[flashback]Ouch! (Mara)

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke didn’t fail to notice that little smirk, and pleased would not have been to first word to leap to his mind if he hd been asked to describe how that grin made him feel. It wasn’t at all gratifying to know that this first evidence from the healer that he could, in fact, find something funny, came about because of Syllke’s own pain. Of course, he realized that he must look pretty damn ridiculous, hopping about like a mad man, trying to tear his own lips off, and yowling like a scalded cat. At least now he knew what one of those poor creatures must feel like. But he couldn’t help it. The mouth is a sensitive place, and the tongue, and his tastebuds, had never experienced anything even remotely close to that intense searing burn. He could now well imagine what it would be like if someone took a glowing brand to his tongue, or the bitterest acid. The young artist did feel just a bit deceived by the healer, in terms of fair warning – or lack thereof. Then again, as his tongue – what part he could wedge into the neck of the bottle – basked in the cooling liquid, and he began to calm down a bit, Syllke was able to acknowledge that perhaps Mara did not expect this severe a reaction to the soup. The healer seemed fine. Unbelievably, in Syllke’s mind, Mara seemed to have actually enjoyed the petching stuff. Maybe the healer had some internal coating of asbestos, to ward against the potency of the peppers. He couldn’t really believe that Mara would intentionally hurt him, not without good cause. He could forgive the other boy, though really, he thought with growing certainty, there was nothing to forgive. It had just been so unexpected – and so painful. All these thoughts passed through his mind in a twinkling, as he eyed the healer warily. When Mara reached for the bottle, Syllke halfway thought to hold onto it. He feared the loss of cool from his stinging tongue. But, reluctantly, he let it go and the rush of air onto his marred orifice was quite unpleasant. Still, as Mara took a swig from the bottle, and then smiled at Syllke – well . . . it just wasn’t in the boy to stay upset. That just wasn’t the type of person he was. Mara’s smile was a bit infectious, and Syllke returned it with one of his own, a self-deprecating grin. “Yeah, it was,” he replied to Mara’s observation that it hadn’t been so very bad. But he then laughed. “I thought it was going to eat through my petching tongue! How in the hell do you stand to eat that stuff?” Mara’s thumb had lifted to wipe away the blood on Syllke’s lip and the boy watched, fascinated, as the older boy then licked the blood away from his digit. Syllke was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Mara was the most intriguing person that he had met in quite a long time. When his rescuer-torturer reached then for some rags and began to wipe up Syllke’s mess, already any trace of surprised anger was gone from the boy’s mind. He gladly took up the bottle again, and soaked his still burning tongue for a long moment, before he took another long sip. The alcohol had a bite that he wasn’t used to, but it tasted good in its own sharp way, and it felt good nestling in his stomach. Syllke put the bottle down then, and looked down at Mara, now knelt before him with his cleaning efforts. Syllke shook his head emphatically, his long hair shimmering in the light streaming in upon them through the window. “No way!” he said with a huge grin, kneeling too and reaching for a clean rag. His good hand began to sweep at the soggy mess, and he was careful to keep his bandaged scrapes and cuts well away from the searing liquid. He could well imagine how unpleasant it would be to get any of that in an open wound. “That bowl is all yours, Mara,” he said, sitting back on his heels so he could look at his newest friend. When a guy pops your nose back in place, undresses you with his eyes closed, and then tries to burn your tongue out of your head, that makes him a friend, right? Thinking about how Mara had licked the blood from his thumb, Syllke added with a smirk, “But if you want to season it with blood, you’re going to have to use your own.” His gaze became curious, as he looked into Mara’s eyes. “You do have some really unusual tastes. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”

[Mara]

Mara went about the assignment at hand, allowing Syllke a sister rag to sop the mess. It procured quite a few rags to finalize the clean-up, not for the measure of the spill, but the viscosity and pigment of its substance. He settled back into his stony demeanor, more secure in that state, his cheeks felt awkward from the pull of a smile. Still he embellished him with an exhale that could be viewed as a laugh to the resending of his offer to finish his own dish.

"I agree." he pulled the rags up into a neat pile and gathered them in a clean one to safely ship the chemical consignment. "You've lost enough blood for one day." he stood and headed for a box like basin in the angle of the room and pitched the towels inside. His comment was almost too close to true if you were going on rumor alone, which most did. He suddenly wondered if the Vantha was just feigning innocence. Had he recognized what he was had chosen to over-look it, or did he have some ulterior motive? It wouldn't be a pronounced bombshell, maybe a stiffer blow to him than before he had enjoyed company so thoroughly. He did not have much adversity with the adults living in Avanthal, at least not any that were more than unconvinced glances. Eyes often questioned his humanity once the certainty about his mother was communal knowledge for those that dealt in gossip. Children however could be quite unkind. "Things that are so very different are often misunderstood" one of the few comforts his mother had left him with. It made the world rather easier to fathom, and therefor easier to come to grips with. He knew in most aspects Avanthal had been generous to him despite the reputation of the blood that inhabited his unordinary body.

He listened to the Skyglow assiduously. "I suppose I would be astounded if you had known of someone like me." He walked back into their close proximity taking another long gulp of their shared drink to gather some of the warm impression in his bowels and calm his nerves. "Surely you've noticed I don't quite belong, aside from just my choice in style." He held a gaze with Syllke, skeptically awaiting an answer. Their farther distance than they had been since they met just bells earlier was a visual of the distance Mara was already putting between them for worry of this banter turning curdled. His arms held one another at his elbows, encasing himself in a defensive manner.

[Syllke Skyglow]

The cleaning job done, Syllke relaxed back, his weight on one ankle turned under him, his other knee brought up before him. He cradled his injured wrist against his belly and rested his other hand on his bent knee, and his chin upon that. It was not unlike a tripod upon which an artist might prop his work, the better to be able to step back and examine it critically, from many differing angles and distances. Only, in this case, it was Mara that was the subject of Syllke’s scrutiny, and he watched the healer dispose of the wet rags and then return to stand by the counter, taking a slow sip of the booze. To Syllke’s observant eyes, and just his sense of the body language of the other boy, it seemed like a shutter was being dropped back in place, standing between Mara and himself. In his voice too, he heard a . . . challenge. For the first time, Syllke really looked at Mara, as the young man put himself on display, as it were, as if he would prove that in fact – he was different. He looked at Mara not just as Mara, but in comparison to the norm of their city, their culture, the people that they intereacted with on a day to day basis. It wasn’t something Syllke normally chose to do – compare and contrast, judge and evaluate. He preferred to get to know something, or someone, for what it was, standing alone. But he could see – Mara did have a point. There was a good deal of ‘difference’ between him and your average Vantha. But Syllke did not immediately place the genesis of those differences. He simply though Mara looked . . . unique, and hadn’t wandered mentally any farther than that. Without trying to close that gap that now stretched between them, without rising from the floor, Syllke looked at Mara with a frank expression. “Do you want to belong?” he asked, in his curious tone. It was a question from the heart, for Syllke had often wondered why that seemed so important to many people. Then again, he himself had never felt like he was an oddball, so maybe that’s why the question seemed a bit profound.

[Mara]

Unobstructed distress spanned over Mara's usually moderate and discreet features. His eyelids widened and his lips divided just enough to discharge a gust of air as if he had been struck. His body language fled more entirely into himself. He recaptured his footing amidst the rug that was just so adroitly heaved from beneath his feet. Such a simple question but he was left without an unproblematic answer. His eyes flitted to the floor, with no object in mind to behold, just to flee the now never-ending pits of forthcoming eyes peer up at him.

His hush was unbroken, lifeless. He was mulling it over. A well-adjusted person would have an answer, any answer would suffice. He wanted to say 'Of course I do. It's not like I've really had much of a say in it.' but that would be a lie, a pitiable one at that. He had always been distinctive from birth. Yes, his mixed blood and his quirks all screamed of who or what he was. Still with each significant event in his life, he had altered just a little bit more, become taciturn, pulled away from everyone in his path. He had wanted to detached himself. He had sullied his body, to write across himself for anyone that doubted he would never fully belong in his own home. So what was the answer? What exactly did he want?

"No." finally his mouth admitted without much thought. "I know what I am. I don't need to belong in any category." he felt sick confessing it. Did that make him a shoddier person than he had originally suspected? He was supposed to want to be a part of his home, a family, a people.

He turned away on his bare toes, a pull of atmosphere brushing his chestnut hair across his cheeks and further screening his face. He wanted to return to his solitude, to be alone with his thoughts. This boy had what he needed, but he could not give to him more, and it made him feel even emptier.

Syllke was younger than him, but already more sure of himself, contented, well adjusted. He belonged to something, whether he liked it or not. People would miss him if he was gone. He would miss him. They had just met and he knew this to be factual. He was sure he could suppress the feeling just as he did the remainder, but this day would stand out in his memories for much longer than a day. Syllke Skyglow would be imprinted into him, and the thought almost made him indignant.

He did not need more connections, more things to inevitably lose. He was a person though and a soul. No matter how strict someone is on their actions, they want for company, for a kind touch, a gentle smile. He desired to hate him for presentation him these things. He wanted to regret sliding down that slope and helping him, and wanting to stay close to him.

Mara's fingers clenched his nails into his arms roughly, denting the skin beneath his robe to continue to pull away from the show of emotion. His index finger began to scratch at the inner skin of his thumb beside his ebony nail and flick slivers of membrane from them in tender vines or reddening skin. He was anxious, uncomfortable and without the words to state any of it.

"Maybe...maybe you should go." his voice was soft whimper, a subtle taste to the tirade flowing within him. His back remained to Syllke, but his chest constricted, wishing he would go and yearning him to stay all in the same breath.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Mara took such a long time to reply, that Syllke began to think the healer might never give an answer to his question. Mara’s crimson flecked eyes dropped away, but not before Syllke had seen that stricken look take over those fine, delicate features. When finally the answer did come, Mara turned away. Despite the seemingly independent outlook of his response, his tone, and that physical rejection of belonging, bespoke another truth. It might be true that he did not wish to belong in any particular, defined group, but the timbre of his voice begged another question – why did he not care? Given the way his body, his face, his light – the command and ease and orderliness that Syllke had seen in Mara while he went so skillfully about his business of healer – was now shielded, extinguished, like a candle that has just been snuffed, Syllke knew the answer was born of resignation, and not desire. And somehow, Syllke had triggered this new darkness – this retreat. Unintentionally. Unwittingly. And though he sensed all this, he didn’t know what lay at the bottom of Mara’s reaction. His awe of the healer’s uniqueness was supposed to have been a compliment, not a slight, or an indictment. He didn’t know what to say. All he could do was watch, and he saw the way those black nails dug into those thin arms, a product of tension – or conflict? Syllke had really hit a trigger, and his own casual attitude towards the opinions of others – when it came to himself – made it quite incomprehensible. And then – the verdict – the hammer – fell from those kind lips. Syllke’s brow furrowed in a frown of confusion. He wasn’t sure what he had done, but he was sure that he didn’t want to go. He was enjoying Mara’s company, and he wanted to know more about the other boy, not let it end here, in such an abrupt, uncomfortable manner. He bit down on his lip before he remembered that it was injured, and he winced slightly. Syllke rose and hesitated only the briefest moment before he moved, but not towards the door. He stepped closer to Mara, whose back was still to him. His uninjured fingers reached out tentatively and rested lightly on Mara’s arm, then slipped down to cover the hand that gripped there so anxiously.. He touched those black tipped fingers gently. “But . . . I don’t want to go, Mara. I – I’m sorry, if I said something wrong. I only thought . . . you are – special. I like you. Wherever you belong – or if you don’t belong anywhere. Maybe you are just your own special person.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, you know. It’s like you say. As long as you know who you are, that’s enough, isn’t it?” Syllke stepped closer still, the material of his borrowed shirt brushing against the softness of the black silk gracing Mara’s shoulder. His hand moved to cover Mara’s even more securely. “I’d like to know you more - to know who you are. Can I – would you let me . . . draw you, Mara?” It might have seemed the oddest question, and likely one the healer would never have imagined would be put to him. But it was only through his art that the young boy ever truly came to know, to understand, a subject. Things that intrigued him, or people, animals, nature in all its varied forms – it was only through recreating them, in his own unique way, could Syllke really process, analyze, absorb, all that they were. Perhaps it was true, that no person could ever truly and fully know another. But for Syllke, his best attempts came first from rendering that person into some medium worked by his own hands. Unfortunately, it was usually quite impossible to explain this to anyone, and it was surely going to be an unfathomable request for the unhappy, suffering mixed blood young man.

[Mara]

Mara's sealed his lids, a string of intricately sown lashes collapsing upon his cheek. He swallowed hard to tug back the lump bobbing in his narrowed passageway. He had heard Syllke approach by a hair’s breath, but instead exploded his words in his mind. Like fresh pages, sticking together under his dry fingers, the wording was hard to sort through. The silky fingers that fell over his yanked him back, eyes flickering ajar, and his grip loosening upon his fragile extremities. Was it enough? How could it possibly be enough?

His head dangled, temperate serenity revisiting, for he could not see the world as this unbiased, beaming, sprite of a boy did. Mara was a leafless and twisted unwanted plant, while Syllke was blooming beautifully under Syna’s loving arms and Morwen’s watchful eye. He would surely strangle the life from him if he was not uprooted.

The artist’s hand was encasing his and he was able to appease his raw chest cavity. He turned toward him and his head fell tenderly against Syllke's shoulder in an unanticipated gesture, his cheek resting against the cavern of his clavicle, and lips just a slip from his warm and pulsing neck. It was a white flag waved on the battlefield raging on his interior. He would satisfy himself to not think on it anymore, for now at least. Mara would tolerate himself only a morsel of greediness, he was no longer willing to counterattack.

Revelations for the day were wholly expended; he was depleted and sluggish to react. "Draw me..." he iterated with little inflection in his voice. It was an unfamiliar request, to know him by way of a drawing. He could not formulate sense of it, but then he was not going to attempt to. His head curved once more so his forehead pressed to the Vantha's maturing chest, taking in the smell of him through the borrowed clothes he wore "If you carry on your desires in such a way, I doubt I could endure long enough to deny you."

Their touch was ephemeral; a slim hand slipped to the crook where Syllke's neck and jaw met, his palm cradled the area and a petal-like bush of lips to a pulsating artery along the boy’s neck. Then he was gone. He pulled away, without having ever looked upon the plains of his patient’s graceful face or the peak of his plump lip, instead searched for the abandoned bottle.

He lifted it to his stimulated lips and took a long drink, so much so that, a pinked hue of blood tinted his placid countenance.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke could only blink, hard, as Mara turned away and drank long and deep from the bottle. The impression of the healer’s lips lingered against his skin like the tracks of the lightest dove in fresh snow. The novelty of Mara himself, just as a person, was quickly being matched by the novelty of the rush of emotions and feelings that were flooding Syllke’s entire being, from his brain to his heart, from his chest and neck, to his very core. Unanticipated, but instantaneously embraced. Alarming, yet as natural a feeling as breathing. His palms felt chilled, his face an inferno, and if he had not been as unprepared, as innocent, as he was, he would have pulled Mara back, to renew that exquisite contact and replicate that moment of chaste intimacy. But Sylle was young, untried, and unsure. In most ways, he was brimming with self-confidence and a belief that he had the knowledge and ability to accomplish whatever he was focused on. Now, suddenly, he felt shy, like a timid animal, faced with an outstretched hand, not knowing – what do I do? His traitorous body had its own ideas, and he did his best to ignore what was going on in that regard. Mara was hurting, somehow, in some profound way. That much he could sense, easily. Yet, for the moment, the other boy seemed to be willing to forego that pain, or numb it, and allow Syllke to stay. Syllke tried to focus on that, though his skin tingled from that kiss that was almost no kiss at all, and his fingers flexed unintentionally, as if they would reach for Mara. Because, truth be told, he was absolutely terrified of what might happen if he touched Mara. The healer’s own words sounded in his ears like a beating drum – if Mara couldn’t promise being able to put on the brakes, then how in the hell could Syllke ever hope to do so, when he knew – he knew – he’d have absolutely no desire to stop? This was virgin territory indeed – both of the heart and the body – and he had no compass by which to predict a destination. But, dropping over that edge, into the unknown, held too much allure for the always curious boy. He knew he would not refuse that adventure. What he didn't know was if Mara wanted to venture with him - given that Syllke's very presence now seemed a source of acute discomfort for the healer. He blinked once more, and drew in a deep, steadying breath. Mara had let the bottle drop from his lips – those lips that had just moments before rested on Syllke’s rhythmically beating blood vessel – but his eyes were still averted, the set of his thin shoulders ambiguous, non-committal. Syllke stepped over but this time he went around Mara, coming in front of him, but not so close as to be in his face or press in where he was not wanted – or was he? Syllke felt so confounded by this other boy. His fingers reached for the bottle, taking it gently from Mara’s grasp, keeping his eyes on Mara as he raised it to his own lips, taking another long pull of the biting alcohol. He swallowed it down and set the bottle between them on the counter top. “Before I – I do that, can I show you what I found, earlier?” His tone was soft, conciliatory, for he still felt like his presence was somehow antagonistic to Mara, in a way that Syllke could not understand. His question was more of a gesture, a peace offering, if there could really be any hope of tranquility between these two, given the storms that seemed to be brewing in the loaded atmosphere of the room. Without waiting for Mara to refuse, Syllke moved away, to the leather satchel which he had brought with him when they had entered the house and made their way upstairs. It was old and worn and beaten up looking, but it was his most precious belonging, for in it, he transported the many wonders that he found and claimed when he was out exploring his world. He knelt, reached into it, and pulled out something that fit easily in his good hand. Rising, he returned to Mara, again standing in front of him, holding out the object for inspection. It was an ovoid shaped rock, muddy brown-grey in color, its surface rough, uneven. About the size of a small potato, it nestled in Syllke’s palm, looking drab and ordinary – something you might see every day and never stop to look at twice. But there was an odd light in the artist’s swirling eyes, crimson speckles denoting his excitement – over such an ordinary looking thing. One might even go so far as to say it was ugly in its plainness. Syllke smiled cheekily. “Do you know what it is?” he asked, his voice betraying his amusement.

[Mara]

He quaffed the thawing liquid down, until the bottle reared at half-mast and Syllke's attendance now deemed less startling. His eyes caught the slip of feet balancing themselves at his front and a memorized palm skimming the back of his chilled hand to grab for the bottle. He conceded, releasing his clutch to the other. His head rolled into a tilt nearly grazing his own shoulder, to look up at him from a slant. The posture made him seem even slighter and frailer than usual, his gaze emulating a diffident child's.

Mara's eyes satiated to the brim with the espy of him, cascading rays of light illuminating his nearly feminine face, and his polished strands of ebony locks, that felt just as lush as they appeared when he had run through his fingers through them when setting him upon his lap. His sharpened tines nipped at the ring penetrating his lip and tugged at it, with extended and obvious blinks to his hazy eyes.

Expression never changing, he lifted his skull to better view the shifting jaws before him. Show him something? He gave no sign at pleasure or disapproval to the transformed pace in their conversation, but he dipped his head approvingly.

Syllke hurried off to gather his carrier bag and rummage through its fillings. He did not circle to witness instead he turned to the bottle latent again on the countertop and began to reach for it once more. The little Warrior's return hindered him, however, and he recoiled his hand to engage whatever object had been brought before him.

There in his unclasped hand was a stone, rugged and unattractive. Something a small child would find entertaining by nearly size and shade alone. It looked like a dried lump of mud, and Mara scrutinized it with a contracting frown. He considered it meticulously, attempting to find the denotation behind this article. Nothing seemed exceptional about it all, quite an eyesore in fact, if he was being honest. He could see no reason for this to be of any importance. Before he could ask the question himself, he was asked:

"Do you know what it is?"

His eyes squinted ever so slightly and faced Syllke. "A rock..." his voice trailed off as if unimpressed by this glob of cement being presented to him. “Syllke, what exactly are you trying to show me?" he requested about as amused as he was vexed by the vegetable-sized protuberance. He really hoped he did not expect him to keep it.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke grinned, satisfied, for, like the child he had only lately left behind, he had hoped that Mara would be puzzled. His hand moved, gripping the rock and he rapped it sharply on the edge of the counter. Its surface cracked and parted, the dirt encasing it showering over the counter top and floor. He easily kept his grasp of the entire thing, and rapped again. This time the rock split into two uneven halves. He set one half down on the counter and held the other out once more for inspection. In his palm, the half egg sat rocked back on its exterior. From the newly exposed interior, came the sparkle of a thousand tiny crystals, lightly tinged in violet. He moved his hand, letting the rays of the sun pouring through the window find it. The gemstones captured the light and reflected it back, sending a purple glint onto the cupboards above them. “It’s a geode. They aren’t so very rare. But it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Syllke held it out as if he would place it in Mara’s hand. His eyes were on the rock, but then they came up to Mara’s face. “Not so much to look at from the outside – but with a fantastic surprise, inside.” He paused, then added, “Sometimes, you just have to go a little deeper, to find the good stuff. But if you know what to look for, you know – it’s there. Makes life more interesting, right?”

[Mara]

Mara quavered as Syllke upstretched his hand to crash the rock against the counter’s nook. He almost protested but decided instead to trust him and allowed him to continue. The dust from the surface of the battered object fluttered around them in a greyish smog. Suddenly it fractured, splitting a long encompassing wavy line down the center of it and rupturing it exposed like a freshly pried clam. He leaned over to peek at what he had cupped in his hand.

The rock had unquestionably riven into two halves; the half that the Vantha now held to him was rimmed with a prickly crust of amethyst hues and glass-like shards. It was exquisite, a bejeweled grotto lying dormant within such a tarnished looking cavity. The light repelled the dazzling color across the room’s borders and he elevated his chin to watch them dance across the surface in livelier hues than any match, and shades as warming as the daybreak. He exhaled a gracious sigh at the view of them, and then surveyed back to the boy before him.

A geode is what he called it. He had never heard of it, not that he could recollect. "It's splendid” he replied somewhat shamed that he had thought it only a useless mass before it revealed itself.

Mara allowed the rock to slip into hand his cupped together to allow it to next within his palms. He appreciated it more closely, drawing it close to his face and picking out each new splash of mauve as it greeted him.

He solemnly nodded listening to Syllke's astute valuation, understanding now why he had presented him this. He was allowing him to view the world from his eyes as he had so requested in his heart. A gracious smile spread across his down turned face, hidden but present. His spirits had changed wholly; he now very much desired to retain this treasure. To pleat it away inside his mother's folded silk and remember the token of their conversation.

"Thank you." he would have stretched to embrace him and allow him to do the same, but he was not accustomed to such exhibitions. He did not know how to go about it. The small affections he displayed had far outdone his regular activity. Instead he minded him longingly with wretched but gratifying orbs, maws upturned in the slightest at their crooks.

He stepped in the direction of the other and positioned the charm down upon the counter to join its counterpart. He fell in close enough that he could nearly satiate his need to impress warm arms coiled around him, but stood there only a few shuffles away. "You are a delightful individual Syllke, I'm glad to have happened upon you."