1 Cylus, 724
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Chest heaving, lungs expelling, thin tendrils of smoke billowing, Kotton let out a booming cough as he fought the atmosphere for air having just taken one few too many tokes. He pounded his fist against his chest, as if that would do anything. His eyes watered, a singular tear drop managing to trail down his cheek. But the pain would be worth it, knowing what would follow. He only needed a slight buzz to help him through the rest of the night, the night chock-full of socialisation and socialisation was a trait Kotton wasn’t exactly blessed with.
“Almost took me out,” he chuckled after finding the will to breathe. Imogen looked up at him, paw held in place in the air by her tongue. She had stopped grooming herself just to watch the show. “Thanks fow saving me,” he continued with a jesting grin.
Tonight was the first dusk of Cylus and after having spent many cycles in Scalvoris, memory served that it was the time for glorious bonfires along the beaches throughout the city. He wanted to be just like everyone else and celebrate the night away, but still required a little extra 'help'. He was gradually nearing the point of not needing anything to help him speak more confidently with strangers (he could thank his job at the clinic for that), but it was determined that tonight was a night necessitate some pep.
Kotton grabbed his winter coat, a hat, but shouldered the idea of bringing mittens. He could always stuff his hands in the pockets of his coat, or simply accept the fate of frostbite. As he was assembling his attire, he glanced down at his companion, offered a hearty smile. “I’ll be back. Don’t buwn the place down whilst I’m away.”
Then he scurried out the front door and made his way through town to the nearest beach.
---
The journey to his destination was peaceful; the sky had just started to pilfer from the clear air with the abundance of tiny flakes of snow. They were so large and fluffy that Kotton could see their individual crystalline shapes as they latched onto the fur lining of his hood. The beauty of it bolstered his confidence just as the medicinal herb slowly started to take effect. He was barely able remember arriving at such a magnificent display. A tower of fire was surrounded by people cheering with enthusiastic vocals that could meet even his stuffed ear canals. It sounded pleasant, comfortable, a sign of no longer being alone.
He casually strode through the crowd, mesmerised by the flames. They seemed to be trying their hardest to reach the stars that flickered in the sky. Distractedly, he had taken one too many steps to the right, thereby accidentally bumping into someone.
“Hey!” they shouted.
Kotton’s cheeks reddened immediately as he resisted the urge to bow out of respect. He started to apologise before stopping mid-sentence. There was something uncanny about this individual. Hadn’t he seen this person before? The structure of her nose was oddly familiar, and the strange way her eyebrows fell when frustrated struck a chord nestled deep within his memory.
“Wait, I know you,” she announced before he had the chance to. Her disposition changed with the flick of a switch as prior annoyance submitted to happy inconvenience. “I danced with you one night at the club, didn’t I?”
The young man picked up on her shift in mood and went with what he had been given. “Yes, we danced and you-” he didn’t need to finish what he was about to say. In order to spare her feelings, he refrained from reminding her of the moment when she had vomited into his mouth whilst they had been kissing.
“-you showed me how to pwoperly move,” he finished with only moderate hesitation.
She didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she offered him some words he couldn’t understand. “It means ‘welcome’ in Xanthean.” She followed her explanation with another indiscernible course of words. “And that means, ‘I’m sorry’.”
Kotton didn’t dare ask for a repeat of what she said. Rather he squinted his eyes and mentally repeated the words in his head. Always an interest he had in linguistics; he was constantly trying to progress in the way of speech. This young lady must have some connection or heritage with those able to speak Xanthean. That or she was just like him- passionate and interested in learning new things.
“It’s so good to see you again. We had a lot of fun that night, didn't we?”
The young man smiled and coyly pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “You too,” he replied, genuinely feeling fortunate to have run into someone he knew. He wanted to ask her whether she remembered the… love-making they had shared, but knew by her expression and body language that she was being purposefully vague in the presence of mixed company.
“I’m sowwy, but I fowget youw name?”
“Tisthel,” she answered bashfully.
The name felt nice on his tongue. There was an awkward lull that filled the empty air after her introduction. Kotton, as intuitive as he was by nature, instantaneously felt it. He quickly picked up on the stagnation of conversation. He needed to unplug the interactional blockage.
He stuttered, “I-I went to buy camouflage equipment the other day, but I couldn’t find any.” The weed was obviously hitting him now, as that statement was as outlandish as a queer man walking into an all-woman gentleman’s club. But apparently it won someone over, because Tisthel started to laughing.
“You’re ridiculous!” she proclaimed, holding her stomach.
Kotton joined her, his own belly beginning to ache from the energy that was used to chuckle so violently. He wondered if he could build upon this… “You obviously know how to take a joke. Pewhaps that’s nowmal fow someone with such intelligence. And I mean, you know Xanthean, so… what else do you know?”
Would she take the bait? He had complimented her enough. However, pestering him was a nagging feeling telling him he was far too inexperienced to seduce a woman into sharing anything she didn't want.
Tisthel raised an eyebrow and her giggle gradually faded into the cold wind as she began contemplating. “Whilst I admire your flattery, what is it you’re asking me?”
Kotton couldn’t sequester the incoming blush. He looked to the ground and began watching the shadows that danced across the sand. As entertaining as they were, he eventually chose to raise his eyes to meet hers. He said, “Just making small talk you know?” He shrugged, giving an uneasy titter. Perhaps reason could dig him from out of this grave he had made himself. “I mean, we’we at a pawty. You must know eithew some juicy gossip or conspiwacy theowies.”
Evidently, that made sense to Tisthel because she gave him a playful smirk. “I do know a thing or two about dragons,” she teased, coaxing a shiny blond wisp of hair behind her tiny ear. Her green eyes smouldered with the desire to share.
“Go on then,” Kotton pushed, his eyes wide with intrigue.
“Maaaaybe not.”
“But, but- you have to since you bwought it up. Don’t leave me hanging hewe.” Whilst he was feeling slightly aggravated of having learnt of a topic only to have it dismissed in the same moment, Kotton kept his cool, licked his lips, and tried to stay as amicable as possible.
“Only if you say please,” Tisthel said with a playful glimmer in her eye.
A sigh. A moment of surrender. And the young man was quick to settle. “Please.”
A turbulent course of energy transpired as Tisthel jumped into the air with immense animation. Her smile showed the entire array of her pearly teeth, and they affected her cheeks with just the right amount of wrinkle.
“Okay, so do you know about dragons?"
Kotton paused and made gesture to tilt his head. "Like in the faerie tales?"
Tisthel's lips returned to their glorious smile. “Exactly! My father used to tell me one of those faerie tales and he swore up and down that it was more than a simple story and that is that dragons are like immortals and can give people abilities like immortals can give their worshipers marks." She went on to babble about other conspiracies that made no sense whatsoever, but was nonetheless interesting. Still, the young man needed a few moments to process, at least before trying to respond to Tisthel and her awaiting simper. Even if he didn’t have an interest in what she was telling him, and even if he couldn’t have cared less about the facts she spewed like venom, he contributed a grin and thanked her for what she had shared.
“Anytime!” she orated before administering a stoic facade. “And I mean it." Her entire face changed in the blink of an eye. "Kotton, I would love to talk to you again.”
Her declaration stopped the young man. “You... what?”
“I find you to be a very interesting fellow and I want to get to know you more. Don’t you?”
It wasn’t a question of want. Kotton was more than happy getting to know anyone, even someone who couldn’t hold their liquor and decided to deposit it, with the amendment of a litre of bile, into his mouth. The thing that gave him pause was the fact that someone wanted to go out of their way to befriend him.
He had many acquaintances, many fellow man who shared similar interests in him. He had Worick, people at work, students in the same class as him, but no one had seemed to express anything other than casual small-talk in any form other than than a formless voice in passing. He was certainly fine with getting to know Tisthel. He wouldn’t hold any amount of hurl against her. Pun intended?
“Y-yes, of couwse,” he said admitted.
Tisthel threw her hand behind the layer of hair that coated her back, causing it to flutter against the frigid breeze. It was indeed Cylus. “Great,” she said, a slightly rosy tint adorning her cheeks.
“Gweat.”
“Almost took me out,” he chuckled after finding the will to breathe. Imogen looked up at him, paw held in place in the air by her tongue. She had stopped grooming herself just to watch the show. “Thanks fow saving me,” he continued with a jesting grin.
Tonight was the first dusk of Cylus and after having spent many cycles in Scalvoris, memory served that it was the time for glorious bonfires along the beaches throughout the city. He wanted to be just like everyone else and celebrate the night away, but still required a little extra 'help'. He was gradually nearing the point of not needing anything to help him speak more confidently with strangers (he could thank his job at the clinic for that), but it was determined that tonight was a night necessitate some pep.
Kotton grabbed his winter coat, a hat, but shouldered the idea of bringing mittens. He could always stuff his hands in the pockets of his coat, or simply accept the fate of frostbite. As he was assembling his attire, he glanced down at his companion, offered a hearty smile. “I’ll be back. Don’t buwn the place down whilst I’m away.”
Then he scurried out the front door and made his way through town to the nearest beach.
---
The journey to his destination was peaceful; the sky had just started to pilfer from the clear air with the abundance of tiny flakes of snow. They were so large and fluffy that Kotton could see their individual crystalline shapes as they latched onto the fur lining of his hood. The beauty of it bolstered his confidence just as the medicinal herb slowly started to take effect. He was barely able remember arriving at such a magnificent display. A tower of fire was surrounded by people cheering with enthusiastic vocals that could meet even his stuffed ear canals. It sounded pleasant, comfortable, a sign of no longer being alone.
He casually strode through the crowd, mesmerised by the flames. They seemed to be trying their hardest to reach the stars that flickered in the sky. Distractedly, he had taken one too many steps to the right, thereby accidentally bumping into someone.
“Hey!” they shouted.
Kotton’s cheeks reddened immediately as he resisted the urge to bow out of respect. He started to apologise before stopping mid-sentence. There was something uncanny about this individual. Hadn’t he seen this person before? The structure of her nose was oddly familiar, and the strange way her eyebrows fell when frustrated struck a chord nestled deep within his memory.
“Wait, I know you,” she announced before he had the chance to. Her disposition changed with the flick of a switch as prior annoyance submitted to happy inconvenience. “I danced with you one night at the club, didn’t I?”
The young man picked up on her shift in mood and went with what he had been given. “Yes, we danced and you-” he didn’t need to finish what he was about to say. In order to spare her feelings, he refrained from reminding her of the moment when she had vomited into his mouth whilst they had been kissing.
“-you showed me how to pwoperly move,” he finished with only moderate hesitation.
She didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she offered him some words he couldn’t understand. “It means ‘welcome’ in Xanthean.” She followed her explanation with another indiscernible course of words. “And that means, ‘I’m sorry’.”
Kotton didn’t dare ask for a repeat of what she said. Rather he squinted his eyes and mentally repeated the words in his head. Always an interest he had in linguistics; he was constantly trying to progress in the way of speech. This young lady must have some connection or heritage with those able to speak Xanthean. That or she was just like him- passionate and interested in learning new things.
“It’s so good to see you again. We had a lot of fun that night, didn't we?”
The young man smiled and coyly pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “You too,” he replied, genuinely feeling fortunate to have run into someone he knew. He wanted to ask her whether she remembered the… love-making they had shared, but knew by her expression and body language that she was being purposefully vague in the presence of mixed company.
“I’m sowwy, but I fowget youw name?”
“Tisthel,” she answered bashfully.
The name felt nice on his tongue. There was an awkward lull that filled the empty air after her introduction. Kotton, as intuitive as he was by nature, instantaneously felt it. He quickly picked up on the stagnation of conversation. He needed to unplug the interactional blockage.
He stuttered, “I-I went to buy camouflage equipment the other day, but I couldn’t find any.” The weed was obviously hitting him now, as that statement was as outlandish as a queer man walking into an all-woman gentleman’s club. But apparently it won someone over, because Tisthel started to laughing.
“You’re ridiculous!” she proclaimed, holding her stomach.
Kotton joined her, his own belly beginning to ache from the energy that was used to chuckle so violently. He wondered if he could build upon this… “You obviously know how to take a joke. Pewhaps that’s nowmal fow someone with such intelligence. And I mean, you know Xanthean, so… what else do you know?”
Would she take the bait? He had complimented her enough. However, pestering him was a nagging feeling telling him he was far too inexperienced to seduce a woman into sharing anything she didn't want.
Tisthel raised an eyebrow and her giggle gradually faded into the cold wind as she began contemplating. “Whilst I admire your flattery, what is it you’re asking me?”
Kotton couldn’t sequester the incoming blush. He looked to the ground and began watching the shadows that danced across the sand. As entertaining as they were, he eventually chose to raise his eyes to meet hers. He said, “Just making small talk you know?” He shrugged, giving an uneasy titter. Perhaps reason could dig him from out of this grave he had made himself. “I mean, we’we at a pawty. You must know eithew some juicy gossip or conspiwacy theowies.”
Evidently, that made sense to Tisthel because she gave him a playful smirk. “I do know a thing or two about dragons,” she teased, coaxing a shiny blond wisp of hair behind her tiny ear. Her green eyes smouldered with the desire to share.
“Go on then,” Kotton pushed, his eyes wide with intrigue.
“Maaaaybe not.”
“But, but- you have to since you bwought it up. Don’t leave me hanging hewe.” Whilst he was feeling slightly aggravated of having learnt of a topic only to have it dismissed in the same moment, Kotton kept his cool, licked his lips, and tried to stay as amicable as possible.
“Only if you say please,” Tisthel said with a playful glimmer in her eye.
A sigh. A moment of surrender. And the young man was quick to settle. “Please.”
A turbulent course of energy transpired as Tisthel jumped into the air with immense animation. Her smile showed the entire array of her pearly teeth, and they affected her cheeks with just the right amount of wrinkle.
“Okay, so do you know about dragons?"
Kotton paused and made gesture to tilt his head. "Like in the faerie tales?"
Tisthel's lips returned to their glorious smile. “Exactly! My father used to tell me one of those faerie tales and he swore up and down that it was more than a simple story and that is that dragons are like immortals and can give people abilities like immortals can give their worshipers marks." She went on to babble about other conspiracies that made no sense whatsoever, but was nonetheless interesting. Still, the young man needed a few moments to process, at least before trying to respond to Tisthel and her awaiting simper. Even if he didn’t have an interest in what she was telling him, and even if he couldn’t have cared less about the facts she spewed like venom, he contributed a grin and thanked her for what she had shared.
“Anytime!” she orated before administering a stoic facade. “And I mean it." Her entire face changed in the blink of an eye. "Kotton, I would love to talk to you again.”
Her declaration stopped the young man. “You... what?”
“I find you to be a very interesting fellow and I want to get to know you more. Don’t you?”
It wasn’t a question of want. Kotton was more than happy getting to know anyone, even someone who couldn’t hold their liquor and decided to deposit it, with the amendment of a litre of bile, into his mouth. The thing that gave him pause was the fact that someone wanted to go out of their way to befriend him.
He had many acquaintances, many fellow man who shared similar interests in him. He had Worick, people at work, students in the same class as him, but no one had seemed to express anything other than casual small-talk in any form other than than a formless voice in passing. He was certainly fine with getting to know Tisthel. He wouldn’t hold any amount of hurl against her. Pun intended?
“Y-yes, of couwse,” he said admitted.
Tisthel threw her hand behind the layer of hair that coated her back, causing it to flutter against the frigid breeze. It was indeed Cylus. “Great,” she said, a slightly rosy tint adorning her cheeks.
“Gweat.”