Closed A Morphed Misunderstanding

[Keene Ward]

The twenty-fourth of winter, 514 AV

Rough hands slid over his back, nails digging into his skin to elicit a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. He bucked against it, eyes not quite seeing, but body pressed against another, fire burning in his stomach, growing with each thrust. He was saying words, but the noises were lost to his own ears, muffled and distant. He hit the ground, wind rushing from his lungs, suffocating beneath the warm, oppressive mouth that met his. Their pace increased. Half-gone from lack of air, he wrapped his arms around the strong broad back, slowly pulling his fingers down in an agonizing tear of skin. The man pulled away, an unintelligible shout to the sky as his hips dug into Keene's. Gasping for air, he pulled himself up to the man's chest, furiously biting at him, tenderness lost to lust. He was shoved back down, those same rough hands wrapping around his neck, warm wet tongue drifting along his jaw before finding its way to his mouth. He embraced it, pressing against him, moving his body in rhythm, hands searching to find to frontiers to explore, wrapping around the tense muscle of his behind. They tensed, their bodies quivering and mouths gasping for a tick before they began again, blood and sweat mingling as they rolled over the unintelligible earth. Sometimes Keene was above him, hands wrapped around the neck in an utterly false pretense of subjugation, others his face was pulled back to the sky, hands and knees pressed into the dirt as the man clutched at his chest. His body felt unbelievably whole; hunger, longing, rage, passion, and pleasure all mixed into one heaving mess of flesh that shared itself with another. Panting, sweating, crying, shouting...

Keene jerked up from where he lay, breath coming in wild gasps, eyes bleary and mind disoriented. For a tick, he glanced around, his eyes registering only bleak colors, nothing more, before he eased back down into the warmth that rose to meet him. It was soft, strangely so. A firm, muscled pillow with a steady pulse that he turned to press his face into, wanting to hide from the world until he could find his place it in once more. It smelled familiar: a mix of sweaty fatigue, a heady almost spice, and a dusty bite of safety. Keene mumbled against the confusing thoughts, his lips brushing against a small rise in his fleshy perch. He couldn't place the scent, it wasn't something he was often accustomed to doing. Attempting to open his eyes again, Keene groggily pulled his head from its place, staring down at the bare, blood marked chest with a confused frown. His gaze lazily moved from the quite obvious nipple up to the smooth, muscled line of neck and jaw to lips, nose, mouth, and-

Before he realized what was happening, he had bent down over the sleeping body to gently press his own lips against Noven's. He parted them easily, moving to taste the kiss for a tick. Within the moment, Keene found it astonishingly appealing. Everything about Noven was right. It was perfect. Then his mind caught up to what was happening. With a loud and uncharacteristically frantic shout, Keene lurched backwards, hand moving to his face to feel his lips, unsure if they were his own or if they had been controlled by something else. They were his own, as was the rest of his naked body. There were small lines of stinging pain in various places along his back, arms, legs, even a scrape on his face. With the shout, a cut on his lip that was about the size of a bite had started to bleed, mixing the taste of Noven with his own coppery blood. He had thrown himself back with enough force for his legs to be tucked under him, relatively useless in his state of astonishment. His knee still pressed against the other man's bare thigh, and Keene pulled away from it, though it was more of a reaction than an actual aversion.

There were too many sensations and thoughts flooding his mind for him to make sense of it. One of the main, and most confusing, was that he was aroused. It didn't even require him to glance downwards to see the evidence of it. His heart beat against his chest, but it was not fueled solely by the convoluted biological response to his kiss. There was panic too, though it was more mixed with astonishment and uncertainty than purely fear. Pain was minimal, he felt it where it was most prominent: his bruised hips, a particularly large scrape down the left side of his back, and a swollen pinky that felt as if it had been jammed. His thoughts, however, were beyond his current comprehension. Noven had stirred at the sound of his voice, his own sleep-ridden voice sounding deep in the early morning. Keene's heart responded to it, a small sweat breaking out over him as something tugged from within, willing him forward and into Noven's arms to soak back in scent and sensation. There was also a strong will to impale the other man with a spear of ice. He still didn't have a handle on the situation, and his lack of understanding, while slowly piecing into a working map of memory, was enough to give him extreme misgivings.

Then, there were the flashes: images of Noven's face, foreign words in impassioned groans, a splitting pain, a burning release. Keene shook his head, his face a mix of frustration and panic with a hint of longing that he couldn't find the source of. He couldn't look away from Noven's face, nor could he hide his own. Things were starting to make sense, however, though the details were as foggy as the drifting clouds in the sky. They had spent the night together. It was the logical conclusion, or so said his brain as it decided to join the rest of his whirling processes. Noven and he had had intercourse, and Keene had enjoyed it. The last bit sent a flash of unadulterated anger through his eyes as he processed it, followed by a softening of his gaze as his eyes drifted over the exposed body of his companion. There were memories there as well: perfection, solidity, warmth, love. The words, however, carried with them confusing emotions, things he'd never felt before and couldn't quite remember feeling even if they were present in the moment. He shook his head again, pulling up his hand to run it through his hair with a soft, quiet moan. He didn't understand.

All of his musing had taken the entirety of about five ticks before he was finally able to speak, voice hoarse and breathy from only the gods know what. "Petch." It was the first time he'd said the word in earnest, and it slipped out before he could think twice. It surprised him, but it was by no means the worst part of his response. The worst part about what had happened is there was only a desire to do it again. It lessened by the tick, but it had been strong enough that he'd still kissed him in spite of everything. There was no regret, no fear of what he had done the more he thought about it. There was plenty of frustration at not being able to remember, though the more Keene tried to, the more he determined it was, perhaps, for the best that the memories were hazed. He had no idea where his clothes were, and for the time being, his grey-green gaze was affixed to Noven's own realizations. The morning had just begun, and it was already a long day.

[Noven]

Sharp cries...guttural moans...the slap of flesh and gasps for breath echoing into the night. A shout of pain as Keene drew the first, vivid line of blood across his skin. But he didn't stop, not even then. He only plunged deeper as the pain brought on another wild surge of reckless rapture, memorizing the lines of her curves, gripping onto any part of her he could as the agonizing pleasure threatened to sweep him under.

He returned the favor. Once. Slammed her against the ground in the heat of the moment, causing her face to wince as her entire left side grazed the rough ground and her hand was caught in an awkward position. That single expression of pain, mixed with the raw redness of her scraped cheek...Nov felt no relish, as he thought he might, only guilt and panic at the sight. He scooped her back in his arms for a brief, sober lapse, just long enough to spread his crumpled coat beneath her before laying her back down and picking up right where they'd left off. She could gouge as many wounds as she liked in him, but he found only distress in causing her harm. He couldn't again. Wouldn't.

The man had no concept of how much time had passed. He only knew the feel of her body against his, the helpless noises escaping ]her slender throat, and the rush of blood each and every time she uttered his name.

"Petch."

Noven cracked open his eyes one, excruciating inch at a time. It took him several attempts before he could blink blearily up at Syna's pale, morning light. His mouth felt extremely dry, though his lips were curiously moist, and his limbs had all but turned to lead. He'd been dreaming, too, and not a nightmare for once. Someone was in it, though he couldn't quite exactly remember who...

The merc tried to get up. He got about one eighths of the way, squeezed his eyes shut, and then collapsed back against the cold earth with a miserable groan. Bleeding, petching hell. He hurt everywhere. In places he could have sworn had no right to be hurting. Their meager fire had spent itself long ago, Nov saw as he turned his head to one side, which was more than alarming enough on its own. That he was alive at all was something of a miracle. How had he even managed to stay warm all through the night? Granted, the air here seemed far warmer than that of the Berth's, but he could still feel the nip of an errant breeze against his body.

His next realization, of course, was that he was definitely, completely, without-a-single-shred-of-doubt-left-in-his mind stark naked.

Panic produced enough fuel to get Nov rolling onto one side, wounds and aches be damned. What the hell was he doing sleeping out in the middle of no where? And why in the name of all the gods and goddesses did his chest, back, and limbs feel like they'd been mauled by a mountain lion? One, two, three more pushes and he was sitting up, letting loose a whole stream of expletives as every muscle on his body screamed in protest. He was unbelievably sore, with no memory of how he'd even lost his clothes in the first place.

And that's when he finally noticed the Initiate sitting across from him some few feet away. Brown hair mussed, hazy green gaze locked onto his own. Equally as confused. Equally as naked.

"What..." Noven dug a palm into his eyes as he struggled to make sense of things. "Why are we..."

Priorities, dammit. He was butt naked, on a hill, sitting in front of a Warden Initiate in the midst of unknown and possibly hostile territory. The why's and how's could wait. He needed to cover up first, salvage what little dignity he may have left and keep his personal bits protected.

Turning this way and that in the limited radius of his reach, Nov swept his arms out in front of him as he searched blindly for his clothes. It was no good. He had no idea where the petch they had gone. What his seeking hands did manage to find though, was the hem of his own, careworn coat. It had been laid underneath him, oddly enough. Spread to cover some of the uneven ground, with just enough space for...two...

Some dreaded part of him was starting to think his dream was no dream after all.

Fighting the rise of full blown panic, Nov grabbed one end of his coat and covered his groin with an empty sleeve. His eyes returned to those of Keene's, face a swirling combination of bafflement, anxiety, and the usual dose of morning-induced grumpiness. Back home, his condition was infamous. The runts always knew to steer clear of him when he started early shifts. He was not a morning person, and it showed.

Once his mind was able to chug past some of the agitation, however, the merc tried to back track. The last thing he remembered for certain was agreeing to meet with the Initiate to visit the Dungeons. No, wait, that was too far back. They'd agreed to meet a second time after that as well. Slowly, the pieces came tumbling down and clinking into place. Nov had wanted to buy his new friend a drink. But then the casks...they had drank from them, like the complete fools they were...and there had been, had been ears. And a tail involved. The man did a quick check of his head and back. No fuzzied tips protruding from his scalp, no flickering mane from his rear. His shoulders sagged in temporary relief.

But what had come after...

Nov felt his blood stir. He could feel it gathering again at the very memory, much to his own confusion and disbelief, and suddenly he was very grateful for the small piece of wool now held over his lap. It seemed like this wasn't the first time he'd been in this exact position before, too. Grappling with the same flurry of conflicting emotions. Hiding behind the thin barrier of cloth and a crumbling facade. Only, they were much more subdued now, merely fading echoes of something far stronger and all-consuming.

"Was there...did we actually..." He stared at some unknown corner of the world, brow knit in consternation, before meeting Keene's gaze once more. "It wasn't a dream, was it."

[Keene Ward]

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Noven's groan was an echo of Keene's own body. Though his heart beat at a frantic pace, his mind was slowly beginning to return back to what it had been, thoughts organizing themselves, emotions falling back into place. The only thing he found difficult to get a handle on was the desires towards the cursing mess of a man before him as he fumbled his way into a seated position. Keene's eyes flicked over the subtle movements of his muscles, the strangely satisfying lines of rusty blood that ran the course of Noven's bare body. He wanted to move back to him, support him, trail his hands along the reddened lines, and press his face into the small of his neck. It was wholly unreasonable, and the more Keene was able to properly think, the more he found his lingering passions to be entirely foreign. The fear and confusion on his face had begun to fade as Keene once more regained control over himself. As Noven rubbed his eyes with bleary inquiries, Keene's slowly became their usual pallor, hints of lust and uncertainty still flickering in his stare. Noven was as disoriented as he had been, hardly a promising state of being considering what Keene had just realized. A small frown pulled at his lips as Noven realized he was naked, frantically searching for his clothes.

A part him, a large part for the time being, was dismayed when Noven covered himself. While Keene could never remember that particular organ to be any more pleasing than the next, he distinctly felt the need to tear the coat away. The rest of him, that which was in control, firmly informed his seemingly carnal self that that was not only ridiculous but hardly the way one should act in the presence of someone in Noven's state. His own eager nakedness had not factored into the equation. Still, he could see many of the same things he'd experienced in the blinking stare of the man before him, hands covering his crotch that shifted slightly beneath the cover. The stance was incredibly familiar, and Keene felt his own body shiver at the half-present memory, more emotion than anything else. As they stared at one another, there was a flash of realization in Noven's eyes as his hands moved to his head, searching for-

Ears. Keene blinked, the images of Noven's head plagued with the fuzzy appendages and the swishing flick of a tail. He remembered why they were in the middle of nowhere, what they had done to reach the point right before everything became mottled. He'd managed to light a fire and then... Noven spoke, his morning weariness coupled with something far heavier that hung onto his voice with a serious gravity. Keene blinked several times, licking his lips to clear the blood from them, finding a hint of Noven's flavor still lingering there. He wasn't sure what to say. For him, it felt more of a vivid dream than a truly forgotten memory. He had not thought Noven to be the sort to take advantage of an incapacitated woman, but again, the Scars had done nothing but prove they were full of surprises. The winded alarm, however, gave Keene the impression that that was most likely not the case. He remembered his own pleasure and excitement, feelings that were far more difficult to displace than the fear and confusion. He had wanted him, and from the flashes of heat and fervor, Noven had wanted him as well.

It then struck him that he had been woman. Blinking several more times in slow moving surprise, Keene glanced down to see the pert conclusion that he was no longer of the fairer sex. The weight on his head from the ridiculous mane of hair was no longer there as well, a good thing among a plethora of other, more questionable achievements. Having never been in a position in which his own erect form was displayed, Keene stared down at himself for several more ticks before lugubriously turning his head to find something to cover himself with as Noven had done. There was little readily available, so instead, Keene shifted his legs out from under him, crossing them and placing his hands onto his ankles to act as a partial barrier. Once that was done, he shook his head, still not quite able to perform the entirety of his mental tasks, creating proper speeching being one of them. "I don't-" He paused, clearing his throat of its hoarseness and finding the act to do little to assuage it. Quick scraps of memories jolted through his vision: his mouth filled and face pressed against Noven's stomach, hands clutching and warm muscled flesh as they wrapped around the figure in front of him, wild shouting.

A small gasp escaped his lips as he blinked the images and sensations away. He took a few ticks before he could look back at the other man, having fewer words to say than usual, yet still wishing to find some way to address what had happened, to answer the question in a satisfactory way. Eloquence, however, seemed to fail him, the taste of Noven clouding his thoughts as his attention affixed itself on what exactly it was rather than what he should be saying. "No. I don't think it was." Gods, he couldn't get the thoughts out of his head, they just kept popping up and taking the forms of words, pictures, feelings, and memories. Whatever the ale had done to him, it seemed it hadn't quite run its course. Closing his eyes, Keene lowered his head into his hands, the state of his lower half of less concern than his own sanity.

It wasn't so much the act itself that had been done with Noven. The man was fit, competent individual; he was strong enough to survive in Sahova, and Keene had little shame in any sort of actions involving him. What was concerning, however, was how much he wanted to touch Noven. It was something he'd always found unappealing, perhaps due to the physical pain it elicited or needlessness of it that compounded on top of that; but with Noven, it had felt so good. His body and mind wanted to relive it in more than memories; the opportunity was there, though the cost of such action judging by the tense muscles and dour expression on Noven's face would cost him quite a bit should he aim for it. It frightened him. There were few things in his life he truly craved and to add Noven to that list was highly disconcerting.

In the darkness he dipped himself into, palms gently massaging his eyes that no longer wanted to deal with the morning, Keene mumbled, "Foxy boy..." The words having little meaning, only slipping from his lips as he tried to consolidate all the feelings into once place to do away with them. He was partially successful, isolating much of the lust and frustration into a single group before shoving down and out of immediate consciousness. When he looked up, his hands shook slightly, but for all intents and purposes, he seemed much the same as he had before any of the shenanigans had ensued. When he spoke, his voice was still raspy, but it had lost most of the confusion, returning to its soft-spoken coolness. "You... I-" He shook his head, "We. Whatever we did, I apologize if it caused you..." Hesitating, Keene plucked a word floating about it his mind and completed the thought. "Caused you undue stress." His frown deepened as his gaze that was set on Noven's face moved more inward. "Everything is... Hazy." It was more information that Noven has asked for, but even Keene knew that information, however little he could give, was worth more than simple condolences. Realizing he was still quite exposed and his body far more eager than his mind to be so, Keene replaced his hands onto his ankles, head shaking slightly at the bizarre situation on a whole. It seemed a final lesson that he was simply not one to do well in the department of alcohols. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, there was a bell-like laugh, but that seemed far more a dream than anything else in its levity.

[Noven]

Keene's words felt like the swift fall of an executioner's blade. Any hopes of the feverish memories still drifting back and forth in his consciousness being nothing more than figments of imagination, scraps of dreams left to fade into obscurity with the passage of time, were extinguished. The cold reality of what had transgressed finally settled on his bare shoulders.

But once it did, a strange thing happened. Noven found himself thinking not of his reckless actions nor their consequences, but of something else entirely. Something ludicrously mundane.

It's warm here.

And it was, despite it nearing the middle of Winter. Back home, snow was burying houses and corpses alike with equal ferocity, no doubt causing Jillene endless amounts of grief. Such was the case in the City of Slums every Winter. The number of dead outpaced the efforts of the living each year and there was a mad scramble come Spring to clear as many bodies off the streets as possible. Here on the island, however, the weather was strangely agreeable. Warm but not too warm, dry but not too dry. Nov felt that if it weren't for all the talking corpses and absence of untampered booze, he wouldn't mind stay here for longer. He'd learned to tolerate the cold over the years, more for survival than any other reason, but he bore no love for Lady Winter's ruthless reign.

So it was with a surprising measure of calm that Noven faced the truth. It helped that he felt remarkably sated. Lazy almost, like a dog in the sun, even though his stomach still grumbled pitifully.

But there was a hint of guilt amidst the contentedness as well. He looked over at the Initiate, who had positioned himself with as much coverage as possible and was now rubbing at his eyes, and that guilt only grew. The two men made for a blunt contrast, as usual. One was almost lax, having more or less come to terms with last night's events, while the other continued to struggle, grappling with unseen forces that plagued his restored form. If anyone ought to be apologizing, Nov felt it should have been him. His actions were impulsive, selfish, and completely out of line. Or so he tried to reason, the quick, short gasps of Lady Keene's moans still somehow crisply fresh in his mind.

Keene mumbled something to himself. In the dead quiet of their makeshift campsite, Nov could pick up just enough to make sense of his words. The man couldn't deny he'd sported his fair share of mortifying nicknames in the past, Little Red being no exception, but this one...this one was a whole different kind of distressing. It invoked feelings beyond embarrassment, memories that made the present both unsettling and disorienting. Fortunately for him, Keene did not seem the type to brandish it like some sort of weapon. The initiate appeared to be muttering it for his own comprehension; he was, Nov assumed, doing that thing again where he crammed his unruly emotions back into a neat, tightly sealed box, storing it somewhere to deal with later. Or never, seeing how his feminine counterpart was gone for good.

The Initiate spoke again, but this time he was more collected, more like his old, impassive self. Noven was more surprised by this swift return to normalcy than anything else. Strange, to think that beneath that cool, icy exterior, there laid something within Keene that had managed to break free with wild, radiant fearlessness. He wondered if it was still there. And if it was, what that might implicate.

All the women in Nov's life had been strong willed, passionate, and willing to fight till their very last breaths. The ones he'd actually slept with, even more so for being rash enough to get involved with the likes of him; there was no shortage of the fiery and the wanton in Sunberth.

But if this were a comparison of flames old and new, those fading faces in Noven's past were but flickering candles in the wake of a raging forest fire. It was no small wonder Keene found his memories to be hazy. Nov did too, but he knew on some level that it was because what they'd one had been one step away from complete madness. They had to be mad for doing what they did, when they did it. Absolutely, stark raving, petching lunatics. Fleeing as fugitives, bearing alien transformations, and at least one of them under the influence of some seriously potent mushrooms. They were out of their minds as for as logic was concerned.

Unlike Keene, though, Nov had never been good with controlling his compulsions. He struggled with restraint on a daily basis, but it was a half-assed job at best. Because somehow, one way or the other, he ended up in trouble anyways. With enough pints in him and the usual sort of mates in tow, he had done everything from the miraculous to the terrible during his drunken rampages. He'd ended up on roof tops, in stranger's beds, halfway out to sea, and narrowly escaping his life on too many occasions to count. Madness didn't even begin to describe the usual cadence of his life before things had changed.

Before Nona had been murdered.

Most of those wasted days were gone now. Long since abandoned as one friend after another succumbed to the costs of their actions. One by one, dead and cold and six feet under, until there was only Noven left. And while he still got into plenty of trouble on his own, it was a phase of his life he cared little to repeat.

He watched the Initiate struggle with his apology, withdrawing inward in an attempt to make sense of everything that had happened. Nov caught himself searching Keene's distracted features, trying to find the crystal eyed, thrilling creature who had ensnared him so thoroughly in just a matter of chimes. It was a futile effort, he know, and a somewhat tactless one at that. The Initiate was clearly still trying to cope. Nov's brazen staring wasn't going to help.

After a moment of silence, the merc blurted, "Krysus. I can't believe...I mean we really..." He glanced up at the sky, unsure of how else to express his incredulity. "That's one, shyking mess of a story."

When he looked down again, there was a rascally glint in his eye."I don't think anyone would believe us even if we tried."

Nov grinned at Keene like a madman. And then he laughed. Not loudly, but hearty enough, with a slight wheeze from the parched state of his throat. They had failed to find a suitable water source last night and their recent activities proved vigorous in epic proportions.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Keene," the merc quickly added, not wanting the Initiate to think this sudden burst of mirth was somehow aimed at him. "I've done my fair share of petched up shyke, and what happened last night..." He paused to search for the right way to say it. "...well, it was what it was. And there's no changing it, so I guess we'll have to live with it."

The grin faltered for a tick as Nov rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. "And for what it's worth, the same goes for me...being sorry, that is, and causing you, er, undue stress."

Those last two words he said in an almost humorous mimicry of Keene's. The man had never been good with apologies and what his companion had said sounded proper enough, so he'd done his best to imitate Keene's delivery. It felt strange, like wearing ill fitting clothes. But he had tried anyway.

"Now where the hell did our clothes go?"

[Keene Ward]

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Keene blinked at Noven's statement regarding the disbelief of those they might tell. He supposed for those not well versed in the ways of magic, it was as improbable as claiming the ability to fly or that one was a god. He had few people to tell, though the wide-eyed disbelief of Boswell's face did flash through his mind. At last, it seemed he had a racy story to share with the young Sunberthian. A small frown played at Keene's lips as he raised his eyes to stare at the growing joviality of his companion. He wasn't entirely sure why either of them would tell anyone else, let alone try to convince them it had happened. He supposed it might have been a coping mechanism of sorts, a way to menialize the event that had transpired between them, yet... Keene didn't want that. It was something odd but not wholly lacking sound logic. He had enjoyed their intimacy, that much he could clearly remember. In whatever way or for whatever reason, that had been a clear takeaway from the night - bruises and scrapes aside.

When Noven laughed, just for a tick, his lips twitched with him. He didn't find the situation very humorous, regardless of physical satisfaction, but when Noven's outburst of heart emotion sounded across the lifeless landscape, something within him pulled at his heart in response. Not breaking into a smile or anything else so dramatic, Keene simply let his eyes fall from Noven's grin, scanning the area for anything that could distract him from the other man. There were too many little whispers running about his head. While he had managed to get hold of his emotions, his thoughts were another matter entirely. One of the loudest continually urged him to take the man's head in his hands and bear down upon him with wild passion. Fortunately, he was well in control of his body, at least most of it, and little more than a small, involuntary shiver responded to the thought.

At Noven's own apology, Keene shook his head, face blank, though his eyes did flicker with a hint of what could have been a tease - the intonation lacking any indication of it, however. "I don't equate pleasure with stress." Noven was entirely correct in his deduction. What they had done was no longer something they could undo, and Keene was perfectly fine with that. In fact, he preferred it. Though it had been disorienting an confusing while his mind reasserted itself, now that he was back in control and thinking rationally once again, he had never felt quite like he had with Noven. It had been a new and exciting experience, and there was plenty of him that wanted a repeat. Calmly, however, he reminded himself that circumstances had been far different. What they were exactly, he couldn't remember, and he doubted if he ever would. For the time being, the time they had spent together, for better or worse, would not be forgotten any time soon. The sensations still made his skin crawl, even in memory.

With Noven's inquiry as to the location of their clothing, Keene blinked. His head swiveled, the motion turning his body some as he surveyed their small camping area, wincing at the sting of pain from moving his head too quickly. From what he could tell, their clothes had vanished, save Noven's jacket that was presently being used as a terribly crude codpiece. Gently shaking his, Keene replied with a soft, "I'm not sure."

It was then that the distinct sound of foot steps could be heard from deeper in the collection of trees. His mind and body shifting into an alert stance, Keene tried to rise to his feet, brushing his swollen finger against the ground with a quiet hiss of pain, Keene found his legs too unsteady to support him. Instead, he readied his djed, feeling it shiver wearily within his skin. It seemed the night had been as restless as the bits of information had suggested, meaning that it had been little help for replenishing him with the basic material for his magic. What emerged from the trees however was no intruder. Her fiery red hair was the first distinguishing feature that he spotted, followed quickly by the mischievous grin and amused raise of the brow. Atziri stood before them, staring down at the two naked young men with a gaze that was a mix between a wolf looking at rabbits and a mother finding her children doing something particularly adorable. In her hands were two sets of clothes, presumably the ones they had lost.

"Good morning, boys." The mirth in her voice was a tauntingly acidic sort, her pleasure at their perceived helplessness a source of great humor. "I thought I'd wash these things out for you. After all..." She let the words drift as she approached in a non-threatening manner, her acquaintance with Noven little more than the first time she had climbed out of the grave during the attack on the citadel. "Things got a little wild around the time I showed up." She winked at Noven, her playfulness matched only by the suggestive tone of her voice. "Nice body you've got there." She tossed his clothes at him directly after before turning to Keene with an even more mischievous grin. "And you?" Atziri whistled, shaking her head, "I didn't know you could do half of what I saw." Keene's clothes arched through the air, hitting him in the chest as he moved to collect them. "Anyway, I handled the situation with Telemeran. Your vambrace is back in your room in the Quarters."

Keene was entirely unsure how to handle what had just happened. His master had appeared out of the blue, their clothes in hand, and begun to critique their night as if it had been a training session. Struggling with his undergarments, Keene slipped them up and over himself, finding them far more cramped than usual in his current state. That done, he pulled his shirt over his head, finding that Atziri had indeed washed and dried it. He gave her a curt nod, "Thank you." To which she just grinned.

"Noven, was it?" Atziri offered a wink in the man's general direction. "Stay out of trouble. ...if you can help it." With that, she let out a heavy sigh, nodding to Keene one final time. "I need to get back to the Cavern, and you need to take this kid back to the Quarters." As she turned to leave, Keene's stomach let out a hungry gurgle, the sound astonishingly loud among the three of them. She paused, rummaging in a pouch to produce several strips of jerky before unlatching her water flask as well. "Right. Here." As Noven was the closest, she delivered the sundries to him with a curt nod before stalking back into the forest, a happy - or perhaps wicked - bought of whistling carrying her away.

Finally managing to get himself back into his pants that only served to accentuate the bulge of his manhood, Keene fastened the belt, finding the action to bring about a short burst of frustration and another flash of a memory. With that done, Keene gave Noven a deadpan stare. There wasn't really anything he could say, and nothing was coming to mind. He just sat there, lacing his boots as his eyes flicked down to his fingers as he did so. Of all the people on the island, the two he would have preferred not to have stood a silent voyeur throughout his and Noven's intimacy were Risabel and Atziri. With his boots donned and clothes situated more or less, Keene let his gaze return to Noven's own efforts of dressing himself. He preferred the man without anything on, he found. There were certain thoughts that were simply too slippery to remove, thus Keene placidly let them remain. The gentle sheen of his skin, the muscular rise and fall of his body, they were things that had little meaning beyond preference, and there was no reason to waste energy and effort trying to dispel them. His hunger, on the other hand, was something that he could certainly do something about. "Would you hand me some of that, please?" It sounded incredibly proper, almost out of place with the events that had just transpired, but relevant in that Keene wanted to eat, and there was food to sate that. If he couldn't allow himself to get his fill of Noven, he could at least address his empty stomach.

[Noven]

His eyes scoured the ground around them for any signs of abandoned clothing, distracting him from his companion's nudity. When Keene had responded to Noven's apology, his tone had been as dry and matter of fact as ever. But something was...different. Nov thought he had caught a glimpse of mischief flicker within the Initiate's gaze, and whether or not his imagination could be trusted fully yet, it brought on a dizzying polarity between hope and denial.

A telltale crunch reached his ears through the din of internal warring. Nov's head swiveled in the direction it had come from. His senses were not nearly as sharp as they had been the day before, but the fear of being caught remained fresh in his mind. Coiling forward, Nov placed his knuckles on the dirt and shifted to a crouch at the exact same moment Keene chose to stand, ready to lunge at the first sign of trouble, coat sleeve sliding from his lap in a forgotten heap. Both men had maintained their composure, preparing themselves in a kind of unpracticed, uncanny sychrony. Without hesitance. Without a single word spoken.

What ended up emerging from the copse of trees, however, was not a hoard of angry Nuits or a pack of hungry predators searching for their next meal, but the startling, flame-haired visage of a woman. She had the bearings of deadly confidence and wore an expression far too wolfish for Noven's taste. Beautiful in a terrifying sort of way, like the roaring blaze of a ritual pyre.

He couldn't put name and face together, but the man had the distinct impression he'd seen this intruder before. Not that it would have made a difference. The recognition between this fiery woman and calm-as-ice Keene was instant; even Nov could see that in his muddled, flustered state.

Easing back on his heels, he watched the woman approach, noting the familiar looking bundle in her hands. His brows knit at the sight. If she was in possession of their clothes and had had the time to wash them, then that could only mean...

Noven fumbled to catch the clothes first and registered her words second. He stayed crouched, staring up at the woman in naked doubt, completely caught off guard by her blatant admission and suggestive comments. If it weren't for his darker heritage, the heat on his face, neck, and ears would have burned bright crimson. A wild night between him and Keene was one thing. A mad and nearly incomprehensible blur of a thing, to be sure, but he could handle it. Someone witnessing their desperate acts, on the other hand...well, not wholly uncommon for those with varying tastes, but still. Krysus.

Who the hell was this woman?

The merc endured her comments in blistering silence. He stood, defiantly expressionless, and stuffed aching limbs into coarse fabric. At her mention of having handled things with the Overseer, however, Nov's face softened a tinge, genuinely relieved and grateful that they would no longer have to face this problem upon their return. It had been his fault after all, angering the Nuit. Insufferable as that sodding prick was.

She spoke his name, drawing back Noven's attention in time for an impish wink. He responded with another wordless gaze. There was no way he could promise such a thing and she knew it.

At the sight of food though...the merc's own stomach growled like some kind of answering call to Keene's. He was still halfway through getting dressed when his hands reached out to accept the offerings of their own volition. Unsure of what to say to this brazen woman, he simply managed a brief nod of thanks. It took a mammoth amount of will to keep himself from devouring the jerky on the spot.

And just like that, the red haired woman was gone. Disappearing into the trees as quickly and unexpectedly as she had appeared. A few ticks passed before Nov blinked and shook his head, realizing he was still staring blankly and standing around half naked. Dropping the food and water flask onto his spread coat, the merc resumed drawing his shirt over his head and tugging on his weathered boots. His restless gaze met the coolness of Keene's now and then before one inevitably flickered away to focus on some menial task. It felt strange, the two of the dressing in companionable silence, neither speaking of what had happened.

Strange, but not bad, Nov thought to himself as he gave his sore but now fully clothed limbs a few experimental stretches.

Keene's soft spoken voice interrupted this short chain of thought, prompting Nov to obligingly retrieve the jerky and flask before walking over and sitting himself beside the Initiate. It would be best this way, considering the sizable swells in both of their trousers. They were supposed to be eating, after all, and the sights were nothing if not distracting. He tried his best not to dwell on the memories such thoughts invoked.

Nov chose to settle a couple of feet away, uncertain of how the other man was coping with what had happened, and handed over the supplies. Letting Keene take the first drink, he gnawed slowly on a strip of jerky. He couldn't help but wonder just how well that woman had 'handled' Telemeran. Would it be as easy as them walking right back into the Citadel? She had definitely made it sound like it would be, but there was no way to be sure. Plus, there had been something devilish about her that Nov didn't trust.

In the end, his curiosity got the best of him. "Who was that woman?" Nov blurted. He'd never heard of Keene mentioning any family or friends. Then again, neither had he, but he at least had the Scars for associates. The Initiate couldn't be completely alone...he had to have connections, even in a place like this. Or so the merc assumed.

They ate in mutual quiescence for some time after, their hilly surroundings barren but peaceful. Nov found himself enjoying the warm weather once more as he chewed. Life had proven to be so much simpler here on this island. Even with everything that had transpired from the night of the city-wide alarm until now. For the entire ship ride here, the man had cursed every living thing he could name to hell and back. He'd thought his decision to leave the Berth a mistake. A huge, puke-inducing mistake. But now that he was here, he was starting to dread returning. What would he be coming home to but more pain, death, and sleepless nights filled with nightmarish memories?

There was one thing local to this island, though, that Nov was still struggling with. And that thing was none other than the Initiate himself.

He had no name for what lay between them. No past experience to rely on, no models or guidelines to stick by. Noven had always learned by example in the past. Except the times when one of two matrons whipped him back into line, his sense of what to do and what not to do came mostly from his peers. If the other orphans fought, then he fought too. If they insulted him, he insulted them back. And when he grew older, that paradigm only rooted itself deeper. The Sunberthian was head strong, volatile, and rash, but he everything he did, he did to survive. His circumstances had beaten him into the shape he bore now and Nov harbored such abstract factors no resentment. He preferred to save his beef for those who could feel the hard end of his fist.

But now he was met with something new, and the man hadn't the faintest idea how to deal with it. And it wasn't as though Keene was an open book. The Initiate was about as easy to read as a wall of stone. Nov couldn't help letting his mind drift back to this unexplored territory again and again, probing its fringes with tentative and somewhat embarrassed curiosity. He'd never done...never been with someone of the same sex. But Keene was a woman when they'd petched, through and through. They'd both been irrevocably sure of it. But did that really count? What did any of it mean?

The more he thought about it, the more delirious Nov began to feel. He couldn't rid himself of the sounds and images, of the feeling of smooth skin glistening with sweat, of short, fevered breaths rasping against his ear. There was plenty that remained hazy and jumbled in his memory, but for whatever reason those little details of their union burned fresh in his mind.

Rubbing his face furiously with his hands, he took a small swig from the flask, then slapped his knees with both hands. "Think we should head back," was all he finally managed to say.

Getting up with a grunt of effort, Noven walked over to his spread coat and shook it out a few times. It would have to be washed when they got back...the thing was dusty and crumpled and hardly fit for wearing. Fortunately, the weather warm enough for just his shirt, so he kept the outerwear in his hand. It wasn't until then that he realized he wasn't wearing his gloves. A sliver of paranoia shuddered through him. He felt oddly naked without them. But, the man rationalized, there was no real point in donning them right now. Keene knew of his secret already and there was no one else for miles around.

A strip of the remaining jerky in one hand and coat in the other, Nov took one last look at their makeshift campsite before turning toward the Initiate. He'd considered trying to cover any trace of their being here, but for some inexplicable reason decided against it. It's not for sentimental reasons or any shyke like that, the man told himself, I'm just too petching tired to do it.

"Ready when you are," he coughed, injecting an extra dose of gruffness into his words. It made for poor--and curious--cover, but to hell with it.

[Keene Ward]

.
Wordlessly adhering to Keene's request, Noven stalked over to the food, retrieving it from his coat before sitting a good distance from him, tossing it over to him with a strange, uncertain look on his face. Keene clumsily caught the flask, the jerky settling in his lap before he uncapped the water to take a few swigs. He wasn't certain if Noven desired the space between them or not, but Keene certainly didn't. He was too tired to deny himself simple pleasures for the time being, and while he found the gesture near unbearably pointless, Keene feebly pushed himself to his feet to pad over to Noven, closing the distance enough that it would be little issue for either one of them to easily reach out and touch the other. Keene, however, kept his hands to himself. Touching was something he still cared enough about to not throw himself around Noven's neck, something that was becoming more and more easy to resist, though the urge was still there. Settling down beside the dark haired, dark faced man, Keene nibbled on his jerky. His eyes unabashedly watching Noven as the other man seemed lost in thought.

As he ate, Keene allowed his focus to wander. He had never been much of a violent or aggressive eater. Almost always he bit off exactly as much as was comfortable to chew, rarely more and rarely less. He didn't like having his mouth full, but if it was too empty it made the act of chewing seem pointless. Thus, the dried meat was consumed very slowly as he methodically chewed his way through it. While he supposed he would have preferred Atziri to have been entirely uninvolved in the matter, Keene was glad for the food as well as her assistance with the citadel. He didn't bother dwelling on how Atziri had dealt with Telemeran nor how she'd known that the deviants were Noven and Keene; Atziri had a way of knowing things that Keene had just come to accept. A small, unconscious shiver ran down his spine at the thought of just exactly what she did know. He had tried to keep what little personal like he had to himself, as it was hardly necessary for the relationship between a student and teacher, however it seemed that the single most personal thing to happen to him on the island was observed by none other than Atziri.

His brows knit at that. His thoughts had counted his night with Noven as personal, and his immediate reaction to having been discovered was a mix of surprise as embarrassment. These were things he did not normally equate his experiences to, short of those events that were too difficult for him to cope with. While his mind had certainly had a time with trying to figure out what had happened, Keene found that it wasn't a problem. In fact, it was something he was oddly satisfied with in the sense that dwelling upon it was far more pleasing than pushing it away. However, for reasons that strained against his britches as well as the lack of any way to satiate those reasons, Keene pushed his thoughts along. How exactly he felt about Noven, about what happened, didn't seem to be something they were discussing. As Keene was aware that his capabilities in regards to socialization and communication were often not quite as prodigious as he may have hoped, Keene let the silence draw out, finding no reason to burden Noven with his thoughts or questions. He was fully aware the other man had just as few answers as he.

When Noven did finally speak, Keene had already taken a bite of jerky. He placidly chewed, eyes searching Noven's face for any indication that he remembered his brief meeting with her before. It seemed, from the look of Noven's unabashed curiosity, that Atziri's was not a face he had committed to memory. When his food was properly chewed and swallowed, Keene replied, voice calm and far more bodied in spite of its softness thanks to the revitalizing water flask between the two of them. "She is Atziri, my master." It was a simple question with a simple answer. Noven seemed to accept his reply, eyes regarding him much as they had before any other time he'd answered one of his question, though there was something slightly different that Keene couldn't place. He nodded, bitting back into the jerky, before letting his gaze wander. He was surprisingly content.

While he knew it to be little more than frivolous sentimentality - a surprising enough realization as it was rare for him to indulge in such mentalities - Keene let the gentle, humid warmth of the morning settle around him. The overcast sky filtered the light of the sun through its grey veil, dispersing the rays into an occluded, soft glow. It was, as it always was, a hauntingly beautiful scene. Since he had come to the island, he had spent many bells doing little more than surveying the landscapes of its wild nature. His patrols were rarely ever unproductive, but there were times his legs rested and his eyes wandered, just as they did that morning. It was calming, something that Keene found to be a bit of a commodity lately. His mind was constantly abuzz with thought, and while the quiet of their impromptu picnic did little to still it, Keene allowed himself to settle down and listen to it. Noven's presence gave him a strange sensation of safety, something he assumed to be a lingering side effect of whatever had happened to him after he'd lost a clear connection to his consciousness the night before. However, Keene took advantage of it for the time being to get what he could straight.

He and Noven had engaged in the act of intercourse. It seemed a subject neither wished to breach, though Keene reasoned it was likely they did so for differing reasons. Those two facts in hand, Keene moved on to consider the secondary and tertiary consequences of their impassioned actions. For one, there was still the desire to reach out and touch him - this was so basic it was almost platonic. His mind was curious to know if it would instill the same sensations or if his aversion to physical contact had returned. He was aware of how his body responded to the feeling of skin upon skin, it was the driving force behind his desire to interact with others in a physical manner as little as possible. Thus, it was worth considering it possible Noven might have "cured" him, however there was still a large part of him that preferred he not test the theory. It was incredibly unpleasant to willingly expose himself to such irritation, and Keene was yet still too tired to mentally prepare himself should Noven's touch burn as much as any other's. In a way, he was afraid of it. That if he touched him to find that it were no longer possible, it would overwrite the fervent memories of their single night.

That left several more things for Keene to consider, the most pressing being how he should handle himself while in Noven's presence. He assumed that treating him exactly as he had been before was acceptable, but if the other man expected something more - or even less - he had little way of determining it. While Noven wasn't a difficult man, his thoughts were distinctly his own. A smaller voice inquired as to what Keene would prefer, and he found that a better question for the time being. He wasn't sure what he wanted. He supposed, in the most idyllic sense, he wanted Noven. It was something he didn't understand in the least, which made the desire something akin to obsolete. If he couldn't understand it, he had little way of executing it. What did make sense to him, however, was that Noven was someone he wanted to study more, to understand if he could. There was something about him that drew him to him, whether it be due purely to memories of sensation or something more, it didn't take him long to come to the realization that, while Noven was present upon the island, Keene preferred to be with him.

He found it strange to think in terms of what he preferred rather than the best course of action. In a way, staying with Noven was the best course of action. Out of all of the Scars, he was the most prone to get himself into trouble, and Keene was the only one who could keep him out of it - or at least minimize the repercussions. He supposed he hadn't done a very good job the day before, but there had been severely limiting extenuating circumstances that had hampered his abilities. As he let his eyes finish their roaming tour of the of world around them, Keene returned his gaze to Noven, a soft warmth in the pit of his stomach. It was something that he assumed to be an effect of the jerky, though it was a feeling he'd never experienced before from eating food, or from any other activity as it were. Noven seemed to rise from his own state of reflection, vigorously returning his attentions to the waking world, stating it was time for them to return.

Keene found to proposition reasonable as they were both no longer wanted for crimes which they were - more or less - not guilty of, and his vambrace was needed for them to go anywhere else. He rose a few ticks after Noven, finding the food to have been a large help in him regaining strength enough to stand firmly. He waited for Noven to retrieve his jacket, watching with a curious raise of his brow as Noven turned to survey the remains of their camp. For a very brief moment as Noven turned to face Keene, he thought he saw something like a wistful nostalgia play about his features before he coughed out a throaty statement. Keene stared at him for a few more ticks, searching for any sign of what he had just seen, but Noven seemed to have replaced it with an over exaggerated knit of his brows as he regarded him in turn. Tilting his head slightly, Keene let it go, turning towards the citadel and starting along the non-existent path as Noven moved to join him.

They didn't walk very far before Keene spoke, his eyes planted ahead of him, but his voice hinting at his interest in Noven's response. He had thought it a subject they could leave behind, but the more steps they took away from the camp, the more he wanted to know. It was odd. The desire to discuss was rarely ever something that Keene felt moved to entertain, yet there it was, pushing him until he broke before it. "May I touch you?" He stopped, his feet planted firmly as he inquired. He felt a shiver of relief move through his body even before he'd finished the question. He had to know. The small, quiet voice in his head demanded it, and it was the only thing it demanded. Regardless of Noven's reply, Keene found it was something that had to be said, the last push of appeasement the fading voice required to be gone from his head. There was a small amount of apprehension in his voice, uncontrollable in spite of his efforts.

His grey-green gaze moved slowly over Noven's features, strangely vacant of the subtle expectancy that came when he usually asked questions. He was nervous. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so, but he was almost certain it wasn't the first time. Conflicting emotions swam within him, difficult to control due to his own interest in their novelty. His heart beat quickly, but it was not out of fear. He felt warm, his cheeks a soft shade of pink as the blood rushed to them. There was also anxiety that just slightly constricted his breathing. He wanted Noven to say yes. He wanted to press his hand against the other man's and experience what he had felt the night before, the mindlessly blissful sensations that the hazy night so selfishly hid from him. Or perhaps, he was the selfish one. There were too many things to consider, too many variables for him to be able to process into a single, logical outcome. He needed to know, and so he had taken the step to determine his answer for himself.

The oddity of the request never once crossed his mind. To Keene, the two of them had done far more than simply touching, and it was something reasonable enough to ask. His mind had difficultly reminding him that he had been a woman, though he knew inherently, it was something more of a meaningless detail. In his mind, it was he who had been with Noven, in whatever capacity. Of course, as his face flushed red, and his eyes nervously stared into Noven's own, it was hardly noticeable that such thoughts prevailed in his mind. For all intents and purposes, it appeared the young man had asked to hold hands in the most casual of indications, aside from the minor biological augments.

[Noven]

It was with a measure of relief that he fell in step with the Initiate, relishing the opportunity to stretch his legs and be in motion again. Nov realized two ticks after declaring himself ready for departure that he had no petching idea which direction the Citadel lay. Fortunately for the both of them, Keene seemed confident enough as he picked his way across the foreign terrain, following no obvious path to his companion's eyes. He seemed familiar with the area, to say the least. Nov wondered to himself how many bells Keene had spent out here on his own, and if this partially explained the Initiate's solitary airs.

They walked side by side, Nov falling just a few inches back now and then where the trees grew too narrow. The hills around them were quiet and the two former fugitives quieter still. The Sunberthian was unused to the lack of crowds, human stench, and offal. It was a stark contrast to be roaming about these hills; they had a bareness to them, a simplicity and stillness that belied their unnatural conditions.

He was no expert practitioner, not by a long shot, but even Nov could deduce that something strange was afoot when Winter felt like Summer and the only ale available was magically disastrous.

Though both had fallen into their usual silence, the darker of the two got the distinct impression that his guide was holding something back. He had no clear cut proof to back this feeling. A hunch was a hunch. Maybe it was the way Keene was staring adamantly ahead, more rigidly than usual, lips pressed together in a tight line. Maybe it was the restive shifting of his pale, green eyes. Or maybe it was the anxious, uneven cadence of his breathing, subtly hitching upon inhale and exhale. It was barely audible, especially without ale-enhanced ears. But if he really strained, Nov was able to catch it every few ticks in their hushed surroundings.

Or, maybe, a nagging voice in his head reasoned, it was because the two of them had copulated so wildly last night they scarce remembered the exact sequence of events. And thus far, neither showed any inclination toward talking about it.

Maybe, maybe, maybe's.

He was so focused on observing the man walking beside him from his peripheral that Noven almost didn't catch what Keene had suddenly uttered. The merc halted his steps a beat late and turned in baffled surprise. He didn't comprehend at first. Had he heard correctly? Did the Initiate just ask, of all things, to touch him?

The gears began groaning to life in Nov's mind. Not quite whirring as they most undoubtedly had in Keene's, but chugging along all the same. Which was saying something, given how fervently he dreaded setting them into motion on a day to day basis. He was starting to shift some of the pieces closer to one another. Make sense of everything that had happened since they'd remedied their nudity.

There was that moment when Keene had willingly chose to sit closer, which at the time, Nov had thought was just a practical decision to be nearer to the supplies. He would have done the same, if not taken it one step further and try to muscle the larger portion of jerky into his possession. He'd done it before in the Berth, taunted some cocky bastard or other until they agreed to a clearly unwise match. Usually, it came in the form of arm wrestling or a quick scrap, and while he didn't always go home burdened with new belongings, he found it useful for earning a free meal or two. Course, the man had no desire to swindle anything out of Keene, except maybe an extra expression or two. One was still under contract and the other a Warden Initiate, after all.

Then there was how often the Initiate had stared. Again, for practical reasons, Noven had assumed, most likely to ensure the mercenary didn't gobble up every last piece of their dried meat. Which he might have done, if Keene's gaze hadn't made him feel so self conscious.

And last but not least, this newest request. He faced Keene fully, watching the unexpected amalgam of emotion swimming beneath his mask of calm, the center of which was now tinted with a faint blossoming of pink. The Initiate was plainly on edge. His breath had quickened, his face flushed, and his pale gaze holding onto Noven's own with unsettling determination.

Of all the ways he could have picked to piece this particular puzzle together, Nov chose the one that made the most sense to his Sunberthian logic.

"This...has something to do with your magic, doesn't it?" he asked slowly, only just coming to the realization. It was a good start. If only he didn't have the unfailing tendency to botch every good start he ever came across.

The proximity...the staring...and now this unexpected touching business. What else could the Initiate be after, other than testing out to see whether his magic still worked or not? And there were no other living beings around them, other than the sad looking plantlife and maybe Keene's unnerving, flame-haired master, Atziri. By default, Noven was the best test subject for miles around. He'd seen what the young man could do; light fire with some mysterious glob of substance, turn an Akvatari's wings into ice before shattering them into a thousand pieces. It was an awful amount of power to behold in the mercenary's eyes, and to lose any part of that...well, he wouldn't hold it against Keene if he was just a little bit peeved at having been dragged into this mess with the risk of losing his own magic.

Granted, he didn't exactly expect Keene to hurt him. Much. But he figured the Initiate knew well enough of Nov's distrust of magic, and therefore the request had been rather difficult to bring up. Hence the strange behavior and tensed body language. On the bright side, it didn't seem like the Initiate wanted him dead. Had that been the case Nov was certain he'd never made it back into his clothes, let alone come this far with precious strips of jerky in hand.

"Well, I owe you one," he concluded aloud with solid conviction. As far as the merc was concerned, if he hadn't insisted he treat Keene to a round of drinks, none of this would have happened, for good or for worse.

Shifting his burdens to the left hand and stretching forth his right, Nov gave his final answer in the form of an upfacing palm.

There was no reason for it, but some of Keene's nervousness began to seep into his consciousness as well, despite his best efforts to exude nothing but well-tempered cooperation. In an effort to cope with the strange skidding of heartbeats, Nov offered a small grin as he took a crack at a joke.

"Just, uh, don't turn my whole arm into ice, yeah? I kinda favor this hand for me time."

[Keene Ward]

.
Noven's reply was met with a startled blink that was, for better or worse, followed by, "What? No- I..." Keene fumbled with his words, far to caught up in all of the possibilities after his investigation was concluded that he hadn't stopped to think about what Noven might actually say to the question itself. The pink on his cheeks burned a bit brighter, and Keene found the uncomfortable rise of temperature to be of little consequence in the larger scheme of things. He was flustered, a state of being he knew to exist but never had experienced. Noven was astoundingly set in his ideology that Keene's actions seemed to stem from a magical standpoint. He supposed it wasn't that illogical. Noven knew little about the arcane and its practitioners, thus anything that struck him as odd coming from a member who was known to practice such things had a high probability it stemmed from the larger unknown. It didn't change the fact that Keene found it harder to look at the man who seemed to be so subtly proud of piecing things together that he acquiesced with, "Something like that."

It was less directly related to magic and more a secondary effect that he wanted to see whether it carried over or not. In a way, Noven was correct, it was merely a different approach to the same thing. Odd, that there could be two distinctly different views in regard to a single act or subject. It seemed, for the time being, that Noven accepted, his statement that he owed Keene not quite understood. His brow arched at Noven's suggestion that there was a debt to be paid. As far as he was aware, there had been no point in time during which Noven had ever put himself in a place in which Keene required recompense. It was odd, but Keene shook his head. "You don't owe me anything."

As Noven extended his hand, however, Keene's own body tensed. "But I... Appreciate it." At the joke, his eyes met with Noven's, a heavy solemnity hanging in his stare. He replied quietly, his soft voice carrying with it not an ounce of mirth. "I have no reason to do that." Whatever humor Noven had intended, it had been utterly lost on the serious young man who stared down at the extended palm. His eyes traced the weathered lines, hitching around the rough patches of skin that Noven sported near the tops of his palms. He'd never taken much of an interest in the hands of another person. They were tools, fleshy instruments meant for grabbing and holding - caressing. Keene's frown deepened. That wouldn't do. He reached out his own hand, the left, and hovered over the stability of Noven's. He could feel the other man's warmth from where he stopped himself, an inch or so above.

It was far more difficult than he had anticipated. There was the desire to know, the fervency of such being what had driven him to ask in the first place, but as he stood there, staring down at the near connection, Keene felt a wholly unreasonable fear well up inside of him. If Noven's touch was as painful as the others', he didn't know what to do. In fact, if it were the same warm, secure sensation, he wasn't sure if that was worse or just as difficult to handle than if it were not. He didn't know what to do; he didn't know how to handle things. Part of him wanted to just drop his hand and keep walking. They were only about a bell's walk from the vestibule, assuming there were no more interruptions. If he merely let the issue slide, Noven would be gone before much longer and take with him the confusing knot of memories, thoughts, and emotions that Keene struggle so intensely with. It was the best option.

His hand started to draw back as he began to agree with himself. Even if he touched Noven, it would accomplish little more than give him an entirely new set of questions to wrestle with. He wanted definitives. He wanted something that he could wrap his mind around, something he could understand. He had learned over the course of the morning, that Noven was none of those things. He was not necessarily over complicated as an individual, but there were things about him that made no sense to Keene, and in spite of his best efforts, he could make no progress on them. Though he had not understood the reason behind Noven's smile, the very expression let bloom a warmth all its own in his chest. It was as if he had a marginal subconscious control over Keene's muted emotions, drawing them forth as easily as water from a well. It was disconcerting, and he wanted it to stop.

But yet, he also wanted it to continue. He wanted to watch Noven move through his messy array of needless facial expressions, to watch him laugh, cry, rage, and... A flash of a fiery, smoldering gaze rife with desire and passion flitted through his mind. Even that. Especially that. His body, for whatever reason, was keen on reminding him as often as possible how good it had felt with Noven, how safe and warm and perfect. By that point, that was all it could do. There was no longer any voice within his head but his own, yet even that wavered on the subject of Noven. It tore itself over what it wanted and what it knew to be best. Best. It was so relative that Keene found it almost contemptuous.

He had never wanted anything in the world so much as he hand reimancy, and once it had been given to him, in spite of the terrifying and painful experience, Keene had been sure that he would never pine for something as desperately as he had that. Yet, there it was, extended out to him in the most oblivious of offers, and still he struggled with whether he could succumb to his own personal preferences or follow true upon the path he had set out to follow. A little niggling thought reminded him that, even if he should try his luck, it wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Noven was due to leave the island before too long. Even if their hands met without pain or with pain, Noven himself would be gone as if it had never happened.

Similarly, it didn't change the fact that it had happened. Keene rarely forgot anything, aside from, it seemed, when alcohol was involved. He would remember Noven, whether the young mercenary remembered him or not. It was something that tugged at his heart in a way that the loneliness of Mella's death had done when he had finally allowed his mind to process that she had passed. It was an ache, and Keene hated it. He loathed it. The pain of separation was something he had been ill prepared for, and as his eyes bore holes into the two hands before them, Keene made up his mind.

With a short hiss of effort, Keene wrapped his fingers around the outstretched palm. His grip was that of a vice, something he remedied the moment he realized it was so tight, but that was only a reflex as his eyes narrowed in contemplation. What he felt was different than the night before, but it was also something alien from his experiences even before that. The pain was there, his mind telling him that there was danger, that the touch was something harmful to him and that his hand should be removed immediately. But, there was something else, something equally as persuasive. It suggested he linger, that the first was nothing more than thoughtless fear. The truth of the matter was far more abstract, a hand that could harm as easily as it could hold. The two sensations mixed themselves together, and Keene's chilled hand - as they tended to feel as he had been outside in the cold for a chime too long - gently and slowly turned, his fingers curiously pressing into the skin of Noven's own.

He stood silent, his mind whirring with thoughts, some of which were as close to joy as Keene ever got, while others more rationally contemplative. He was not "cured" from his aversion, and it was something Keene supposed was not a bad thing. He did not like to be touched, it was as simple as that. Noven, however, was a different case. While he still didn't want to be touched, he wanted Noven to touch him; a paradox that he had disregarded until he realized the practicality of it. He didn't understand, and as his fingers laced their way between Noven's, Keene's face wincing slightly as the strange mix of burning bite and soft touch, he stepped forward, his eyes staring determinedly into Noven's, the flush of his cheeks partially subsided, though his heart still raced within in chest, and the tightness in his pants pressed against its restrictions.

Keene's voice was incredibly soft and quiet when it spoke, the words sounding more like a thought than a true question. He had chosen to assuage his personal desires. Whatever the repercussions, Keene found that he was no longer interested in what was best for the both of them. The night had been long, wonderful even, and as a final farewell to that passion, Keene allowed himself a final moment. Their faces were just slightly closer than one might usually be for a private conversation, but his voice carried easily between the divide, his fingers gently squeezing in an unconscious display of apprehension. "May I kiss you?" There was not a hint of humor in his voice. If anything, there was a low undertone of necessity. It was not the sort that was desire or craving, but the sort of understanding one had in regards to breathing, or sleeping, or eating. Keene's request was as neutral as any, and though his eyes burned with the veritable inferno of thoughts that were literally too wild for his mind to contain, he waited patiently.

Noven had every right to refuse him. Keene knew little of love or romance - especially the occasional flirt - but he was fully aware that a kiss was not something passed between acquaintances or even friends. It was not a request that Noven return the gesture, that Noven lay bear his heart and join as one with Keene's own quivering soul - as a particularly sappy poet he'd read once wrote. It was a request, a desire to explore himself more than anything else. The strain it took for his hand to remain locked with Noven's was apparent, though it appeared more as nervousness than anything else. He wanted Noven to allow him his indulgence, of course he did, but Keene had already decided in the final rampage that he would allow himself until the next impossibly impossible event reared its wild eyed head that Noven's word would be final. If no, Keene was prepared to let the subject of his own emotions in regard to the most wild of Scars fade, burning out as their fuel was removed. In fact, he expected it. In a way, he wanted that even more than if Noven acquiesced, and the turmoil presented itself in his clenched jaw, pounding heart, and searching gaze. However ridiculous he knew he would view the situation after the fact, in the heat of the moment, Keene found he was absurdly invested in its outcome. The irony of how human the interaction between them was in relation to his desire to seek out and understand human nature was not even a though, as his mind was far too consumed with eyes of the one before him.

[Noven]

He glanced up at the Initiate questioningly, upturned hand pulling back just a fraction. What did he do? Did he say something wrong? Nov didn't feel like he'd overstepped any boundaries, but Keene's tense state seemed only to worsen. Then again, the Sunberthian wasn't exactly renowned for his social tact and grace. Offending people was kind of his forte...or so he'd been told. Many, many times. By many different people.

The Initiate responded polite enough, though his eyes still bore a shade of austerity that suggested Nov's joke had gone right over his head. Somehow he'd figured Keene wouldn't get it. Which only made the corner's of the merc's mouth twitch even more. Something about his companion's complete obliviousness to intentional humor was as amusing as it was fitting. Except, of course, Nov knew he wasn't entirely incapable of laughing. The bell-like ringing of Lady Keene's laughter still lingered in his ears, taunting him with half blurred memories.

Jokes and temptations aside, it was a bit of a relief to know Keene sincerely had no intentions of freezing his arm off. That crack had held more truth than jest.

Noven saw the Initiate raise one hand and stretched his own closer in response. If this was going to be even remotely painful, it would be best to get it over with as quick as possible. The merc resisted squeezing his eyes shut and forced himself to watch. Funny, to think such a simple gesture would induce this much anxiety.

He stood there, darker hand held steadily under Keene's paler one, waiting. And waiting. And waiting...

Half a chime must have passed before Nov opened his mouth to ask what the Initiate was holding back for. Only to shut it again, noticing how Keene began to draw his hand away. Why so much hesitance? What was there to be indecisive about? A touch was a touch, magic or no, and the anticipation was growing unbearable. Cmon, just do it, Nov silently willed, get it over with, whatever the hell this is. Shake my hand, freeze it, make it dance, anything who cares just do it!

The instant he thought this, he regretted it. Because now, Keene was drilling his eyes into their hovering hands with near palpable intensity. He looked like he wanted to set their appendages on fire. Tear them to pieces with nothing but the lethal loathing in his glare.

Maybe Nov's internal chanting had been a little too effective.

Before the merc could withdraw and reconsider this request, Keene gripped his hand with an iron vise. Muscles tensed and breathing ceased for the first few ticks. From the way Keene had grabbed his hand, Nov was almost certain there would be exploding limbs involved. But, oddly enough, nothing really happened. The hills were still silent, their hands still clasped, and no one's body parts had frozen solid or gone missing.

After a few more moments, he managed to breathe and relax a little, as did Keene. Strange...it felt almost disappointing in its lack of repercussions. At the most, Keene's hand felt rather cold. Noven found this somewhat curious. They were fully clothed now and the weather warm enough, but there was still a chill to the Initiate's skin.

He raised his head, a congratulatory quip half formed on his tongue, but swallowed it back at the sight of Keene's peculiar expression. Shyke...the man had been so concerned with what he was going to endure that he didn't even stop to consider how Keene might be affected. He made up for it as best he could, searching pale, tense features for any sign of negative reactions. The Initiate's face displayed a mix of tightly controlled emotions. His lips were drawn one moment in confusion and then parting hopefully the next, his brow lined with anything ranging from discomfort to surprise to contemplation--Nov's guesses were as good as anyone's. There was a wince of pain once, much to his alarm, but still the merc could not for the life of him figure out just what exactly it was that Keene was feeling. If it was magical, physical, or something completely beyond his understanding.

But the wince quickly gave way to something else. Noven watched as Keene's fingers slipped between his, the sight and sensation sending an involuntary shiver up his spine. He remembered how their hands had been joined like this before. On multiple occasions, accompanied by the desperate gasps of reckless passion.

His first instinct was to pull away. It made him feel unreasonably anxious having their hands intertwined like this, the Initiate standing so close Nov could see the flecks of green in his cool, grey gaze. But then Keene took a bold step forward to bring them even closer, eyes focused on his companion's with naked resolve, pale fingers still locked around Noven's. Suddenly, the Sunberthian's awareness started to twist in on itself. He could feel his mind slowly grappling with this unexpected unfolding of events. Taking the pieces he'd thought he had puzzled together so well and ripping them apart, two, three, ten at a time, before painstakingly rearranging them.

"May I kiss you?"

The pieces slammed back down in crystal clear order, almost perfect in their synchronous landings.

Noven's first reaction was that he had been stupid. Very stupid. Unbelievably stupid. He should have known, should have seen this coming. But for some reason he hadn't. Why that turned out to be the case, he could only assume it was either because he hadn't wanted to acknowledge the possibility in the first place, or he really was just as dense as everyone accused him of being.

His second was that of fear. Fear of magic, fear of what Keene would be forced to feel, fear of what he would be forced to feel. Fear of the unknown itself.

Noven's legs wanted to run. His mind reeled, his breath hitched, his heart battered itself senseless in wild confusion and he could feel a cold sweat breaking over the back of his neck and arms.

"Uhh..."

It took him a moment to remind himself that that wasn't an actual, coherent answer. "You want...to kiss me?"

You bleeding idiot, who else could it be?

In a matter of chimes, the sated, near-complacency he'd started out his morning with shattered like brittle ice. Noven had been so cocooned in comforting ignorance that he wasn't remotely prepared for the corner he'd blundered himself so expertly into.

The Sunberthian was no stranger to all the different ways a person's tastes could run. He'd practically made Isme's gaudy little room his second home, after all, spending more time in Happy Endings than he did his own quarters. It was in those rowdy, flesh filled hallways past Isme's door that Noven came face to face with the infinite combinations of attraction and desire. He took minimal part it in, preferring to stick with what he knew he already liked. The merc was usually in too dark of a place to willingly risk trying something else.

But he couldn't not notice what transpired beyond the room he usually paid for. There was no end to the brothel's myriad clientele. Even more so for their pick in poisons. Some, he figured out quickly enough on his own, liked pain. Others, those of the same sex. Even more still branched out into the less common and more dubious, though never with children. Not on Brega's property. For that, they would have to go to places far seedier, on top of facing the possibility of one day finding their throats slit and cold bodies crammed into an empty barrel. Nov had weeded out child slavers before. He had yet to fail in making the general message unquestioningly clear.

His own preferences though...that was something the man had given almost no thought to. Isme had tried to coax him into expanding his tastes, in part because it was her job, and also because his drive to find solace in distraction was sometimes so all-consuming that it worried her. She was not always available at his beck and call, and he not always in the gentlest of moods. But Nov had little interest in others, much to the irritation of many of Isme's associates. He liked what he knew and he knew what he liked. He'd chosen Isme for his own reasons and saw no point in changing.

For her sake, though, Nov had tried. He took some of her recommendations and made the most of them. But it always felt hollow, empty. It wasn't even an issue of coin. He just didn't like wasting his time and going home feeling more troubled than when he'd left. He chose Isme for a reason. She was warm, inviting, trustworthy. She made him feel less alone. Falling in love was a luxury the likes of him could never afford, but just being with her...it was better than nothing. It was something.

Looking at Keene now, the Initiate's gaze holding back a storm of emotion, hands gripping Nov's with unmistakable trepidation, he couldn't help but wonder if this chilly eyed, self contained creature before him desired the same things. If Keene ever felt the cold drag of solitude wear on his very mortal, very isolated soul. Noven knew what it was like to be alone in the truest sense of the word. It had nearly driven him to the brink of madness, hearing voices of the dead call out to him, muttering back to them in the dim, dank ruins of their home. Of everything he and Nona had built and shared, now reduced to nothing but bits of charred wood and broken furniture. He would have envied Keene's abilities then. He still did, the man realized. Maybe if he had been able to push aside those useless feelings of anger and indignation...maybe if he had any control whatsoever over the way his blood boiled and rationality went flying out the door...

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Maybe she wouldn't have died. Maybe none of them would have died.

Noven looked at Keene again. This time, he did it without the backdrop of baseless paranoia, raucously clamoring for attention like it always did when something unfamiliar and daunting came flying his way. He could see how serious this request was for the Initiate. Vastly more so than the first. There was no humor, no coyness, no ulterior motive in his wide-eyed stare. Nov wasn't someone to rob or turn into a play thing--both of which had him on constant guard back in the Berth. To be honest, he hadn't the slightest clue what Keene saw him as. If Keene himself even knew. It made him curious, rare as that effect was, and his heart beat a hair quicker at the thought.

As for what he saw in turn...well, there was courage, for one. It was the first thing he thought of, after everything that had just come to pass in the last twenty four bells. Courage, and competence. Nov couldn't remember a single moment when Keene had slowed him down. If anything, he felt like he was always trying to catch up. He couldn't remember the last time he'd met someone like that who wasn't either paying for his employment or eluding his best efforts to hunt them down. And it wasn't just duty or discipline that seemed to drive the Initiate's efficiency; there was a force behind those careful, collected movements, monitored with vigilant control lest it be unleashed like a torrent of wildfire, swallowing everything in its path.

Much as it had the night before.

And there was also fear. Hesitation. Contemplation. An uncertainty that was apparently as mutual as it was unnerving. Not to mention the fact that Keene only spoke when and how much he needed to. Just enough, and not a letter more. And that need itself...Nov had seen it in its most potent, unfettered form. Been tackled by it to the ground. Washed with a fire he though he'd never feel again. And it had been heart-achingly, breath-takingly beautiful to behold.

He felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his throat. This was unprecedented. He'd never, ever stood in the face of anything like this before. It could end in ruins. Leave them both wallowing in the wake of a disaster of epic proportions. Cripple them for life.

You're either doing it or you're not, Noven growled in his own head and give himself a swift mental kick to the balls.

He'd managed to piece things together after all. Sort of. A blind three year old could see something about physical contact made Keene uncomfortable. Or perhaps uncomfortable wasn't an apt enough word, but that was what Nov had picked up on. It was no wonder the Warden Initiate preferred to keep to himself. Which meant Nov was right about it being a test, but it also meant he had been wrong about what exactly the Initiate was testing for. And somehow, in the midst of all his internal strife, the man had gotten this bright idea that if they were probing for boundaries, then would it change things...maybe alter the outcome if...if Keene was being touched instead of doing the touching?

"Does it...does it make..." he attempted to say, his voice feeling as though it were churning through gravel. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Does it make a difference if...if I...if you weren't the one--oh fuck it. "

Before the Initiate could answer this mangled, half-assed question--and before Nov could inject anymore rationality into stopping himself--the merc leaned forward, thoughts in complete disarray. He tightened his grip on their interlocked hands in an unthinking act of stark, aimless fear, and his chest bumped against their thumbs as he drew nearer. It was finding out now, or finding out never.

Then he shut his eyes and moved in, pressing his lips against Keene's in the most earnest, nerve wracking kiss he never thought he'd give.