[flashback]Ouch! (Mara)

by **Syllke Skyglow** on April 17th, 2012, 5:34 pm

If Syllke found it strange to have the other boy poking about in his mouth, he didn’t show as much. In fact, he opened obligingly and despite the discomfort of his now swollen and split lips, he held his head steady and raised no protest to the inspection of his inner cheek. The younger boy’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of sutures, but he couldn’t say anything yet, for the finger hooked lightly still in the corner of his cheek and lips. But before he could panic at such a prospect, Mara seemed ready to offer another alternative. As the finger withdrew, Syllke’s face relaxed again. Totally focused on Mara, as he had been for many long minutes now, awaiting what he thought would be the utterance of a treatment much preferable to being sewn up, Syllke could not fail to notice the way the healer answered his innocent question. Mara seemed . . . tense, or maybe – embarrassed – by the inquiry, and Syllke couldn’t really understand that. Then again, there were plenty of times when he said or did things that other found odd – bizarre – inappropriate or inexplicable – and that never bothered him too much. Tact was not always his long suit, though he never deliberately went out of his way to offend other people. Still, he thought he wouldn’t pursue the hair thing – or the body art – right now. Maybe later, another time. In Syllke’s mind, there clearly would be another time or times hopefully. He loved the unique and novel and unexplored, and Mara was all of the above.

But he moved on mentally as soon as the healer made his observation about what was needed for this last bit of care. From his position, Syllke couldn’t actually see much but Mara, but he understood the look the other one gave in the direction of the gates.

“Sure,” Syllke replied, using his good hand to push himself up, with only a minor struggle, into a sitting position. He was now shoulder to shoulder with Mara but facing him. They were much of the same size, these two, and Syllke could look fairly levelly into crimson eyes similar to his own. He was finding Mara to be quite enchanting, in his oddball way. And Syllke was at an age when such things were beginning to take more prominence in his thoughts than back when he was only a kid. Theoretically, he was old enough to be married, by Vantha standards, though many families did not encourage such youthful unions. As for Syllke, he had no interest in marriage whatsoever. He had every intent to leave Avanthal one day, when the time was right, and go off and explore the whole, wide, wonderful world. A wife didn’t figure into that picture at all. But, with as curious a nature as he was possessed of, it was only natural that he would find this whole realm of unexplored possibilities – those of the chemistry between himself and others – to be quite fascinating, and not to be denied. And already, he knew, it wasn’t going to matter, boy or girl, he found both sexes could be intriguing in their own way. It seemed to him, on the occasions that he had thought about such things, that really, it was the person, and their own special brand of being themselves, that he found to be beguiling, or not. In any event, he wasn’t too bothered by any, or all, of it – yet. What he knew for the moment, was that Mara was . . . different, in a good way, and that was enough to form a platform of attraction for the young artist, if for nothing more than a desire to get to know Mara better.

He next shook his head, as he twisted it about to see the walls of the city. “No, I’d much rather you do it. Maybe . . . “ His head swiveled about again to look at the young healer. “Maybe we could do it . . . at your place?” He flushed just the tiniest bit as he admitted, “If we go to my hold, my grandmother, well – she’ll make a huge fuss and be all upset. Then, well, then she probably will put me to bed and all that, you know – like I’m a child.” He made a face that showed clearly what he thought of being treated in such a humiliating way. But then he brightened.

“Come on!” Syllke rose to his feet, and the dogs leapt up as well, eager to be off again. “Take me to your house, and I’ll show you what I found, out while I was sledding.”

He turned to offer his good hand to Mara, to help him to his feet.

by **Mara** on April 17th, 2012, 7:52 pm

It was endearing, and worthy of envy to hear Syllke speak of his grandmother and his concerns of not desiring to return home. He had not had these familiarities, at least not for a long while. His mother was unwell for the majority of his remembrances, and lacked to the strength to fuss over anyone. In fact he was the one tending to her and fretting over her when she pried her fragile body from bedstead. He even scolded her for being so rash. His father was caring and hardworking in his adolescence, he would agonize over Mara and his mother, but at the time of his mother's untimely death everything reformed. His father was broken. Mara recognized this and acknowledged it for what it was. He had fashioned an alternate reality to place fault onto someone. That someone just so happened to be him. He took it voluntarily, he felt the burden of his guilt, and the stab of the disappointment his father would feel when he was coherent enough to try and piece through the genuineness that his son had never been replaced with some volatile, murderous identical.

The scrunch of Syllke's nose with the look of distaste was a window into a normal family life. He felt a tug of compassion sink in to him, a want to keep the youth in a lovely cage of protection. He shook away the thought. He could never tie such an unhindered spirit to him. He felt selfish just thinking about it, a characteristic he often persisted from.

Mara unbuckled his knees from under him when Syllke raised himself on a single shaky limb. He reached a hand out to press it to his back to help him up, but recoiled before he could reach him, precipitously unsure. "That's just fine. The things I need are out my home anyways." His limbs pressed to his chest, readying himself to erect. A smooth and uncurled hand dropped before him and he questioningly looked up at the other. It was anomalous to feel so trivial and huddled within himself before someone he had just mended. His vision focused on the hand again, a long moment of taking in the curves of his palm and the tilt of his long elegant fingers. He winched up his hand and prudently lowered it into the warm embrace. The hand felt soft and smooth against his, different than how it had been when the same hand was squeezing his for comfort. Now he felt in need of security.

He was effortlessly sprung to his feet, his weight even lighter than he appeared thanks to his genetic factor. He ruefully withdrew his hand from the other's grasp. "Thanks." he whispered dusting off the snow that powdered his legs and backside.

-----------------

They had made it inside the gates hastily, Mara assisting with Syllke's things and towing them to an innocuous spot outside the Whitevine hold. He had not spoken much on the walk over, inclining himself to only pay attention to the other. "Ok, we'll go up to the third floor where my father's office is, but I have to stop and get some things from the first floor before that." He almost noticeably shivered at the thought.

His elevated spirits began to sink as they entered the familiar hold he called home. "Stay here." he stopped before a door and instructed Syllke to remain in the hallway. "I'll just be a moment."

He entered the confides of his home, and crept straight to the kitchen. He pulled from the shelf several things, placing them into a canvas bag lying idly upon the counter. "Mara!" the shout erupted from the other room and Mara jumped, skittish to the tone. He declined a response, hurrying to reach the door. "Stop going through my things, you filthy mutt!" again he decided to against an answer as a bottle flunk across the room. Bits and pieces and a splash of liquid sprung forward, droplets of alcohol slushed across his clothes and sprinkled his cheek and hair. It was a worse day than usual. Things were escalating quickly and without provocation with his father.

Mara pulled his sleeve across his hand and rubbed the droplets from his face, before sliding back into the corridor. He rested his back against the door, canvas sack hanging from his tense arm, and looked to Syllke up through his dark lashes with lilac colored irises reflecting an emotion of discomfort. "Ok, to the third floor." He lifted his slouching body and turned to lead him up the steps.

by **Syllke Skyglow** on April 17th, 2012, 9:20 pm

Mara seemed almost undecided as to whether he would accept Syllke’s proffered assistance or not. This didn’t seem unduly strange to Syllke, and neither did he find it odd that he should be the one now offering help. To him, life went around in circles like that, and he was comfortable both giving and receiving support, comfort, help in time of need, or, just because it was the friendly thing to do. When after a moment, Mara’s hand slipped into his, Syllke’s glance barely took in the thick, black nails. Mara’s hand still felt the same as when it had been tending him so carefully and gently – smooth, delicate, warm and sure. His curiosity about all things Mara, including those nails, could wait. He didn’t want to embarrass the healer again by nosy questions. Instead, he grinned, and let those long fingers go when Mara chose to withdraw them. And, just as Mara was thinking, though unbeknownst to Syllke, he would make no claim on the boy, other than to press him to be his friend, when all was said and done with this messy accident.

And quite a messy spectacle they must have made, as Syllke called to the dogs and they set out for the city gates. Both were liberally doused with Syllke’s blood – Syllke all down his collar and shoulder, and Mara on his trouser legs and the hem of his jacket, and the cuffs of his sleeves too, a bit. The dogs sniffed at both boys as a preliminary inquiry, but soon were walking along beside their master. The guards at the gate looked them over from a short distance but nodded them through, and as Mara chose to proceed in silence, Syllke respected that and held his own often too busy tongue. Mara led the way to his hold and they parked the sled and the dogs in an out of the way spot. Upon entry to the home, though, Syllke thought he saw a change come over his rescuer. Mara tensed again and his expression became a bit strained. Syllke followed him inside, feeling an almost oppressive atmosphere, just from this subtle shift in his companion’s mood. Syllke’s art was entirely dependent on his skills of observation. And his senses picked up, more than anything, the deathly quiet of the place. It seemed . . . asleep. Moribund. Barely alive. Syllke never found such impressions that he formed to be fanciful – not as far as being without basis. He felt what he felt, and in turn his surroundings often spoke quite loudly to him, even if others could not, or would not, hear.

Obediently, he stopped outside the door that Mara then swiftly passed through, and he wondered why the boy moved as if he was a thief in his own house, so stealthily, as if he knew he did not belong. Mara was careful to close the door behind him, and then sounds were muted. As he waited, Syllke looked around, but his ears told him more than his eyes. A muffled shout. A crash. And then swiftly, Mara came back through the door, and Syllke’s nostrils twitched – a scent like the cleaning fluid Mara had used, but more fruity, less stringent, easily recognizable as some type of booze.

With no explanation – and Syllke suspected there were no reasonable ones to be given - Mara looked at him, one brief moment of eye contact. And what Syllke saw there made him quite sad. To his own swirling eyes of purple and blue, Mara seemed to be . . . without hope. Empty. At least, empty of any good feeling. But again, Mara ducked away from him and began the ascent of the stairs. Syllke trailed behind, waiting until they had reached this third floor, before his good hand came up to slide onto Mara’s thin shoulder. His fingers flexed, squeezing the slight muscles there gently. His eyes sought Mara’s and when they came together, Syllke gave the smallest of grins.

“Parents, huh? Almost as bad as grandparents.”

It wasn’t an indictment, of anyone. He didn’t think Mara would take it that way, at least. It was meant as an invitation, to talk if he ever chose to – a validation, that life wasn’t always pleasant – and an offer, of support – silent support if that’s what the other boy wanted. In a word, friendship, if Mara was open to it.

by **Mara** on April 17th, 2012, 10:31 pm

Mara was uncertain of how to feel, he had yet to be put in a position so illuminating as to even hint to any direst in his household. His father still continued to work on most days, limiting his drinking to days off and weekends. Mara of course could be anticipated to hold his tongue, for there was in his mind nothing worth revealing.

They touched the tip of the treads, the footsteps echoing his cease and a now recognizable hand perched upon his shoulder and enfolded gently. He was thankful for the lack of interrogation. Still as his eyes turned to receive the gentle expression on Syllke's usually jovial face, he searched intently for signs of pity. He unearthed none and a forced smirk pressed against his face before his sights ripped from the young, handsome face. He appreciated him in silent mannerisms and subtle hints, things most would not hook on to. An attempt to smile, a lingering gaze, or hesitant movements that tried to reach affection.

He continued to escort them both into a vacant office, one in the epicenter of the hall of that floor. He swung open the access, headed to the far wall and pulled back the curtains at the far end of the room to let the day's ray’s filter inside and light the space. He pivoted toward a cabinet setting his bag on the floor. Then dropped to one knee to clasp the handle and open the cabinet. His arm vanished deep into its compartment and pulled from there spare clothes he had stashed.

He stood and thrust the clothes to the other boy. His arm outstretched "Your about my size, they should fit." Once the clothes were accepted he was left with his own variation of clothes. It was a lengthy silk spun robe from his mother. He had stashed it in this specific cupboard to avoid his father from removing it from his custody. He was quite fond of it and the delicate beauty it held.

Mara sauntered to the window, his back facing his company, and began to remove his clothes, one article at a time. He slid his jacket from his appendages, letting it drop to the floor, then pulled his shirt up over his slim torso, revealing the honey colored skin, and the many darkened scribes of ink imprinted into his skin in random placements. Some not complete and awaiting the time and effort to fill in the empty spaces.

Unfolding the black silk, he draped it over his shoulders and slid his toned arms inside the spacious sleeves, and tied the ribbon at his waist. Once covered fully he leaned down to remove his dark and soggy pants and his footwear. He gathered the last of his clothing and folded them back into a neat pile to place in the corner of the room. He wiggled his warm feet across the chilled floor and turned around once again. He walked again to the counter and leaned there to face Syllke. "Well I hope you’re ok with eating something spicy."

by **Syllke Skyglow** on April 18th, 2012, 12:03 am

It was an unspoken exchange, and barely there as it was, but it was enough, for now. Mara had not looked shocked or affronted or cowed or irritated. The slightest ghost of a smile, fleeting as one beat of a butterfly’s wing, and then they were moving off, to the room that was apparently their final destination. Syllke looked about again, as Mara moved to let the sunlight in. This time, there was a more lived in feel to the room than had been present down below. This room seemed to have some utility – some sense of purpose about it. His curious eyes took in the various items to be seen – clearly this was a place of healing, treatments, examinations and thoughtful diagnoses. When his eyes returned to Mara, he was kneeling, extracting something from a low cupboard. Syllke was surprised to see that it was clothing, but he immediately recognized the sense in it. They were both pretty rough looking – bloody, wet and dirty. Clean clothes would be also dry, warm and comfortable. He took the set that Mara offered him and his gaze fell on the slippery, shining pile of black. He watched as Mara lifted it, revealing its form, a long, silken robe. Syllke’s eyebrows rose – he certainly hadn’t expected that. Mara had moved to the window again and proceeded to undress, at least his upper half. Syllke, of course, like the proverbial cat, was consumed with nosiness and simply stared, entranced by the further revelation of more body art, in the form of tattoos. He kept staring, not really thinking about what was going to come off next, and as Mara slipped the robe over his shoulders and arms, Sylke realized that he still clutched his own borrowed stack against his blood stained parka.

His attention finally turning to his own need to undress, and then redress, he began to undo the fastening of his coat, letting it fall off the arm that was injured, carefully extricating it from the sleeve. The bandage made it more cumbersome. The pain in his wrist and from the scrapes quickly made itself felt. Grimacing a bit, he had barely started on the buttons of his shirt, when already Mara was turning around, placing his own clothes, now in need of washing, carefully aside. He stepped to the cupboards and leaned there, finally looking at Syllke.

The young artist’s fingers had stopped in mid-motion, as he considered the healer's question.

“Spicy?” he repeated, sounding both perplexed and doubtful. “Wouldn’t that hurt, my mouth?”

As Mara contemplated him, Syllke raised his good hand and made a little twirling motion with his index finger.

“Turn around please,” he said with a smirk, as his fingers went back to unbuttoning his shirt, slowly and a bit clumsily as his injured hand began to throb the more.

by **Mara** on April 18th, 2012, 1:24 am

Mara contemplated over his reservation "It will be a bit uncomfortable, but after a few spoonfuls I'm sure your mouth will be void of any feelings." His palms rested casually on the surface of the counter behind him as he watched Syllke undress, not missing the way he winced as his wrist was tossed about. He was interested to see if he would ask for assistance or simply bare it out. His skin was smooth and fresh, lacking scar or freckle. Mara’s eyes unknowingly traced the contours of his anatomy. "I'm only giving you this to lessen your chance of infection, it's this or I clean it properly and stitch it shut."

His brows raised into arches accenting his almond eyes when he was asked to spin round. He really would not request his aid, even showing a bit of modesty. Syllke continued to be pleasantly surprising to him. Though he was still probing for the flaws that would make it easier to dislike him, the only ones he had thus discovered was recklessness and naivety, not very high paying offenses for the Dra’s tastes.

Complying he turned his front around and reached for his bag of acquired ingredients. He pulled out two bowls and started stacking the spices together. He stopped, continuing to hear the little Warrior's struggles. He puffed a deep groan and abandoned his current actions to turn and face Syllke again. Feathery steps pressed forward until he reached the other. "I promise not to look." he slipped his hands over Syllke's to still them, his crimson eyes looking into the other’s to allow some assurance before clasping his lids closed. He began to help him remove the remainder of the buttons with agile fingers, and pulled it from his slight frame letting the garment slink to the floor. Next he quickly reached for the edge of the boy’s pants and undid them quickly and smoothly, his fingers brushing across the developing contours of his hips and leaving just as quickly as they arrived. Syllke seemed just a boy after all, and Mara only months from being old enough for his own homestead. He resisted any urges at lingering touches, no matter how fascinated he was by their meek dance of mislaying clothes.

Mara turned again and returned to his organizing at the counter. "Pull the rest on and I can help you re-button...if you like." He began to pour a broth into a bowl, a basic chicken, watered down to a mild flavor. He added pepper that had been crushed into a finely ground intense red substance. The smell of it alone made Mara’s nostrils burn, and his fingers feel unnervingly warm. Then a dash of salt was added, a sliver or basil and a few other herbs sprinkled the top. The now crimson pasty-looking substance adorned with a crown of green leaves. “It won’t be very good. I made it to be helpful not delicious, but like I said it will likely numb your mouth.”

by **Syllke Skyglow** on April 18th, 2012, 2:59 am

Syllke was not, in fact, exceptionally modest. His motivation for asking Mara to turn around lay in a strong suspicion that if the healer watched him undress, simply knowing those eyes were on him might prompt a rather . . . awkward reaction. It was a fact of life. It couldn’t be helped. And though Syllke himself wasn’t one to get flaming cheeks and die of mortification over such occurrences, he at least had the sense to know that he didn’t know how Mara might react. He wasn’t keen on making the healer turn away in contempt or embarrassment or alarm. That just wouldn't benefit either of them. Even if Mara would not have felt any of those things, Syllke could not know that. So to be safe, he thought it best to ask for a bit of privacy.

Well . . . that didn’t work out so great, did it? He had gotten no more then three buttons undone, when Mara turned back around. Syllke didn’t stop. If Mara was insistent on seeing him, or if there was something important to be conveyed or done, so be it. But still, he kept his eyes glued on Mara - looking even more exotic than ever, in the long silk gown with the piercings and unusual hair style – as the healer moved gracefully towards him. So far, he had no reason to distrust Mara, so he took the other boy at his word. As before, out on the frozen ground, Mara’s touch was light, gentle, and agile, even with his eyes shut. Though Mara could not see, Syllke watched those deft fingers, mesmerized, as they adroitly undid the buttons of his shirt, and then moved to take it from his arms, and body. He had to admit, he felt his heart hammer more rapidly in his chest, and he tried to keep his breathing steady, as those hands then moved to the waist of his trousers. As the back of Mara’s fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin of his belly, Syllke’s lithe muscles leapt backwards from that touch. But he forced himself to relax, and to breathe deeply, slowly, as those fingers did, really, the unthinkable. It was a bit surreal, Mara’s face so close to his own, his dark eyes closed, as his fingers moved down the front of Syllke’s trousers, quickly, though in no great hurry of awkward sentiment. Mara was so close, in fact, that Syllke thought he could have leaned forward three inches and placed his lips against those with the tiny metal ring jabbed through their soft flesh, and kissed them. But that thought brought a cascade of others with it, along with a heat that seemed to spring up from his very core, and all of a sudden, Syllke was very much wanting Mara to hurry up and finish, and to not notice how very, very flustered he was getting. It was all just a little overwhelming, and he felt breathless. He bit down on his lip as Mara’s fingers brushed against his hips, like the soft wing of a bird, and there went the trousers, pooling about his ankles. He thought if this didn’t end soon, he might end up on the floor too, one big puddle of overwrought sensations.

But Mara stayed true to his word, and stepped back and turned all in one fluid motion, his eyes still shut for as long as Syllke watched him. The boy’s mouth was in an almost comical jaw drop as he contemplated the back of Mara, the outline of his body revealed by the slight cling of the black silk. His cheeks were certainly burning now, his insousiance completely dissolved by the helping hands of the healer. Mara seemed totally nonchalant about the whole affair, offering to help Syllke rebutton as he continued preparing whatever it was that he wanted Syllke to eat. Like one in a dream, Syllke reached for the clean, dry clothes Mara had lent him, and he swiftly pulled them on. Having learnt something about himself just then – and about Mara as well – he decided against asking for assistance, though he would have dearly loved to feel those hands hovering about him like that again. He just wasn’t sure he could handle a second go round.

The faint aroma of what Mara was throwing together did not serve as much of a distraction to the already highly distracted boy. But at Mara’s observation, Syllke stepped forward, his hands still fumbling with the buttons of the shirt. The trousers had already been secured, he had seen to that straight away. Syllke peered over Mara’s shoulder, at the suspicious looking bowls of red wreathed in green. He sniffed, and now felt as well as smelled the pungent tang of the pepper. He was as equally aware of the fact that Mara’s back was only inches away from his front. Funny how standing naked in front of someone who has just helped you undress changes your perception of them, even if they had their eyes closed. Syllke wondered if Mara was as unaffected by all of this as he appeared to be, and concluded that, being a healer, Mara no doubt had experiences such as this on a regular basis.

“Thanks, for helping there,” Syllke mumbled, his voice far lass assured than it had been since the two had first been introduced by fate a short while ago. “Are – are you sure I need to eat . . . that?” He thought of Mara’s earlier warnings – uncomfortable – void of feeling – or else stitching him up. None of it sounded very appealing.

His fingers still worked at the buttons. There were only two left to go. He looked doubtfully at the bowls, but said, “Well, I guess if you’re willing to eat it too – how bad can it be, right?”

by **Mara** on April 18th, 2012, 11:40 am

Mara's head angled over the crook of his dainty shoulder to receive the hovering silhouette nearly pressed against his posterior. He could only gather hints of pinked lustrous lips steadily paced with each sentiment. "It'll help. Trust me." he was not utterly invulnerable to the quivering feelings of excitement intensifying in his chest, or the coy seduction of mellifluous breath simmering across his neck and slinking past the neckline of silk. He was just better at burying his true passions, he was well competent in this and on the contrary not very talented at sanctioning others to glimpse at the tumult of his emotions. He turned back to his set out work, trying to think of any substitutions to ease the irritation the dish would create. He slithered around to face the other, only now coming to terms with just how closely they were pressed together, his back having to arch back over the counter just to keep their visages from stroking.

Skimming from between the counter and warm body with a serene trace to Syllke's arm, his fingers swiping over the unyielding muscle there, and he made his way transversely through the room. "I'm only eating it because I don't mind this kind of thing, but I think I can think of a way to help soothe this." accommodating himself at a desk in the far corner of the room, he swiveled to face the other again, his arm hanging over the back of the chair limply. "Do not mention this to your family." he kept his scrutiny for a moment before going back to his actions.

He unlocked a bottom drawer and burrowed to the back of it. There were many fascinating things hidden in the office he and his father now occasionally shared. Some belongings were his own surprises, some were his father’s. Either way Mara had discovered the largest part of them in his time expended a lone in the space. He was so particular with the order of things, perhaps to immobilize the chaos around him that he could tell when even the slightest article was far out of place. He pulled free from the drawer an unblemished cut-glass bottle, with an equally as clear fluid inside, twinkling with shards of ice still liquescing on the rim. "I watered it down already, but it should still disinfect and make washing that down easier."

He raised the bottle and himself to return to their shared plot along the worktop. He held the stem of the glass vessel and tapped at his forearm, where, if his sleeve had been drawn back, a tantalizing snowflake rested, like many of Morwen's favored race. A frosty sheer glided from beneath his fingers and crusted the bottle. He untwisted the top, and a wisp of ice-cold air emerged in a minuscule spiraling smoke tower, along with it a scent of berry and bitter alcohol intermingled.

Mara's head tilted to the bowls. "Well? What are you waiting for?" He picked up his own container and lifted a spoon to dint the insides and glided the boiling substance over his tongue. He let it slide over his mouth and the burning struck him immediately with a searing sting that slid down into his gullet and eroded away any fluttered butterflies like a toxic acid. Though his face remained tranquil, his core warmed, gradually feeling too warm for his freshly laid attire.

by **Syllke Skyglow** on April 18th, 2012, 2:51 pm

Trust me. Those two simple words hung between healer and patient. Syllke gave another doubtful whiff, and then Mara was turning about. The boy stepped back a bit, with that light touch on his arm, making room for Mara to slip away, his attention now refocusing on the impending assault on his mouth. Syllke had kept his eyes on the possibly oppositional contents of the bowls, but at Mara’s words of caution – about whatever he had up his sleeve now – he turned to look at the healer. Mara certainly seemed more at ease, and much more in command of the moment. Being in the more clearly defined role of healer – one who was expected to know what to do – seemed to both relax and strengthen the young man. Syllke watched with interest as Mara rummaged in the drawer. Anything that was prefaced by “Do not mention this to your family” held an instant appeal and approval from the young Vantha. When he saw the bottle, he understood and his focus switched to exactly how ‘watered down’ the contents might be – and thinking that was a pity. Mara returned to where he was standing, and tapped his arm. Instantly the bottle frosted over, and Syllke knew without even thinking about it that the healer had touched a mark similar to the one which graced his own upper chest. He would have reached for the bottle, with the intent of having a swig of its ice cold contents, but Mara redirected him to the scary looking soup-stuff. As if in encouragement, Mara took a sip of one of the bowls himself.

Syllke’s eyes widened and he watched for any signs of pain or discomfort from the healer. But the expression on Mara’s face did not change or twist. It must be alright, then, Syllke thought. His gaze went back to the untouched bowl, and his good hand reached for the spoon. Scooping up a tablespoon or so of the liquid, he raised it to his lips, his nose once more stung by the sharpness of pepper. With some trepidation, he held the spoon to his lips and let the hot liquid slide inside his mouth.

The extremely sharp, extremely loud string of curses that rang forth from that mouth easily covered the clatter of the spoon as it fell on the floor and bounced away. Syllke’s hands came up to clench over his mouth, stifling the flow of obscenities and profanities to a muffled ranting. Tears were springing to his eyes and he was bobbing his head up and down as if he could shake away the intense, burning pain of the peppers. Perhaps the jostling motion upset the barely mending blood vessels in his nose, for a fresh trickle of crimson appeared on his upper lip. In desperation, Syllke reached for the icy bottle and pressed it to his lips. Tilting it upwards, he stuck his tongue inside the opening, thrusting it in as far as it would go. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at Mara with candid hostility. With his tongue plugging up the bottle so none dripped out, a thin line of blood touched the lip of it and then began to run around its edge. Glaring, Syllke said with some difficulty, “Wha . . . tha . . . hell? Oo twyin ta kill muh?”

by **Mara** on April 18th, 2012, 4:04 pm

Mara's eyes continued unswerving on his patient, penetrating and pleased. He revolved his blazing tongue around in the jowls of his mouth, until it settled into a deadened tingle. He monitored studiously the spoon's journey to Syllke's entrance, until the gracious lump was deposited there, and the reaction was...well, very dissimilar from his own. The bowl plummeted from his control, to the counter and bounced to the floor, sludge of rubicund flowing behind it and eventually landing in a mawkish puddle. What had perked his fascination more was the slew of foul language that poured from the lovely mouth he had been admiring.

Without a word he skated the bottle nearer to Syllke's flurry of rushing hands, allowing the boy to grab hold and drink down the wintry substance. A smirk crept over his face when he observed even his little pink tongue darting into the bottle for relief, the impression of a laugh bubbled up in him without sound. The sharp eyes piercing him only increased his amusement, until finally he felt a trace depraved for offering him such a noxious product. He seemed like a harsh and punishing parent for doing so. Still he knew it had helped more than it had harmed. His wound was, for now, unhampered by infection.

He stretched for the bottle and removed it from the other's possession, and procured a swig of his own, barely tasting the coppery taste of blood lingering and mingling with the bitter-sweet alcohol, mainly because he could still not flavor much of anything. His sense of taste was a flurry of warm and coaxing pins and needles. "Come now. It wasn't that bad." he smiled a little more genuinely than he had since they had been together. "Look, you’ve gotten yourself all worked up, and now your bleeding." he harassed and lifted a thumb to wipe away the driblet of blood from his nose to his lips. He dragged it away and placed the painted finger to his own lips and licked it away.

Mara's hand once again slid the drink over. "Here, at least drink this, and I'll get some rags to clean this up." The spill was dripping angrily from the edge of the counter into the pool below it. He reached about their heads and pulled free stray white cotton rags, and wiped about the counter, before kneeling before Syllke to gather the copious amounts there. His head bobbed just before the others thighs as he mopped up the substance. He looked up at him with an eye squinted in an inquisitive look “Now, are you going to finish mine?” he teased his own bowl lying full only inches away.