” His brow furrowed, eyes glimmering with careful contemplation. “It apologized.”
“Apologized?” She had begun to lift a spoonful of breakfast to her lips but paused at Mathias’ clarification. “Whatever for, darling?”
He slowly shook his head side to side. “I cannot say.”
“Curious.”
“The Tower does not concern you?” They had spent the morning discussing all that he’d learned during her absence. She, however, had elected to share no information whatsoever regarding the details of her foray into the Quacian wilds, and Mathias knew better than to ask her.
“The Tower has existed for centuries. You fell into a trap, darling.” She winked, lips curling in an amused smile. “These ‘changlings’, however-” The smile was replaced with a thoughtful frown that threatened to crease her forehead “-seem to be the beginning of a true, concerted invasion.”
“Scouts.”
“Exactly.”
“And you believe we should get involved?”
“I am… considering it, yes.” Her tone hardly echoed the intent of the words, casual as it was. “Do you believe we should get involved, darling?”
He mulled over the question, not answering right away. The changelings were fascinating – dangerous, yes, but then so much of that which was truly interesting tended to be as much a hazard to one’s health as curiosity itself. He wanted to know more about them – about the creep in general – but he also wanted little to do with being responsible for other people. The last time that had happened, he’d been stabbed in the stomach – or would have been stabbed.
“I believe it is wise to keep an eye on this… situation.”
Graciana chuckled, tearing off a small bit of bread from the loaf between them and lightly dunking it into her soup. “A very diplomatic answer.” Chewing and swallowing long before continuing, Mathias blankly watched her, patiently waiting for what she was to say next. “Then we shall remain as we ever have: a neutral party. If there is to be a war, I can guarantee you the people of this city will hardly stand as a united front. It is best we not cast our lots quite yet, I think.”
He nodded, nothing further to add to such speculation. Between the nobility, the Heaps, and the theocratum, the city was already at war with itself. Even a full-blown invasion staged by the ever-encroaching creep wouldn’t be enough to unite more than two of them – if even that happened at all. He felt no obligation to his people, nor to the Theocratum, nor to the crown. They were all just… meat.
“And what would you have me do in the meantime?”
“You can explain this, to start.” Without warning, the spoon flew through the air, slamming into his forehead. Only, it didn’t “slam”, instead he felt the briefest shiver in his skin, and, in the next moment, the spoon was in his lap. As if she hadn’t expected the spoon to be stopped by half of his forehead disappearing to reveal smooth black glass behind, Graciana’s eyes widened in mock shock.
Picking up the spoon from his lap, he carefully set it down next to his own. “Ah. Yes.“
“Any time, darling.”
“It is recent, as far as I am aware.” Though Graciana nodded, her eyes were fixed on his forehead, carefully studying the dark surface.
“It looks the same as it did when that woman tried to stab you.”
“That-“ Blinking once, he caught himself before he completed the question. “It seems to be the same everywhere. My entire body.”
Graciana curled her fingers in gesture to his shirt, which he lifted wordlessly. “No wound? No scar?”
“I believe it regenerated while I slept. It was gone before we even returned to Quacia”
“Curious.” She leaned forward, analyzing stare intensely set upon his forehead. “Any pain? Any sensation at all?” She knew full well how his spark interacted with his body already.
“Nothing.”
“Did you have plans for today?”
“Not that I-“
Without any hesitation, Graciana reached forward, dug her finger in between the thin layer of his skin and the cool, dark glass-like surface of his body, and proceeded to peel it away.
He could feel something akin to a light itch as the skin was removed – as it was slowly torn from his face, from his eyes and nose and lips. He could feel a subtle shift in temperature – what small amount of warmth had been kept inside met with the chilled morning air, drifting out from the dark glass of his now featureless face. As each piece of skin was coaxed free, it dissolved into the air – his skin, his hair… when she had exposed the entirety of his head down to the bottom of his neck, she stopped and stood back a step or two, eyeing him with a ravenous sort of curiosity.
“Fascinating.”
Picking up a spoon from the table, she threw it again. This time, it clanged loudly against his forehead, acting exactly as how one might expect it to before it clattered to the floor.
“I… felt that.” It had been more of a notification of impact – a vague understanding that he’d been struck. “There was no pain though.”
“It would seem, darling,” she started, picking up his arm by his wrist and lips curling in a pleasant smile. “You now have plans.”
The trial was spent exploring the limits of his new body. It didn’t take them long to discover that his skin was not capable of reactively defending him against cuts and burns when they were applied carefully and deliberately – it seemed that as long as there was enough force behind any aggressive action, his skin would “take action” as it were.
The “under-body” would not.
It weathered hammers, knives, fire, and fists. The stronger the blow, the greater he was able to feel the sensation of… something – of fracturing or splintering. They stopped after they discovered that the piercing strength of an arrow was, it seemed, his body’s weak-point. Though the arrow itself had bounced off of him, it had managed to splinter a sizable hole in his chest, deep enough that both he and Graciana determined it was probably best to pick up the pieces, put them back as best they could, and let him rest.
Throughout it all, he’d felt no pain – similar to how his body of flesh and blood had acted before, but now it was even more distant; it was a whisper, a suggestion, that he’d been struck, damaged, wounded. Convenient, considering both he and Graciana had, more or less, stripped him of his flesh and proceeded to hack, slash, stab, and pierce their way across most regions of his body.
As she set a bowl of broth beside him, the rich scent of its flavour wafting through his barren room and, for the first time since they’d returned, instilled within him something like hunger, she raised a brow as he carefully lifted it from his bedside table and took a liberal gulp. He could feel the heat, but the taste was somewhat muted and there was no sensation of pain from burning as it passed down his throat. “And now that you have been wounded, you discover your appetite?”
Swallowing a second mouthful, Mathias paused long enough to verify her observation with a brief nod. “So it would seem.”
The sun had since set, and his room was gently illuminated with the dull glow of a single bloodlight, one that was on the verge of rot.
“Then I suppose we shall continue our investigation in the morning, darling. For now,” she gently took the now empty bowl from him, rising up from the side of his bed with a soft smile. “Rest well.” She paused just briefly in the doorway before she glanced over her shoulder and offered a final, “And for tonight, avoid that… Fiona, if possible.”
