A Gift from Six and Eight (Seven, Victor)

[Seven Xu]

“Up there is fine too –,” Seven blurted, taking chase to Victor back to the pile of crates. If he fell again, Seven would be sure to at least make an attempt to soften the fall rather than timidly skitter away like he had before. Asara’s star chart was pushed carefully into his back pocket before a leather boot clattered warily against the wood of the first crate, like a child testing the cool waters of a lake with their toe.

“I do feel I need to apologize,” Seven argued, raising his voice in the growing distance between them. “But you’re right.” The flimsy stack of crates wobbled beneath Seven’s meagre weight and a hand shot out to the rough stone wall to maintain his balance while the other reached out for the dark and offering digits each time they hung before him. It had been years since he scaled the ivy-laden trellis that snaked up the back of his apartment complex in Lhavit and what climbing skills he had retained were rusty at best. Victor had managed to successfully navigate himself to the top of the building first before Seven obediently followed. When the rooftop was level with his chest, Seven’s forearms shot out to balance flush against the grainy rooftop and with a deep breath; he hauled his upper body onto the rooftop with relative ease, followed by a successful swing of his left leg to catch the edge of the roof before he flopped safely onto his back. When Seven sat up again, he exhaled and allowed his legs to dangle over the edge of the rooftop, sitting on the far side of Victor.

Victor’s sickeningly sweet tone and curious fingers forced Seven’s eyes from the pair so long as his friend was content to grope at the woman. Something foreign tore at his insides and he wanted to grab Victor and haul him away from the girl – was it the need to protect fragile little Asara from those inquisitive hands, or was it something deeper? Was it jealousy? He wasn’t a jealous person ... was he? Garnet pools ran dark as his eyelids became heavy in thought. The relief behind the grin Asara’s standoffish hiss garnered could not have been more obvious when he swivelled his body back to face them again.

A flash of wide-set pupils under a corona of milk-white hair and a voice thin and aqueous rose from the tension. “It’s okay Asara. He’s a friend.” Scolding white fingers nabbed the closest arm belonging to Victor and dove beneath the warm folds of his shirt before Seven rocked forward to peer at the wooden mess of crates below. One still bore his name, written in the girl’s widow language.

“Under a crate,” Seven repeated beneath an exasperated sigh. He released Victor’s arm to fold over himself, elbows pressing to his knees and shoulders slumping. If only he had known that a chime sooner, the thing would be in his arms and he could flip through whatever it was she had written inside; the sting of jealousy had morphed into nagging curiosity.

[Victor Lark]

Surprise withdrew his hand as the bestial sound escaped her mouth. His brow gathered in the settling adrenaline and his staring eyes wavered between offense and increasing interest. He softened when he noticed a small scar beneath her eye, but before he could inquire, she spoke.

He felt a familiar grasp on his wrist and turned to Seven. The soft pull inspired him to take a seat beside him, but not without another glance back at the slight symenestra. Asara was more peculiar than his half-blood friend could have ever described. It pained him to pull his eyes from her, but then he noticed the direction of Seven’s gaze and was distracted.

The crate, she had said. “Of course,” he added, mumbling. It was under the crate, and the only one that he had not moved. As the realization settled between them, the look that fell over his friend’s face stirred even Victor’s insensitive sentiments. Frowning, he silently vowed to remedy the disappointment. The crate-ladder was too precarious for a wise descent; he would not be able to see his feet. Besides, falling was always easier than climbing.

Legs hanging, he gripped the edge and leaned forward, testing his courage against the air’s depth. His lips tensed as the latter narrowly triumphed and he rose to a crouch. He would not jump like an inexperienced squirrel, at least. With an assuring touch on Seven’s shoulder, Victor turned round and carefully tipped over the brink.

His groping fingers managed to stop his fall shortly, clutching the roof. His shoes wrinkled with his bent feet and their soles gripped the side of the building. A short pause of consideration fixed his gaze towards the ground, then he released his hold. Inexpert fingertips slid against the wall for an instant as the alley closed around him again. Some of the impact found his feet, but he immediately fell onto his back and his lungs voided audibly. There was a candid tremor on his face, but as he opened his eyes to see Seven and their prize, he smiled again.

He scarcely rose to his feet to scramble to the crate in question. The haphazard construction was hardly disturbed as he lifted it mere inches and procured the little black journal; it rocked and creaked as he fell to repose again, facing the stars. The thing was scraped up and a little dusty, but Victor thought it was in good condition, having never seen it before. It immediately replaced Asara at the front of his wandering mind, barely winning his attention over various nagging physical pains.

Content to remain lying on the dirty ground, he lifted it above his face and opened it to the first page. “What is so important about this book, anyhow?” He asked with a teasing grin, glancing over the top of it to see if Seven’s expression was any brighter.

[Asara Willow]

Asara caught the grin on Seven's face and felt a moment of confusion. Was he pleased that she had hissed at his human? Was he on the verge of laughing at her for the offended sound? She couldn't ask, because he informed her of the human's status as friend. A human friend, this half blood possessed. It once again brought up the amusing observation she had made earlier, of which he inquired about when she laughed, but failed to answer due to the nature of how this friend greeted her.

She was inturrupted from voicing her opinion when the Lark began his clumsy descent, and she actually felt a twinge of apprehension. She had heard his previous fall, and it was her experience that injuries were highly possible. She slanted a gold gaze to Seven, leaning down to be able to dart her gaze between the two, and voiced her observation of his descent in the graceful Widow's Tongue. She only hoped Seven would understand enough.

"The Lark could have waited for me to retrieve the book, Seven. He would not hurt himself more and I'd be back up quicker." Her golden gaze gleamed with amusement and she turned her attention back down to Victor below. The sound he made when he hit the ground sounded rough, wounded. When he deigned not to rise again after grabbing the journal and try to climb back up, the thought that she could maybe carry him back up passed her thoughts. He was, after all, quite small and bony for a human. Rather similar to Seven in build, if not in appearance. She figured that maybe she could manage, even with the healing status of her ribs and arm. Didn't Dhalvasha tell her that Symenestra did this for visitors in Kalinor anyway? She had to be tougher than she felt.

She didn't voice this though. It was not in her nature to be altruistic, and anyway... Victor Lark was one of them, a human. Seven, she'd carry down. He, at least, looked like her.

The only problem was that she didn't know how to go about carrying Seven down a building wall. She'd have to go feet first to prevent awkwardness, and a spider never moved backwards down a wall. She'd have to try and help Victor... How stressful that would be.

"I'll try and help him back up," the Symenestra whispered. This would totally go against her previous reaction to Victor's touch, but who said she was completely normal? She had a good enough reason for her brain to be addled.

[Seven Xu]

A pair of arms snapped outward in a vain attempt to snatch up Victor’s thin fingers but his reflexes were slow and his friend slipped into the darkness, followed shortly by a concerning thud that forced Seven to cry out in distress. “Victor, no!” Sometimes he was astounded by the brashness of the dark-haired man who seemed to be content in leaving all the logical thinking to him.

He fell to his stomach, lying flat against the rough rooftop as his searching eyes cut down through the darkness of the alley to glare at his friend. A moment of shocked bewilderment was exchanged in their glances before the triumphant smile Victor flashed was enough to soften Seven’s features; he rolled his eyes and succumbed to the undeniable curl in his top lip that forced underdeveloped fangs to punctuate the expression.

The crates clattered and winked in the low light and if the tower were to swing too far Seven was ready to reach down with a willowy arm and steady it. As Victor retrieved the book – his book, that he had not seen in weeks – it looked so pleasingly familiar and he watched with careful intent as Victor’s curious fingers combed over the worn leather cover and delicate pages filled with penciled star charts and scrawling number sequences. Most of the early writing was in Lhavitian, but in more recent pages Common took prevalence.

“It’s mine.” Seven called, content with that being reason enough for the book to warrant the level of importance he placed on it. The voice on the rooftop grew deriding in an afterthought as budding laughter left his tongue and trickled out between his words, “You won’t be able to read much in there, you know.”

When Asara turned and murmured her thoughts in the Symenos tongue, Seven patched enough together to offer her a quick shake of his head, as in much disbelief of Victor’s harsh actions as she was. It took a moment for the translation to roll over in his mind, and when he opened his mouth to speak his eyes did not leave the drawing grin of the man on the ground. “Thinking,” he stammered, Common accent jarring the Symenos and dragging it out, making it ugly. “He is not, uh, how do you say … does not think long about actions. Just does them.” Seven’s cheeks grew ruddy and his face twisted in discontent after successfully butchering the beautiful Widow-tongue. When Asara spoke up again in Common, a breath of relief escaped him and smoothed his features and he flashed the Symenestra a knowing smile as he whispered his response. “If you feel you can. Don’t hurt yourself on his account.”

Seven sat up to fold his legs beneath his tiny frame, bending over himself so that he was no longer on his stomach but still had a safe view of the dirty street, and his companion that was sprawled across it. Hands in his lap, his fingers drummed against the sole of a leather boot as he chewed his lower lip, feeling utterly useless. “Let me know if you need help,” the offer was hollow and came out in a whisper as Asara left him alone on the rooftop.

[Victor Lark]

Victor shrugged. The reason was satisfactory, and the laugh that followed it softened the hopeful stretch of his brow. His smile of accomplishment lingered behind the mask of Seven’s little book as he flipped a few more pages, searching for the words which he had been told were unrecognizable. When he saw them, his lips turned to a frown of concentration. He traced the script with his thumb as if he could rub the letters into Common.

Not once did he consider bringing the thing up to the man who had been waiting to find it for so long. Victor was too consumed in the foreign lines and language to consider any other opinion of Seven’s beyond the trophy of his smile. He did, however, tear his eyes from the careful sketches to glare at the strange noises that the two spiders exchanged, followed by whispers that successfully evaded his ears. He opened his mouth to protest, but silenced himself when Seven spoke again, and again Victor was without his far away words. His chin touched his chest as he tried to pull himself to sit, but his spine protested and he lay flat again. “What are you saying?” He finally managed to call up without bothering to hide his frustration, resting the open journal on his belly.

Then, the corner of his eye discovered the skinny little woman on the ground. “Hello there...” he said through a toothy grin, pushing polite gladness over his surprise. If he had noticed the means of her descent, he might have been more excited to see her. Instead, he squirmed to get a better look, clutching Seven’s notebook to his body. He would protect it from the creature that had stolen it to begin with, as he learned to split his interest between the two. His gaze ran imprecisely over her foot, her leg, her hip, trying to find some other unusual thing. Wondering whether she cared for the appraisal, he glanced finally at her eyes for an answer.

[Asara Willow]

Before sliding over the edge of the roof, Asara reached over to pat Seven's hand in the most comforting way she had knowledge of. She usually didn't like touching people like this, but she had seen his expression after speaking Symenos and felt the unusual twinge of sympathy. With a hint of annoyance, though. It seemed as though he hadn't gained any confidence in the language. He'd continue garbling it if he didn't work on it.

"Stay." She commanded shortly in the tongue he failed to speak. She wanted him to learn, and so she'd make him understand. As politely as possible of course.

The Symenestra then scaled the wall with the impossible ability possessed by her race. She descended head first but maneuvered so she could step onto the ground as gracefully as possible. She ignored everything Victor happened to be saying until that point, when she turned and looked down at him with the cool appraisal of one who is acting out of necessity. Her head cocked to the side at his own appraisal of her form and she wondered if she should be offended or not. It was not a lustful once-over, but more of a curious one. She couldn't find insult in curiousity.

"How heavy are you?" The question passed her lips as she crouched next to him and appraised him further. She'd not done what she planned to do ever before, and she wanted to be sure of his weight before attempting to carry the klutz of a human back up. "Try to speak quietly. You make too much noise. Do you want to be found out by every Knight in the area?"

She noticed the defensive and protective grip he had on the book and her eyes darkened in consternation. He acted like he owned the book and like she couldn't be trusted with it, which was stupid seeing as she'd kept it as safe as she could even ever think to do for herself.

She was tempted to snatch it away from the cripple of a human and stick out her tongue, but she wouldn't. Even she understood the notions of propriety that stated she help an injured being and try to not antagonize it by pointless taunts. Still, the thought was there, and it was very tasty.

Next, she reached to help him sit, cautiously. She didn't know if he had hurt anything that shouldn't be injured. She would need him upright to hold on to her to scale the wall as well. She couldn't be expected to drag him up. What if his noises had already garnered attention? What if a Knight came around the corner and saw a Symenestra dragging a limp man up a wall? Not a good outcome either way. Afterwards, she had the man stand, ignorant of any pa. She truly wasn't an altruistic type of person, and pity wasn't common for her. She did, however, help him to the wall and placed his arms around her neck after making him stand behind her. Now, Asara had never seen a Symenestra carry someone up a wall, nor could she think of how, so she went with what she thought was right. She placed her hands on the walls and lifted both herself and Victor against it, placing her bare feet the same way and pushing herself up further. This was uncomfortable for her, both the carrying of a bigger person as we'll as the contact shared with a human. Whether Victor wrapped his legs around her securely or let them dangle was Victor's choice. She just didn't want to have him choke her with his forearms.

[Seven Xu]

In that moment, Seven held just as much disregard for the possibility of being discovered; as the jostled frame of his friend found the rooftop again he clambered across the rough surface in an awkward crawl that left him on all fours. “Gods!” The exclamation rang through the dead night air. When he loomed over Victor, a head of tousled white hair replaced the moon and drew the Ravokian’s face into darkness. “Are you okay?” a frown, “What were you thinking?!” Two hands shot out and threatened to compromise Seven’s wobbling balance, but they weren’t grasping for the notebook he had obsessed over for so long. Instead, pale hands probed the tender shoulder Victor had landed on earlier.

“Is anything broken? That was stupid.” Worry trickled in between his disparaging remarks and fingers pushed beneath fabric at an unbuttoned neckline to test bruised skin, “It’s just a book, Birdie, why would you–,” Seven cut himself short as he remembered that there was a third in their party.

Eyes lifted and cheeks turned ruddy as he smiled breathlessly at the tiny Symenestra girl who carried Victor on her back. “Thank you,” he made a genuine attempt at pronunciation this time and his Symenos was not stricken by his choppy accent; even when speaking Common at times certain words came out decidedly foreign. “I hope he is not too ... too large.” Symenos was proving difficult for the youth to pick up. He could read the passages and limericks in his small crimson book but when it came to conversation he seemed lost. The language only had a present tense; it was strange. Seven prayed he had gotten his point across. He had wanted to impress Asara by whispering in the Widow tongue, but it had only successfully offended or amused her; he was not entirely sure which.

“Can you sit up?” Seven’s language turned with his attention as his hands – that likely lingered too long for social comfort – were removed from Victor’s shoulder and he wobbled again before allowing himself to fall back to sit, knees bent and elbows resting atop them. Any derision that lingered on his face had been pushed away, favoring a wily smile that drew fangs from between pink-white lips as his interrogation continued, “Can I have my book now?”

[Victor Lark]

A huff of disdain greeted her apprehension of the authorities, but he did not have the chance to voice any further opinion. His gaze followed hers over his own body as he fell for his own game and wondered with discomfort what she was looking for; then he saw her long hand and took it. The muscle beneath her skinny arm pulsed and before he knew it, his legs were dangling beneath him. He hugged her tiny shoulders with his elbows as the book between his hands bounced against her chest, eyes intent on the fingers that so effortlessly gripped the wall.

Then the alley, confusion and frustration, turned into the rooftop again, freedom and elucidation. He found himself deposited on the cold stone and instantly fell to the comfort of repose. As Seven’s worry filled his ears, so did Leth-face block out the sky and fill his vision, frantic fingers moving over his skin like a thousand caresses. Victor laughed. A ton of iron seemed to press down on his roaring shoulder, but it would ruin the art of his efforts and the success of the feat to admit as much. So his hand ran idly over the cloth on the arms that inspected him in a futile attempt to calm them, wordlessly urging Seven not to worry. More unfamiliar words moved between him and the spider, but the human was too proud and content to let his smile falter. Instead he mumbled to no one in particular, “I hope you’re not talking about me!”

To both questions, Victor held out the book and said, “Probably.” As soon as Seven finally had a hold of his prized possession, the olive-hued hand that relinquished it would grab onto his pale wrist. Summoning perhaps more strength than was required, Victor pulled his friend towards him so that he might lie beside him and look up at the stars. He carefully slipped one hand through Seven’s and traced a finger over the journal’s spine. “Tell me what it says. What language is it?” He did not know the spoken and written words were of two entirely different lands.

He turned to the girl, and his smile dropped from one of affection to invitation. He waved at her and touched the dusty spot beside him, beckoning her to lay down as well. As an afterthought, he mentioned, “Thanks, Asara. For helping me back up, I mean. Though I don’t mean to say I couldn’t have done it without you!”

[Asara Willow]

Asara was glad Seven and Victor had forgotten her after she dropped the human from her back. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire, her ribs flared with every breath, and she struggled to hide her pain before one of them noticed it. She did not want to get fussed over like some lady primping her daughter for a ball. After a few moments she calmed her breathing and lifted the hand of her uninjured arm to work her shoulder free of the angry pain. She didn't regret helping Victor up, she just felt like getting hurt for it was a poor payment from her brittle, bruised body.

Seven's words caught her attention and she quickly lowered her hand and offered him a wan smile before turning a critical eye to Victor. She didn't keep in mind that Seven wasn't accustom to speaking the language when she cast her reply. "I am fine. Other things hurt more than the weight of a human. Is he okay?" She hoped Seven wouldn't share her question with his little bird.

As for Victor's question... Well, there was only one reply for that.

"Seven has asked me how much you weigh. I said a water bison weighs less." She gave him a light smile to show she was teasing him, allowing herself that little indulgence of human camaraderie. Gold eyes flashed in the musings of inhuman thoughts along the web of memories stirred recently from the void they had fallen in. Maybe she hadn't been friends with a human before, but she did share this joking personality with other Symenestra before.

She hesitated before following his invitation and moving slowly to lay next to him, wariness replacing camaraderie as she moved into a position she wouldn't be able to defend herself from without some magical skill to be laying down one moment and upright in another. Her arm protested the mere movements of laying back, but she bit back every hiss dying to pass her pale lips.

"You did not seem inclined to stand up." She murmured in a soft, Symenos-laden Common. Now that all three were safely on a roof, it was imperative that they remain quiet to avoid Knights and passersby that would find suspicious people on a roof a cause for worry.

[Seven Xu]

As the book passed from Victor’s hands to his, the smile on Seven’s lips perked upward in jubilance. He finally had it again, that beloved notebook that he had grown so attached to in its absence. Of course, Victor would not allow for him to celebrate long; with a rough tug he was hauled towards his companion. Seven winced as his back met cold stone and made a conscious effort to give the injured shoulder a wide berth. Then that dark hand was tangled in his again; the hand that he never felt a need to shy from no matter how often it forgot how fragile he could be. A laugh erupted between them and he tilted his head towards Victor to leer past him as Asara found a spot on the other side of them. “It’s mostly Lhavitian,” he admitted as he held the book above them, relishing in flipping through pages upon pages of scrawling text and diagrams and equations.

“Here, I’ve written the differences between high worlds and low worlds,” he explained, motioning towards a page of text grown pale and smudged with use. “A high world contains beings that are not particularly interested in transferring to Mizahar. If they do, it is for a limited period of time. A low world is a world where the natives are inclined to come to Mizahar permanently or at least will do so without protest. Familiars arrive from low worlds.” The language flowed from between his lips with ease as his eyes drew narrow and a grin grew on his face. He knew his companion well enough that little academia in the book would particularly interest him; at least not as much as raveling off a couple of phrases in another language would. Brows raised, another laugh bubbled up as he remarked, “There. Now you know the difference.”

He thought that could get a rise out of the man so intent on bruising his body in the name of book-retrieval; at least it would take his mind off of the pain.

Seven’s arms grew tired of suspending the growing weight of a book over his face and dropped to his sides, allowing it to fall open across his chest. He kept his fingers entwined in those that had been offered to him earlier and his free arm slid behind his own head for support. “I like the view from up here,” speaking to both of them, “It’s a shame we are not on a mountain, though.” Seven hated to admit that what he missed most about Lhavit was the beauty of the night sky – Syliras’ murky black dome of night held little to the home of the one and only Alvina of the stars.

“There was another Symenestra,” the thought seemed out of place, but it was an explanation that had been burning in the depths of his gut since the golden eyes drew him into the shadows chimes before. “On the night I was supposed to meet you. His name was,” Seven’s brow furrowed in thought, “Dell… Doll… Dhalvasha, I think. I completely lost track of time. By the time we parted ways, it was already too late – you were gone.” Victor’s face blurred as he focused on the round-eyed girl beyond him, “I’m sorry, Asara.”