• Closed • Borrowed Faces

[Llyr Llywelyn]

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Ashan 26, Arc 722
Prelude

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The molar tooth had the flesh of gum stuck to the enamel, with a crack that went down to the dentin. It rolled about in the palm of Llyr's hand, break after break of time, as he meditated alone. It felt like forever since last he'd dedicated a totem to himself. Yet the act itself came as easily and naturally to him as breathing. Still, he required solitude for the ritual. The precise application of ether through which he felt the creation of a new vessel for him to fill with his arcane-bounded soul. From the cellular creation of material form, to the colorations that distinguished the slave that had been called Rune.

All in all, it took Llyr three breaks before the totem ring showed, perfectly polished like any ring made of a smooth white bone might. A line of red ran through the center of the band, noticeable only when looking very close. He slipped it between his fingers, before he decided which would be most suitable and finished the act of dedication with the ring set to his middle finger.

Outside, from beyond the window of the room - a small alcove of a bedroom among the townhouse's interior - the sun drifted upward to lighten the sky with morning.

Llyr lifted up, naked as all could be, and soon he made himself undone in the service of his magic, of his sparks, and of ambitious impulse. As he shapeshifted into the new totem, he kept quiet through the pain. He dressed in clothing that was slightly too large for him, but not terribly so. A few pinches of the fabric, twists of the velvet cloths with silken ribbons, and then it fit him snug again.

With a flourish of his wings, he lifted off the ground and opened the door as he went past into the corridor. He darted down the stairs, without his feet touching the hardwood floors, until he reached the lounge where the sev'ryn - Foxglove - had been told he could sleep there (after being offered a small meal of too warm cold-cuts and questionable bread). It hadn't been very long at all since they'd been at the slaver's estate but it had been long enough that Llyr had transformed his body.

Not that Foxglove might notice too much, as he'd never seen what face lay behind the mask.

However, he had seen the face that now greeted him - highlighted by the brightening rays of dawn - as it was Rune's face. and hair. and body, down to the uneven nails.

Llyr landed with a small spin, before his heels touched the carpeted rug and he splayed out his arms in a grand gesture of display for himself. His wings kept outward, reminiscent of dragonfly shapes, and his halo seemed brighter than usual.

"How do I look?" he asked, in complete sincerity.

[Foxglove]

The Sev'ryn were, broadly speaking, a wild tribe of people. A tribe who lived in sympathy with their immortal, not in worship of them, and who lived a life constantly in touch with nature, with wilderness. But Foxglove was a young member of his tribe, and he had been spoiled all his life with comfort and kindness. Could he be expected to do less here? There was no soft forest floor for him to sleep on, carpeted with pine needles, there was no comfy niche in the belly of an old oak tree, or roughly thrown together bed of animal skin on straw. So he made the comfort for himself. Should he have asked first before pulling the curtain down, oh so carefully, from its pole? Should he have asked before opening the windows and shaking the floor's carpet out with a sturdy wrist to dispell its dust and dirt? Yes. But he didn't.

So as his daydream half slumbering self was interrupted by his new master, he looked up from a positive dog's bed of fabric, sofa cushion, curtain, carpet and rag that he had fashioned for himself in the corner of the room. He had even shed his own rags to add to the sleep comforter, detesting the feel against his skin, wishing he had his own homespun clothing back, his neat goatskin waistcoat.

When his eyes beheld the transformed sight, at first he only blinked his eyes with obvious confusion. Before rubbing each, wincing because he was touching his black eye indelicately, and then climbing up to his feet to walk a little circle around Mister Magpie.
"You took Rune's face?" He said with delight, amazed by the sight before him. Once he had made his circle, he looked very intensely into Mister's eyes and then inspected the many plains of his face, even raising a finger to run along his now narrow nose to see if it would disappear entirely beneath his touch.

"Why, you wear that face better than he did." He replied with some awe, crossing his arms and looking up at the narrow, taller man. He was trying not to be too blown away by every aspect of his appearance, but Mister Magpie wore his own skin so well, it was hard not to be impressed.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The makeshift bed went mostly unnoticed, for Llyr did not care about the carpets or the cushions or anything since it was not technically his choice of decor. He, did, however take notice that the sev'ryn seemed to be stark nude. That saved some time to answer some petty questions, fortunately enough.

As the shorter man walked around him in a circle, Llyr posed for him in fluid motions of his hands and arms to frame himself to show off the new totem. It sent a thrill through the archmage to do so, for his magic to be recognized and realized by another who clearly appreciated such grandeur. The other looked into his eyes, and even with the new totem, he could not keep his eyes from shifting colors through indigos and warm purples.

At the raise of a finger, however, Llyr nearly flinched backward. He didn't - but he nearly did and the tension showed in his shoulders and back, the rigid posture that kept his spine firmer than a lead pipe. His color-shifting eyes crossed to look at the finger that touched the slender nose -

-and the compliment was obvious flattery, but it brought a reddened blush to Llyr's face anyway. It seemed Rune's body had easy physiological tells, not as trained and practiced as his origin body in hiding such things. Llyr recognized the warmth rising, and he placed a hand to feel the heat gathered in his cheek. Somewhat embarrassed by this, but not aiming to reveal that fact, he he turned away. He flew out of the room with a lift of his wings. The faint scent of ether trailed after him.

He returned within mere minutes, with a few clothes draped over his arm. Llyr held them out and said, "Get dressed in whatever you like. We're going out. Hurry, the sun's already risen!"

That said, Llyr dropped back to walking and he went over to a wardrobe. From it, he removed a simple mask that he placed over the newly taken face and a cloak with a hood of a deep charcoal color. It matched the cobblestones outside of the townhouse. He made sure he had everything he might need, going between rooms, and then he looked to Foxglove to follow him as he headed outside. It was cool, crisp type of morning and people weren't quite awake yet, most of whom were still hungover from whatever night celebrations they indulged in.

[Foxglove]

It was true he was naked, and true he really didn't care a single jot about it. He had been naked all his life here and there, and he felt no shame about the natural condition of his body. It was hard to feel shame about such a thing, but he did notice his master noticing it, and he pondered that to himself for a moment. He also noticed the way the other flinched from his touch, and he made up his mind then and there not to touch him too much, not to offer his touch without first gaining permission. If it made the other uncomfortable, then he would relinquish the power back into the leader's hands. It was only the right thing to do, it was only the right way to do it.

When the clothing arrived, he flitted through the various items for a moment. He was not meant to be vain, he was not meant to want beauty - but he did want it. He did like to look pretty, and to wear clothes that suited themselves and one another. As soon as he could crochet he learnt to make flowers, as soon as he could sew he learned to make little pretty patterns with the needle, it was just the way he was made to be. And makeup! His grandmother's blush was made from the petals of a high climbing flower, and obtaining the blossoms at the right time of year and crushing them into a cosmetic had given him great joy in the young parts of the year. So that, when he was looking at the clothes, he chose browns and pastels shades that fit together, although they were not necessarily dyed to be that way.

Wealthy people could have suits of all one colour, wealthy people had outfits that aged with themselves, one colour all over. Poor people had bright, mismatched clothing. His people dyed their fabrics with whatever they discovered, it was another part of learning how to use every scrap, every inch. Many poisons left fine dyes behind them when bubbled and mordanted at just the right temperature.

Once dressed, he tripped behind his master readily watching him as he strode from room to room, making up the place for himself.
"Where we going today Mister? You have more business in the city?" He tumbled behind the leader, part of him wishing he had more than his hands to deliberately muss up his hair, but another part of him still - ever the inquisitive fox.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The pastels went well with the neutral browns of the attire chosen, and Llyr silently approved of the choice. Still getting used to the new totem, as he led out the front door and onto one of the many, many streets of Korlasir, he stretched his arms and then fixed his cloak so the hood was drawn. Halo still shone bright over his head, and the cloak did not hide his wings, though they folded down to lay flat along his backside.

"You could say that," he answered Foxglove's question easily. "We're headed to the recruitment office!"

Recruitment for what? He didn't supply that information readily. Rather, he started down the street with the confident stride of someone who knew exactly where they were headed. At least until they reached a four-way intersection and Llyr looked back and forth, though his mask kept himself hidden. He glanced upward, then around, in a thorough survey of his surroundings and those within it.

Once finished, he gestured for Foxglove to follow while he crossed a street and headed through an adjacent alley. He ducked into a small alcove, where the shadows hid from the morning sun, and in the darkness - his halo flickered and flickered then vanished. His wings vanished in ethereal dust that drifted into the air, sparkling and then unseen. He adjusted the second ring on his fingers, the ring of paradigm that sealed his sparks once again so they could no longer interact with the world of Idalos around them.

Llyr took off his mask, and his cloak, and threw both into a nearby trash crate - to be found by an inevitable scavenger among the city streets. He fixed his copper-hair and he adjusted his refined black-fur trimmed coat, before clicking his tongue in an audible gesture for Foxglove to keep close as they continued on. Through a door to the side of the alley, he entered a bakery.

The fresh scents of bread and sweetened rolls created a warm atmosphere. Diffused morning light caught spores of flour and powdered sugar from the baker who hurried to attend to the morning crowd that would be through the door in little time. Not yet, though, as Llyr and Foxglove proved to be only one of two others with interest in the edible wares.

"Oh," said Llyr as if he'd remembered something. He turned to Foxglove, eyes as hazel and unchanging as Rune's, and he asked, "You have to eat, don't you? Pick something out you'd like, hm? Something you can carry. I don't want too long of a line at the recruiting station before we get there."

[Foxglove]

All the things of the city, it was an easy place to get lost. He was interested in everything he hadn't seen before. Compared to the rough carts of the forest, the low beasts of burden who they had kept - more precious than jewels - in paddocks of stacked stone and green grass. Here there were animals, people, horses drawing fine carriages. People were moving all around them, and nobody looked their way or greeted them, besides the odd double take the master in his glory gained. Fox was busy admiring a woman darning the elbows of a fine velvet jacket with patches of close wrought gold and silver thread when the sound of Mister Magpie's mouth grabbed his attention and brought the wandering lad back to him.

Fox wanted to stop, he wanted to breath it all in - except there was a certain foul smell that came with cities which he was not so well acquainted with, it was distracting all the smells of this place! But then he realised that the cloak and mask had been rejected and then he was following before he even had the chance to wonder why, and he was dancing steps behind his handsome owner as he was led through a bakery.

And the smell of it! The bread! The burnished glory of each well risen boule faintly steaming as it was drawn from the oven. And there were pastries.
"Oh, wow!" He said, eyes popping out from his head. It all looked so perfect. The sev'ryn had certainly never tasted an enriched dough before, let alone something laminated with butter between every layer. That was the kind of thing other members of his people brought stories home about, not something you had every day. The only sugar he had eaten had been honey or fruit, and he had certainly never tried something like refined sugar. "Does that mean you don't eat?" He asked as an afterthought, his hand dashing out to grab a full shining loaf of bread and a pair of palmiers steaming faintly from the shelf. He ripped the top off the bed and plunged his hand in, pulling the soft white flesh out from its centre. "Oh, man, jeez, this is, wow-" He was running out of words for it, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

"You want one?" He said, offering a palmier scented softly of warm vanilla sugar.

"Hey!" cried the shop keep as he plunged his hand in again to grab at the soft stuff, reaching forwards to take another loaf as they made their way through the store. Fox looked pretty shocked as he looked between the woman and his master and then very quietly his hand closed around the loaf and he carried on his merry way.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Llyr didn't need to use empathy magic to understand how excited the sev'ryn proved, in response to the city around them. It was the sort of excitement that came with an innocent mind and he recognized it as easy as anything, familiar with such outlooks to an intimate degree. It reminded him that there were people in the massive world of Idalos that weren't bitter or jaded, whose minds weren't wizened by the harshness or cruelty of a world constantly at the brink, or those who had sequestered themselves into this or that. All of which, Llyr supposed he was guilty of.

Yet, he smiled when Foxglove expressed enthusiasm for the bakery treats. A small smile, that didn't show his teeth, but a smile nonetheless. He tilted his head in consideration of the question, though he didn't answer it and the sev'ryn moved on without care - terrorizing the twisted, sugared bread that'd been grabbed with that same excitement.

"You want one?"

"Hmm..." he pondered the question for a moment, with a glance at the palmier, and then he accepted it with a nod. Llyr took a small bite, then looked over at the offended shopkeep. Of course, his mouth was full, so he didn't say anything much.

As she started in, about the rudeness of the pink-haired man, about that they needed to pay - making the other patrons look visibly discomforted by her intensity - Llyr walked over to the counter. With part of the palmier trapped between his lips, he touched around the myriad of pockets within the interior of his coat before he took out a few coins. He placed them on the counter, to pay for the momentary sweets, and then headed out the front door with assumption that the sev'ryn would follow just as well.

"Very sweet," he mentioned once finished with the pastry, with a glance once the other had caught up with him. He rubbed at his fingertips, where the sugar had caused them to become sticky. "Thank you, Foxglove."

Down the streets, they continued on their path until they reached a small building on a corner lot. It was stark with stone architecture, and had a tired old man sitting on a stool outside of it. In front of him, a collection can of mostly litter and stones but also some coins. Llyr glanced at him once, then tossed a simple but meaningful coin to clink in the can. Through the door, they entered the recruitment office.

It was a strict affair, the interior of the military location, with notices and maps posted on the walls. Yet there were some indications of the recent festivities, with celebration of the changing of the guard. It also was not quiet like the bakery had been, but already bustling with people moving back and forth between tables - already in the midst of work. A small line of four or so led to the front table, where a couple recruiting officers were posted. They seemed in the midst of explaining to a boy that he was not old enough to join the military efforts yet.

Llyr stepped into place at the end of the line, then smiled at Foxglove and asked, "Do you like your name?"

[Foxglove]

Foxglove just grinned at the shopkeeper and licked his fingers free of the sweetness. It almost made his vision double, it was so might more intense than anything he had ever eaten before. A wow just wouldn't cut it, so he stayed quiet, and just focused on the feeling of the buttery sugary confection dissolving in his sharp teeth. Was there an additional pep in his step with that one? Was there an extra wiggle in his walk? He practically tripped all the way along with Mister.

As they paused on the threshold, he reached out and offered the old man the uneaten loaf of bread. It wasn't a coin, or a tin can, or a bone, but it was something. And that way he couldn't be in trouble for still eating the bread once he got to the line. They reached the end and he stood, difficult to try and hold still, while he gnawed on the crust of bread that was still far finer than anything he had ever eaten before.

"I dunno, its the only name I've ever had. What would you call me?" Another question. Would they ever end? Probably not. He was always busy thinking things over, questioning and requestioning and considering again and again. "Foxglove," he said to himself, over and over for a moment, as though it were a spell. What did his name really mean to him? They were his mother's favourite flower. She had died with him and his father hadn't known an easier name, it just came to him as he left - carrying on his journey into the world without either his sworn hearts mate nor his infant son. But the name fit him. And he was a little fox when he was small, with his slightly crafty nature, with his mischief, and his undue charm. It all suited him.

But then, with this new world, and his master who changed his own appearance - probably, as easily as some would cut their hair, maybe it was suitable that he changed his name. "What name will you use?" He wondered, certain then for the constraint of most of his prettiness that Mister Magpie would be adopting a new nom de plume.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

As they waited in line, Llyr seemingly placed his attention on the shorter man beside him. He hummed at the inquiry of what he would call the other. A consideration, but not an answer, while he placed a finger delicately over his lips and tapped at them in thoughtful exaggeration. The little repetition of the name was interesting, and he wondered what was behind it...

...and then the question came: "What name will you use?"

"Ah, you're clever," mentioned Llyr aloud. He paused a moment more then answered, "My family name, Llywelyn... do you have a family name?"

The line moved forward, as the young boy begrudgingly left the recruitment station. Still with three to go, though, and Llyr fidgeted with the sleeves of his coat. It was always an odd adjustment, to go from having four sparks singing within his soul - all vying for attention and power - to nothing but himself. A sense of deafening quiet within, that Llyr had felt before but never truly got used to.

"I'm not sure what I would call you," he admitted in a casual tone, with a glance at the person before them - a woman with cropped hair that purposefully seemed to try to not overhear their conversation. It wasn't as if he knew much about the sev'ryn other than the little habits already revealed to him. He considered for another moment, as the line moved forward once again, and then he offered, "Sugar? Ah, that's more of a pet name than a person name, I suppose. Nevermind."

The idea of such blatant names though, had a certain simplistic allure to it. Llyr stepped forward as the cropped-hair woman took to the desk to hand over her information and receive a quick line of questioning before sent to an adjacent room in the back.

Stepping up to the table, Llyr offered an actual smile to the two clerks that sat on the other side. He said, "Good morning! We would like to join the army!"

"Names and ages?" asked the one, with a quill at the ready to scribe the responses onto a list.

"Llywelyn, 22 and this is -" he gestured for Foxglove to answer for himself.

[Foxglove]

"A family name? What's that?" Brow furrowed, he peered more at the other. Llewlyn. What an interesting name, certainly not a name he had heard before. It was the tradition of his people that most people had simple names that split easily into two sounds, usually separated by a single apostrophe. His grandmother carried the same name as her great-grandmother, because they thought she had shared the same soul. She, like many of his people, remained nameless until they were at least a year old, letting the child's personality shine forth before placing a name upon their head. "My grandmother's name was Dev'stril, do you think that counts?" Perhaps his name should have always been Fox'Glove, but it wasn't. "Loowellin, thats a funny name, do you have lots of names?" A little opener, if his master chose to answer it. But maybe he wouldn't, he seemed to like mystery a little and he could understand that.

They stepped forwards in the line, and Fox didn't much mind the person in front listening in. Although he would have preferred they were honest about it, honest dishonesty would have to do for now. Joining the army. Wait, was he about to join the army? Whose army was he joining? Where was he again? What city was this? What a strange thing to figure out. Wait, 22? Was he really so young as that? But his face must not be the important part here, Fox had to stop trying to understand him clearly.

"Sugar, 19." He supplied with his dizzying grin. It was easy to smile when your heart was beating and the sky was so blue and the world was so beautiful and you were not free, but you at least felt safe and there was some kind of demigod taking care of you. "Can we join the army?" He pouted a little, brushing the last crumbs of bread off his clothes.