Kick Back, Relax (solo)

[Arrow]

Throwing open the door, Trouble practically fell over Cat, who had popped up to make it clear in her indignant feline way that they were late. More importantly, her dinner was late. Paying Cat no mind, Trouble threw her cloak on the floor and went right to the hearth to stir up the embers and prepare to fix and cook their dinner. Removing his own worn coat, Arrow scooped up the cat and the cloak and deposited both on the one patched up wing chair in the small room. He reached to light the candles in the strange curving holder that he had scavenged and repaired, and said, “I’m going to check on the crocks.” Trouble merely nodded, her attention on the mushrooms that she was mincing.

Stepping through into a back room, he made a quick inspection of the stoneware vessels in which yeast was working its magic to convert sugar into alcohol and grain into a mellow, full bodied beer. All seemed in order. After that one explosion, he was careful to check the air locks on the fermentation vats at least twice a day. He really couldn’t afford to lose the time and supplies it took to make a batch through carelessness. Just as he was finishing his inspection, he felt the tell tale tingles that signaled his nightly transformation, After so many, many years, he hardly noticed it. There was a flash of light, and there he was, the same being, yet not the same. Not in form, and not in thought either. Short blonde hair was replaced with flowing locks the color of rusty metal. Butterscotch hued horns curled from his head. Green eyes shifted to a violet-grey. But none of this change was a distraction. Already the wheels in his head were beginning to whir, as he thought about what he could barely wait to sit down and write this night. Passing back into the main room, he stepped behind the curtain he had hung for some modicum of privacy, and changed into trousers that fit more easily on his bigger frame. The shirt was fine, just a bit snugger.

As Trouble began to sing over her meal preparations, Arrow, unable to restrain himself, sat on the stool before the tiny desk and drew paper, pen and ink towards him. With only a brief moment to collect his thoughts, his hand was soon scurrying across the paper, as he hummed in low accompaniment to Trouble’s simple tune.

[Arrow]

Within a short time, Trouble had a simple meal prepared. Fried mushrooms and wild celery to accompany a duck’s egg omelette, cheese, bread and apples. There was always ample beer on hand to wash their food down with. Arrow did not partake of the tasty offerings. In his nighttime form he neither ate nor drank. But he kept the girl and the cat, who was offered a plate on the floor, company. While she ate and chattered away, his mind was half on their rather one-sided conversation. The other half of his thoughts was on the subject of his treatise, and further arguments he wished to capture before they vanished like the smoke going up the flue. Trouble wasn’t put out in the least by either his abstinence from the food she had put together or his quiet manner. She was used to him, completely, and they had grown to know one another’s moods and habits and routines to an almost ridiculous level of predictability. Sometimes, Arrow thought his life was in a bit of a rut. Most of the time, though, he quite enjoyed the sense of stability he had found.

When dinner was over, Trouble cleared the table and Arrow returned to his writing. Done with her washing up, Trouble came and sat in the tattered arm chair, to stroke Cat who deigned to share her comfortable throne. The girl would sing or hum and sometimes talk more about anything that popped into her head. This night, she went on and on about a bright blue ribbon she had seen in a shop, and Arrow knew that she was asking for it without asking. If he had good luck with this batch of beer, he would see if he could afford to buy it for her. She really asked for so very little. After a while, Trouble began to yawn, and, predictably, asked for her bedtime story.

Smiling, Arrow put down his quill, stretched, rose and went to the chair. Trouble picked up Cat. Arrow sat. And the girl resettled herself in his lap, with Cat in hers. Always, it was the same. If he changed a word of it, she protested and corrected him. Like her name, he had told this story first, and ever since she wanted no other. She laid her cheek against his chest, and he told her of the beautiful princess, who was also a lovely swan. There was a handsome stranger, with horns and silver hair, who wooed the princess and married her. There was the birth of the beloved child, a daughter, who somehow hatched out of an egg, the mother being part swan. And then came the tragedy. An evil mage who coveted the princess for himself, the imprisonment of the horned father, and the abduction of the woebegone child. The mage turned the girl into a drab little bird, a sparrow, but she escaped and wandered about cold and lost. Miraculously (for the first time he told this story, Arrow had grown quite tired and gave it a quick ending), the handsome father found the little bird, all unknowing that it was his daughter, and brought her back to his lovely princess, who, being an astute mother, immediately recognized her. Their love worked its own magic, and wondrously, the bird turned back into a little girl. The three settled down to live a joyous life in fairy tale castle. A happy ending.

Trouble rested against him for a short while, then sat up, nodding. Yes, he had told it right this time. Her arms went around his neck and she kissed his opal shaded cheek, made her good nights, and went behind the curtain to remove her clothes and shift. Preferring her bird form when it came to sleeping (which Arrow felt was a ruse so that he could have the use of the bed and the blanket), she would shift and then come fluttering back out, to perch on his right horn, much to the cat’s intense interest. Arrow returned to his writing, and a peaceful silence descended upon the little household. Long into the night he would work, energized by his father, shining above even if he could not see through the roof of the house. Pale moonlight would find its way in through one of the tiny windows, and that was enough.

At some point, the Ethaefal put down his quill and rubbed his eyes. Rising, he plucked Trouble from his horn and settled her gently in a nest she had constructed for herself on the shelf above the desk, at a height safely out of reach of Cat. Retiring behind the curtain, he undressed, stretched out on the narrow bed, and tucked his arm under his head on the flat pillow. Turning to gaze out of the other window, which was above his head, his mind’s eye saw his father shining above, though the intervening rooftops actually blocked him from view. Sometimes, the ever shifting buildings of Alvadas would allow him to catch a real glimpse of Leth, but not on this night. A building he had never seen before in all the years he had been in the city was now standing shoulder to shoulder with his tiny cottage. Unfazed, Arrow smiled up at the small square of night sky, comforted just in the knowledge that Leth was still up there, watching over him. He was sure of this. He felt it.