[Closed] Rituals and Sacrifices

[Lilanee Kuleda]

14th Vortas, 2719
BRUNNHOLD | AFTERNOON, AFTER LAST CLASS BEFORE TERM BREAK

Lilanee sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor before her without really seeing it. Her school satchel was sitting in an abandoned heap on the hardwood floor beside her feet, sagging like it carried her feelings in physical form. Her hands rested on her thighs, a handwritten letter between them, the creases where it had been folded in the envelope still crisp and fresh, envelope itself hastily torn and thrown on the bed.

Blinking, the teenager focused, lifting her eyes to collection of aged pottery on her shelf. She exhaled shakily, vision blurring again, and closed her eyes against the tears that came. Falling sideways onto the soft downy Brunnhold standard pillow, Lilanee curled the letter to her stomach, knees tucking close as she broke down. She sobbed, aching sounds that sounded too loud in her small cluttered room, free hand reaching to clutch the pillow tightly as though the pressure could filter all her emotions away.

Eventually, the red head found herself staring again, sniffling occasionally and feeling drained. She lifted the slightly crumpled letter to her face, wiping her puffy red eyes on the pillow case and frowning.

No. No this wasn’t okay, and she wasn’t going to accept it.

Getting out of bed, the Hessean moved around the room to collect her bag and tie her hair up into a high ponytail, small curls escaping around her ears and nape of her neck. Dressed in her school uniform, having finished her last class for the day only moments before the letter had been handed to her by a staff passive, Lilanee stormed from her room with all the fury of an autumn storm.

Honestly she wasn’t even sure what she was doing, but there was no way she could just accept it. No clocking way.

Reaching an all too familiar building, she took the stairs by two, ignoring the hall monitor who barked at her about the proper approvals for going into the boys dorms, the red head reached Ezre’s room and knocked hard and fast. She didn’t stop until he opened it, snapping the paper up beside her blotchy face, eyes swollen and red behind her glasses.

“Pack a bag, you are coming to Vienda.” She said, voice still thick from her tears, though she shed none now. Her field was burning with crimson flares of anger, rolling off her in waves that kept the monitor at bay at the end of the hall. Entering the room of her own accord, Lilanee began to look for his bags, as though she was ready to start packing for him.

“We’ll need to go speak with the Headmistress of course, to ensure she is aware we’ll be off campus during the break. I imagine we’ll be back before graduation, so it should be fine. It’s just ridiculous honestly, and I just am going to say as much!” The teenager said with a short laugh of disbelief, shaking her head as she looked around the room, not quite acknowledging the blurring of her vision as tears began to well again. Blinking them away, she moved to where he kept his clothing, letter gripped between the fingers of one hand so tightly it was crumbling in on itself.

“My mother can’t just decide these things, no one can. Yes, okay, father has been gone for a while now but he’s always gone a long time. If we did this every time he was gone…imagine!” Her voice landed too high on the last word, falling apart bit by bit as she tried to hold onto the anger that had moved her feet here. It was flitting away however, mingling with a stormy dark slate that was crawling in from the edges of her field.

“Mister Vks?” The boy who had been tasked with hall monitor left the most obvious question unasked, standing outside the doorframe, glancing inside with a curious expression at the red head. She wasn't meant to be in there, Joseph Grey knew that rule very well, but there weren't any instructions on how to deal with angry upset Hessean’s who ignored that rule. He couldn't very well demand her to leave, frankly he was a little afraid of what she might do. His eyes flicked to Ezre, looking for some sort of guidance in the absence of an adult.

“I should…maybe I should come back?” He whispered awkwardly, glancing at the girl again with a grimace.

[Ezre Vks]

Dormitory C

Late Afternoon on the 14th of Vortas, 2719

BPerhaps she hadn’t noticed the waft of incense from behind the door. Perhaps she’d been far too focused on her distress to realize just how long it took for anyone to answer her fervent knocking. Perhaps Ezre had forgotten to share his tutoring schedule with the young woman. Perhaps this particular Clairvoyant lesson had simply gone over the time he’d previously allotted with the pair of sixth form students who were struggling with their magic skills.

The Hoxian had become somewhat recognized quietly for his talents, and even if he wasn’t really comfortable with any form of limelight, he found it difficult to refuse the request to aid in teaching and extracurricular support for those who simply couldn’t seem to grasp some of the concepts outside of the most basic of scrying methods. There were not many students who accepted his aid, either because of the Hexxos’ appearance or because they were far too proud to admit their weaknesses to an older student. When Madame Arcadia had finally insisted that he take on tutoring, Ezre humbly accepted the task, though he feared it was against his better judgment.

The two young students who did finally approach him for assistance were amicable enough once they were done asking questions about his tattoos and prying into his personal life, and so the ninth form agreed to meet with them every mid-week or so to expand on their class lessons in order to give them a better foundation for further study. Emmett Turhune was interested in becoming a Seventen, fascinated by the magical opportunity to investigate from afar in ways that were perhaps more invasive than Ezre was sure how to channel properly. Jude Numburgh was far more comfortable of a youth, curious in a contemplative way, and the ginger boy was just even-keeled enough to unwittingly assist the Hoxian in putting up with loud, overbearing Emmett.

While Lilanee wept and packed, the three students had cleared away a decent circle on Ezre’s floor and arranged themselves a small plot in which only the dark-haired boy and Emmett could sit within and keep a bowl of water between them. Jude, in order to be a proper witness, isolated himself in the shared common room that connected the other three suites of the Hexxos Guide’s suite mates with a book and settled into reading, making an inviting mental space within his mind through which the scryers would be able to form a connection and attempt to read the pages through his gaze and on the surface of the water.

Chan might of been shared. Incense was lit. The tattooed boy led them all in several moments of meditation. Ezre finally guided Emmett in some careful breathing techniques before the pair opened their casting in chorus from the Hoxian’s grimoire, the aspiring cadet noting that the older student’s choice of phrasing was somewhat non-standard with a single arched eyebrow, his freckled Anaxi face giving away all of his curious feelings as if he’d spoken. Ezre smiled softly but chose not to extrapolate, and it was here their spells deviated from each other, one pulling away like a falling star from the sky. While Emmett cast to make contact with Jude in his incantation, the dark-haired boy instead attempted to build on his own skills and intercept—his spellwork sought to scry on the scryer, eyes fluttering shut instead of staring at the water and attempting to only use his mind, aware that cognomancy was extremely difficult.

No one had been expecting any visitors, and it was just as words began to ripple into the young Turhune’s vision in the bowl and some strange, backwards rendition of the text filtered into Ezre’s thoughts, unfocused and hard to read, that the Hessean’s knuckles on the ninth form’s door startled everyone nearly out of their skins! Emmett gasped, knocking over the bowl and spilling water all over the floor while Jude squeaked from the other room, dropping the book as if it had been something from the romance section of the Library and he’d been caught enjoying what was written.

Ezre considered the possibility the sudden knocking was a neighbor, but the persistence invited him to reach out with his senses and feel the familiar weight of Lilanee’s own aura, though it was jarring and bright with emotions even from this distance. Anger? What had he forgotten? He was quick to scramble to his feet then, leaving Emmett to sop up his mess with his uniform coat and casting a swift glance toward Mister Numburgh in the doorway to the common room before moving to open his bedroom door, which was, as usual, not locked,

“Vre’ialiterally a diminutive ('ia) use of the word heart (vre), used here as a term of affection and endearment, I—” Dark eyes blinked, the Hessean’s face wet with tears and her tone strained and obviously distressed. He stepped out of the way as she invited herself in, biting his lip for a moment as he glanced apologetically toward the sixth forms who were staring as if they’d never once seen a young woman in the upper form male dormitory in their entire lives. He murmured a warning, but she was already talking,

“—I have students—”

Had he been born anywhere but Hox, had he not had such control over his rhakor, he would have blushed at the familiarity with which she moved through his room there in full sight of students who he did not consider his friends, apparently so wrapped up in whatever her letter had said that she didn’t even feel the dampening of a pair of fields or the stares of two shocked sixteen year old boys,

“—if you could just—”

“—wait a moment—”

“—Lilanee.” Ezre repeated, louder, reaching for the crumpled paper in her hand with his tattooed fingers, attempting to meet her pale gaze with a stern, dark-eyed look, “Slow down. Let me dismiss my—”

Another voice from the door and this time the Hexxos Guide’s airy field contracted tightly, suddenly heavy and thick as he held back frustration. Looking toward Joseph, there was no shift in the mask of calm he wore,

“—please excuse us, Mister Grey. We are all upper form students here and there are no rules against mixed visitation at this house of the day. That said, I must dismiss Mister Turhune and Mister Numburgh.” His delicate jaw clenched for a moment, prying the letter from Lilanee gently and turning to face the two younger boys he’d agreed to tutor, swallowing his Hoxian nature and forming a very terse, unemotional apology, “I am sorry for the interruption. We can pick up our studies tomorrow or perhaps, uh, after the break?”

Emmett was holding a sopping wet coat and staring at the tears on the freckled young woman’s face. Jude was smiling, picking up his things and shoving his companion’s bag at his chest,

“C’mon, dumberse. It appears Mister Vks has a girlfriend.”

“Or had one.”

Giggling and a few other whispered jokes ensued, some which might have revolved around a big breakup and lots more tears, which only caused poor Joseph the timidest of hall monitors to blush furiously at all the implications of a tearful girl left alone with the dark-haired boy.

“Dr—no. I do not think there is any reason for you to come back later.” Ezre’s dismissal was almost harsh, “We will be fine. I would prefer you walk my students back downstairs to their dorm floor. Thank you.”

Joseph’s eyes widened for a moment and then he looked at Jude and Emmett, both of which were still grinning and who were more than happy to jostle the reluctant monitor out the door, closing it behind them with one more glance and a snigger. Without saying anything else, the tattooed youth opened his window further, letting some fresh air into the room clouded thick with incense, looking down first to the letter to skim over the words while also giving Lilanee a moment to perhaps collect herself, his lack of immediate reaching for her person revealing his level of surprise as well as revealing that he needed his own space to adjust to the high level of anger and sadness that she’d flooded his immediate vicinity with. Besides, it was obvious he wanted to make sure no one else would be opening his door and interrupting their moment of privacy.

His delicate features drew together in a concerned frown—the first hint that he’d set aside his rhakor with a slow exhale—and he wordlessly laid the crumpled, slightly moist letter on his desk. Finally lifting tattooed hands to gently wipe the Hessean’s teary, freckled face, his quiet question was not meant to be humorous. Lilanee knew him well enough, he hoped, to understand the depth of concern behind such simple words,

“But, there is no body?”

One last look over her shoulder toward the threshold toward his room and Ezre stepped to embrace the distressed young woman generously, familiar and comforting with the wrap of his arms, the press of his whole self, and the steady calm of his field,

“It is not as though we are graduating this year, anyway. I do not think that the Headmistress needs to be informed—our dormitory matron and patron certainly need to sign off on any travel.” He offered with a hint of humor, attempting to mitigate the situation carefully, “I did not have any plans for fall break that did not involve you, but please explain to me what is going on when there is a possibility your father still lives.”

[Lilanee Kuleda]

14th Vortas, 2719
BRUNNHOLD | AFTERNOON, AFTER LAST CLASS BEFORE TERM BREAK

In her haste, Lilanee missed the word Ezre had used. If she’d heard it, if she stopped to think on it, she would have perhaps had want to discuss further. In her blind rage, Lilanee didn’t notice the boys. If she’d felt their fields, if she’d stopped to caprise them, she would have perhaps had a level of personal space reserved for Ezre. In her gripping disbelief, Lilanee didn’t see the cleared circle and bowl of water. If she’d seen it, if she’d stopped to look, she would have perhaps not just barged in spouting private thoughts and words.

As it were, none of these things happened, and so the students enjoyed the drama as it unfolded.

“—Lilanee.

The Hessean spun on her heel, blinking away the tears, brow drawn against the emotions that dug into her chest and pounded in her head.

“Wha—oh.” Finally she saw them, as the Hoxian took the crumpled letter from her, blue eyes sweeping over the three people spectating the situation. Her freckled cheeks flushed and she stammered over her words as Ezre took control of the situation.

“Oh I’m dreadfully sorry, I didn’t…I wasn’t…I beg your pardon but that is very improper.” She said to the younger boys, her red rimmed, tear marred gaze fixed on the younger students as they giggled their way out of the room.

“You’d think Anaxas would teach their youth some more manners, Good Lady.” The red head muttered, palming the wetness from her cheeks and trying to cover the scarlet that was now creeping down her neck. She’d been thoughtless in her arrival, and had embarrassed the very private Hoxian. It might not be obvious to Joseph Grey as he scurried away with the younger boys, but it was obvious to Lilanee and it was enough to make her feel sick.

“Ezre I didn’t mean to make a scene for you, I should have taken some time to think first. I just…I didn’t…I don’t…” The tears were just there, as quickly as she swiped them from her cheeks, they were back. The budding historian shook her head, staring at the floor as Ezre pressed the letter onto the surface of his desk, lifting it again as inked fingers swept across her cheeks.

“But, there is no body?”

Lilanee melted into tears as she shook her head, tucking herself into the Hoxian’s embrace as a mixture of relief and frustration flooded her field. He understood her, without the need for explanation or clarification, and for the wordy and vibrantly expressive eighteen year old it was a welcome comfort. She laughed briefly, through the tears, drawing back to remove her glasses and draw a kerchief from her pocket.

“We might not be graduating Brunnhold, but we will be moving to tenth form. I can’t imagine missing our final days of ninth would be particularly favored by Ophelia.” The Hessean said thickly, drying her eyes and snuffling entirely unladylike. Taking a deep breath in, and out, Lilanee cleaned her glasses and put them back on to look at the dark haired boy.

“Mother is giving up. She says that it has been too long, and father would have managed to send word by now if he was still…if he was in a safe place. She wants me to return to Vienda so we can start the funeral arrangements.” Frowning, the student gestured widely at the window of his dorm.

“It’s been a year Ezre. And yes, I admit, it’s probably the longest we’ve gone without hearing from him but that doesn’t mean he’s dead. I don’t believe it. Father went into the West of Anaxas. Of Anaxas for Ophurs sake. It’s not like he took a stroll down to Roannah or Shotha. They don’t even have drakes here. I’ve no doubt, he’s probably found something entirely fascinating and is caught up in his dig. Or…or he’s taken a cave complex in the hills and maybe he’s lost. Or he could be hurt. She should be getting a team together and looking for him, not just giving up.” Snuffling, Lilanee shook her head, looking out the window for a moment.

“Her letter says that ‘I know in my heart that he is gone’, but that’s absolutely preposterous. Knows in her heart,” She snorted, crossing her arms. “Next thing you know she’ll start saying she’s been talking to the Gods.” Turning back to Ezre, the red head bolstered her field, mingling with his to take comfort in its subtle shades of warmth and care.

“I’m going to Vienda, but not to arrange any funerals. I’m going to convince her that she needs to fund a search party. Father would have left notes, maps. Things in his study here in Brunnhold maybe, or at home in his office. I am not going to believe he is dead. Not unless I see it with my own eyes.” Stepping close to the boy, Lilanee brushed his fingers, taking his hands in hers and searching the dark pools of his iris’.

“I want you to come with me, Ezre. Mother is….challenging…for me to talk to. She and I don’t connect, not like I do with father. She is stubborn, and strong willed, and blunt.” Oblivious to any possibility of similarities between herself and the description of her mother, the red head squeezed his hands.

“I need you to help me convince her that there is still hope. You are…unique. Hexxos. Surely if…if it came from someone like you. Someone so rational and calm and logical, surely she would listen?” Her tone held a mote of hope, woven with a fraction of doubt. It was a big ask; Meet my mother, help me convince her she is wrong and by the way, help me not estrange her at the same time?

“Someone has to do something Ez. I can’t bury a memory. If he is dead, truly if my father is really gone, he deserves a burial fit for a omaaraja. A…lord. A king.” The Hessean said with quiet determination, before searching his face again, brow drawn.

"Please."

[Ezre Vks]

Dormitory C

Late Afternoon on the 14th of Vortas, 2719

They had shared each others' company and each others' bodies, but there were still some barriers Ezre felt the urge to keep, at least when not simply alone with Lilanee. It had been his fault, all of this, for not sharing with her the impromptu study session before Fall Break, and while she knew of his tutoring and extracurricular assistance to the Clairvoyance department, this had been unscheduled. They had not necessarily discussed levels of comfort with unannounced appearances, and while the Hoxian wanted very much to be as open and accommodating as possible to the Hessean and her very different manner of thinking out loud and acting on instinct, he was challenged for a brief moment, here in his dorm room, stared at by his peers.

His priorities were beyond mere acceptance, however, and his rhakor was such that he shifted delicately through modes of expression: quick to dismiss his students and their giggling assumptions, quicker still to quell the rising panic in his reluctant hall monitor, dissolving any further interruption with his unnerving calm. The redheaded young woman he cared most for was crying and while it wasn't a surprise for the younger boys to giggle and tease, the nature of their words was rather insensitive.

The dark-haired Guide scowled at them and watched the door until he could finally read the letter he'd pried from Lilanee's hands and finally find his quiet center so that he could offer her all of himself more freely. She accepted the comfort of his arms, and he closed his eyes as if to caprise the thick wash of emotions in her field, sifting through what was unspoken. His inked hands didn't slide away from her person too quickly, lingering gently as she leaned away. Dark eyes met her pale gaze once she removed her glasses and he nodded, agreeing with her assessment of their current academic trajectories.

"Hessean funeral arrangements or Anaxi?" Matter of fact and hardly meant to cause further duress, Ezre attempted to keep up with the conversation the only way he knew how, "What was the last general location when your father communicated with you? Was he with a research team or alone? No organization to help in a search, then?"

He slipped away with his questions, reluctant, but aware of the implications. The dark-haired boy slid a well-traveled suitcase from under his bed and placed it on his freshly washed linens, beginning to quietly move about his room to gather his things while she spoke—casual things, mostly, but he did make his way to his armoire and remove his more ceremonial Hexxos clothing, bundled and packed away as they were after that first day back in Roalis. He was an efficient folder of personal items, making sure to leave room for his more important luggage: scrying equipment, a few books, and—

Lilanee spoke of attempting to look for her father, and when she stepped closer, he turned toward her, ready to meet her searching hands with his own, "Before funding a physical search party, perhaps a magical one is possible. Your family home is full of Kuleda-vumash's personal effects, zjai?"

She didn't answer him right away, speaking instead of her mother. Ezre's hopeful expression faltered—she wanted him to do what?

"There is nothing wrong with talking to the gods, vre'ialiterally a diminutive ('ia) use of the word heart (vre), used here as a term of affection and endearment, as they are real and hear our voices. I am aware that Hesseans are notoriously irreligious, Lilanee, but remember that I am not. I am also nothing more than an obscure Hoxian to someone who has never met me, far from home, and historically speaking, our people do not have the friendliest of opinions about Hesse. While I can get in touch with the Everine in order to offer me some insight and possibly assistance in facilitating a conversation about a funeral, I am not sure what kind of counsel I can give to someone who is not even willing to listen to their own daughter nor trust in the Circle's favor." The dark-haired boy was not attempting to be rude or cruel, nor was he particularly ruffled by her statements: his steady, quiet voice was persistent and heavy with an undercurrent of strong feelings she'd be much better at detecting than a stranger.

He kept to himself the flutter of nervousness at the thought of meeting the young woman's family in such a manner, considering how he cared for her so. What a strange introduction, appearing to stop a funeral! He knew what kind of social barrier his appearance and customs often were here in Anaxas, a Kingdom that at least pretended at religion and respect of the gods, but he was not even sure what kind of effect his inked self would have on a Hessean adult, no matter how long such a woman had lived in this Kingdom, far from home.

Always careful to maintain some semblance of balance, to do his part when it came to keeping harmony, he chose not to speak of the similarities between his lover's description of a parent who had frustrated her and the young woman in front of him complaining about the description.

"You do not have to beg me—I will support you, but I cannot speak for you. I—well—I appreciate your very biased and kind assessment of who I am because it is as genuine as it is endearing, but not everyone sees me as you do. I am a Guide, it is true, and it is my duty to help the living navigate as much as the dead, whether or not it is truly necessary. We will investigate such matters in due time. I think the best way to convince your mother that your father is alive is for him to speak for himself, and that will require quite a bit of magic. I am willing to try." He squeezed gently the hands tangled with his, pale colors of his unspoken emotions shifting light and airy in his field, mingled closely with the weight of hers as it was.

He chose not to speak of what someone could and could not do with a memory, considering he was literally the offspring of someone else's, growing up amid dusty collective bits of history in the isolated cold of Kzecka.

Ezre chose instead to return to packing, adjusting his planned belongings accordingly, moving through his small, private space, gathering things with a renewed sense of purpose, carefully running through a checklist of potential needs—a few extra books, his chan set, and additional scrying equipment. For a moment, he worried he'd have to sacrifice a few of his clothes, but it wasn't as though he required much of anything superfluous anyway,

"I would also like to speak to an Everus in the Church of the Moon before we leave—to help me to know who to get in touch with in Vienda. Perhaps I should send a letter to To—Incumbent Vauquelin so he will know we are visiting? If I displease your family, I will have to find somewhere else to stay." The dark-haired boy flashed an impish grin, aware that imposing himself on the raen would be no less uncomfortable than confronting Lilanee's mother, save for the hope that, if nothing else, Tom liked his company every once and a while.

"Let me clean my room and we can figure out our departure arrangements."

[Lilanee Kuleda]

14th Vortas, 2719
BRUNNHOLD | AFTERNOON, AFTER LAST CLASS BEFORE TERM BREAK

"Hessean. Just to the north west, slightly south of Reedlyn. A small team, he doesn’t like to take too many hands, just a few assistants to help with the cargo and the digging, sometimes a research apprentice and maybe a guide. Though he has been known to forge out on his own on occasion. It’s a stupid habit, even for someone as clever and brave as father. But mother says that he’s always been that way. Too brash for his own good.” She answered him automatically, as though the act of speaking was an unconscious action, shaking her head at his question about an organisation for the search.

“He’s often funded by the Historical Wing of Brunnhold itself, but they’ve made it clear that if he can’t abide by their guidance, there’ll be no further support. I’m aware this last trip was…not favored by everyone on the board. Father may or may not have been a little…eccentric.” The Hessean’s blue eyes flicked to the boy, and away again to watch his movements with arms crossed and brow drawn, knowing full well that the Anaxi man used more of his own funds on his expeditions than Brunnhold’s. If only because Brunnhold restricted him to their interests. Where was the discovery in keeping the tomes of the dead in clean order, or writing papers on the theoretical happenings of the War of the Book?

No, Jonathan Emmett Kuleda was a man of adventure and exploration! Stuffy school boards be damned.

Unloading about her mother with all the colorful expression of her voice, the red head snorted suddenly.

“Hrm? Things? Oh yes. There’s lots of fathers things at home. He’s got all sorts of trinkets and artifacts and bits and bobs and such. His office is overstuffed with so many curious things, you’ll see, there’s this book that he brought back from Mugroba actually. Twenty fourth or fifth oh two, and it’s got the most curious etchings that you could…” Her words faded as Erze stepped closer, his tone gently chiding even if it hadn’t meant to be. Lilanee blushed, her cheeks matching the warm ruddy color against thick lashes and numerous freckles.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to dismiss—” The teenager said quickly, pressing her lips together to listen to the boy, unfamiliar with the consonant heavy word that slipped into his speech. She smiled wryly.

“It’s okay. We’re used to it. Dumb, loudmouthed, brutish, Circle-banished. I’ve heard them all.” Exhaling heavily, Lilanee threw her hands up and shrugged.

“Clocks I don’t know Ezre. I don’t know! I just…I can’t…” Sucking her lip between her teeth, the ninth form stepped towards him again and frowned.

“I just need someone to tell her that it’s not right to give up.” Shaking her head firmly, her blue eyes brimmed with unshed tears as she glanced up through wet lashes and glass lenses.

“Not yet. Not on him.” The Hoxian tangled her fingers again with his, and Lilanee squeezed in return, taking a shuddering breath and trying on a shaky smile at his comforting words and acknowledgement that whilst it might not help, he would still come. For her.

“I think the best way to convince your mother that your father is alive is for him to speak for himself, and that will require quite a bit of magic. I am willing to try."

Exhaling with relief, the student nodded again, standing in the room awkwardly as she watched the dark haired boy prepare. Everus? By the Glorious Mines of Mestigia, Lilanee had no clocking idea where to begin!

Tom. Raen Tom. Yes, he would know where to find a holy servant of the clock goddess of Anaxas.

Moving to assist Ezre where she could, before returning to her own dorm to finish packing her things and arranging school leave passes and airship seats, Lilanee felt like she was moving in a whirlwind. Her mind was a thousand places at once, and it poured from her lips in an endless stream of raw thought and emotion. Her field was a spray of bold vibrant emotional hues that radiated from her person like some sort of static aura. As they took to the sky by the lowering of the sun, the red haired girl leaned against the warmth of her partner, speaking about the injustice of it all and the amazing things her father had done and seen and discovered. About how he met her mother, their strange courtship in the barrens of Hesse under the nomadic tent of her grandfather and how she could never understand how the two of them worked out. Eventually though, the gentle hum of the engines and the maelstrom of the day caught up to her, and Lilanee found her lashes slipping closed, breathing gentle as her body relaxed into exhausted slumber against the warmth of the Hoxian.

(See here for a glorious thread during the time Lilanee is asleep)

---

14th Vortas, Late Evening

Jolting with a sharp snore, Lilanee sat bolt upright, bleary and only half awake as the large airborne vessel shuddered with turbulence and the boy she slept against struggled to compose himself.

“Mmnowhat? Are we in Vienda already?” She muttered, adjusting her glasses where they had slipped down her nose and stretching with a stifled yawn.

“By Ophur I don’t even remember falling asleep. I—” Looking at Ezre, the red head’s eyes widened as she fumbled for a kerchief from her sleeve.

“Oh Ez! You’re bleeding!” The teen exclaimed, stretching her hand to give him the kerchief whilst she tried to remember how to help stem bleeding noses. Head back, pinch the bridge? Or was it head between the legs?

“Are you okay? Should I call for…someone?” Her blue eyes were clearer now, all dregs of sleep chased away by concern, hands a second away from performing an amateur examination of his person. Could it be the change in air pressure? Her ears had hurt when they took off, but only a little. Maybe Ezre was more sensitive?

“I have some water, did you want some water? Or a lay down?”

[Ezre Vks]

Dormitory C

Late Evening on the 14th of Vortas, 2719

"It was not my intention to accuse you of any of those things." Ezre offered softly, dark eyes widening at the various Hessean slurs Lilanee spoke of with such a deep familiarity. His delicate features drew into a frown, just as aware of their cultural differences as he was of their anatomical ones. Her talk of her father had drawn him in, closer, curious, storing away in the more analytical recesses of his mind Clairvoyantly-pertinent information and finding the promise of so many personal items within reach important and encouraging until he spoke up about his doubts only to reveal some of her own,

"Worship is a choice. Honoring the Circle comes in many forms, gifted as we are to be galdorkind. The gods may very well exist without any concern for our attention toward them for all I know. I am not judging you or your family or your Kingdom." He didn't apologize, not directly, though his words were not meant to dismiss her, either. Now, steeped as it was in so much emotion and urgency, was simply not the time for a conversation on beliefs and their outcomes. Instead, the Hoxian attempted to shift the direction of their focus, fingers tangling with hers for a few moments before he slipped away again to finish collecting his things and clean his room.

Ezre was a patient listener, making sure to give Lilanee all the room she needed to process what had unfolded in her life, letting her lead the conversation while he simply waded through all her words, mingled in the bright colors of her field. Interjecting only when needed, his quiet support was his own form of Guidance. The hasty retreat from Brunnhold had felt like some rumbling earthquake threatening to swallow him whole, from packing to rushed permissions to conversing quietly in the Church of the Moon to finally finding an airship that left the red-walled fortress of a city at a reasonable enough house. He moved from one moment to the next with all the graceful calm he was known for, patient and attentive.

If he was at all persistent about one thing, it was a private room aboard their airship for the six-hour flight from Brunnhold to Vienda. Disinterested in the common areas, especially during such a frequented trajectory between the university and the capital, especially in the late evening house when they finally were able to leave. The journey was considered too short to be one that required sleeping cabins, unlike his trips back to Hox, and yet the small room's couches were comfortable enough to recline on should one decide they needed a nap.

Conversation waned and yet he was too full of anticipation to doze off, mulling over Lilanee's words, sifting through cultural expectations, and planning out various funerary rites he knew may be part of the ceremonies. Eventually, exhausted from tears and words and so many emotions, the young woman he cared so much about drifted to sleep, comfortably curled with himself near the window while he read through notes in his grimoire, attempting to work through various methods of Clairvoyantly reaching across the Kingdom in hopes of making some effort to see if her father was, actually ... alive.

His thoughts wandered, however, from life to death, and a restlessness stirred through him. Inked fingers dug into pockets and found familiar shapes of various scrystones—if Ezre had any wealth at all, it could be measured in seer stones alone—until his thumb traced over the whalebone rose into which he'd had set the other half of the set he'd had made for himself and Tom Cooke.

clairvoyant intermission

clairvoyant intermission >>

"Willow Ave-vre'ia—excuse me—" He gurgled, dark eyes fluttering open blearily as he closed off his magical connection in time to be jolted by both turbulence and the sour burn of bile. He was surely melting, having stretched himself too far, his normally airy field laden with Clairvoyant mona agitated and stinging his senses the way smoke did after snuffing out a candle. His head ached, dizzily so, and it took a few slow blinks to clear more than just tears from his thick lashes—the trails down his delicate cheeks were pink instead of clear, joining the splatters of blood that already stained the too-high collar of the green uniform he'd not taken time to change out of.

He had to get up. He had to move. His inked hands were gentle but swift, ignoring the seerstone he'd dropped on the floor while bloodied fingers extricated himself from Lilanee's vicinity. He felt the surge of nausea with the rough bob of the airship, sliding himself off the seat like liquid poured into an already full cup, red trickle from his ear trailing lazily down his neck as he staggered to his feet,

"—I am alright—I was casting—scrying—" Ezre thought himself well enough to form full sentences, but his voice felt strange in his throat and he shook his head, giving up and raising one hand to ask her to wait as he tossed himself toward the door, fumbling with the handle to the little private cabin and scrambling out as soon as he could fit his slight form through the space,

"—dru, no one is needed—let me just—I am ill—"

The Hoxian made it into the hall, disoriented for a moment, leaning against the bright floral wallpaper with a grunt as he swallowed thickly, holding in with all the endurance he could muster the urge to vomit right in front of their room. Dragging himself toward the center of their aisle of rooms, hearing snippets of muffled conversation, a bit of laughter, and possibly someone snoring—all if it both amplified and muffled by the ringing in his ears, he found his way toward the rather impressive feats of aeronautical engineering that were airship public restrooms, needing somewhere to empty whatever was attempting to crawl its way out of his stomach in fiery objection to his Clairvoyant overstepping.

Ah, Anaxas—the Kingdom's fine vessel presented it's views with clearly displayed signs marking one set of doors for male use and the other for female. As if it mattered when one was bleeding from the face and about to throw up everywhere!

Just cxîl.

Ezre had made a choice—his Brunnhold uniform made that clear, even if it felt like a sort of capitulation, a bit of pretend, a cultural charade—but when he curled a trembling hand around the door handle that was begrudgingly appropriate, a gruff riposte from within caught him off-guard,

"Occupied! For Alioe's sake!"

He leaned his forehead against the door anyway for a moment, breaths ragged, desperate to not leave a red smear, only to gurgle again and simply slide to the next door which was—praise the Circle!—open. The indicative sign did not apply to him, honestly, but neither did the other, and so the Hexxos Guide made it to the safety of a tiny, overwhelmingly mint-scented room with a tiny sink and a tiny over-decorated hole that he gladly collapsed over without any thought to close the door behind him so much as to just not vomit all over himself or the tiny hand-painted tiles of the floor.

Still dizzy, he longed to stick his entire face under the tap and turn on the sink, but the glorified closet of a lavatory was barely big enough for even the small-framed Hoxian to turn around in and let his shaking, bloodied hands twist the handle and plug the drain, curling inked fingers around the cool, polished porcelain in an unknowing imitation of the raen he'd just been Clairvoyantly conversing with. Dark eyes watched a few more drips of red escape from over the curve of his tattooed lip, escaping his nose and spreading like blossoming flowers in the water that began to fill the sink.

Unsure if Lilanee had followed or not, he glanced up into the small, off-center mirror with a broken-breathed sigh before cupping scarred palms beneath the stream and splashing his clammy face, moving to wash away all the lingering runoff from his spellwork.

"Young man—!" Came a hiss from the door, open as it was, and the Hexxos looked up, inked fingers at his chin while water ran down his face, clear now despite the congealing blood that clung to his nostrils. The older redhead in her fancy updo and fancier skirt suit stared at the dark-haired Guide, her green eyes wide with shock at either the dark ink under his tawny skin or the blood on his uniform or the fact that he stood in the small lavatory not marked for his kind.

"—my mistake. It was a slight necessity—"

One dripping hand trailed to unplug the sink and snatched the miniature hand towel on its way back up to his face, holding it under his nose,

"—air pressure."

He mumbled a bit of Deftung into the fabric as if it covered the lie he felt so compelled to say as if it excused his perceived transgression, already flushed cheeks burning with a heat that crawled down his clammy neck and clawed along his spine. It was more frustration than shame, and he was forced to awkwardly dance his way from the room under the woman's stern and horrified glare, the pair of them moving like frightened animals forced into the same corner until she could slam the door at his back. He had nothing to be ashamed of and yet the pang of it crawled into his still-churning stomach, settling there like a lump of magma.

Ezre groaned, weak-kneed and looking to the Hessean to hopefully be right there, ready to assist him back to their cabin.

[Lilanee Kuleda]

14th Vortas, 2719
BRUNNHOLD TO VIENDA | LATE EVENING, OVER THE CITY

The red haired girl frowned as she watched the boy move from a solid to a liquid state, slipping from her concerned hands and stumbling to his feet. He assured her he was okay, uttering something about casting, as he took himself down the hall towards the rest room. Lilanee sat up straight on her chair, still too dressed in the Brunnhold greens with her dark cloak drawn close around her shoulders, leaning down to pick up the stone that had fallen to the floor. She lifted it, looking closely at the Clairvoyant tool.

Who, exactly, had he been scrying with?

It was probably not proper to follow the Hoxian into the bathroom, but frankly the Hessean didn’t much take to proper these days. Her periwinkle gaze looked down at the kerchief in one hand, stone in the other, and tucked them both in her pocket as she stood decisively. Privacy was important to Ezre, she knew that, even as much as they had shared and were learning together he was still Hoxian. But honestly, there was a time for everything.

“You’re ill? I don’t actually know any illnesses that involve bleeding from the ears Ezre. I mean I do, but they are horrific. I’ve read about whole townships being wiped out by di—oh.” The young woman paused in the hallway, unsure of where the public bathrooms were for a moment. She turned one way, walking a few steps and looking for a sign, finding it finally where it promptly pointed her in the other direction. Tsking to herself, Lilanee turned on her heel and strode towards the clearly outlined “Gentlemen” and “Ladies” lavatories.

"Young man—!"

A flare of protective annoyance surged in the budding historian as she saw the older woman staring with shock and disgust into the women’s bathroom. Murmured sounds in a tone that could only be Ezre wafted from the open door, and Lilanee felt her heated words catch in her throat as the tattooed boy shuffled from the room only to have the door slam behind him.

“Impolite, uncaring, awful old spinster! I hope the next time you require aid, you are treated just as poorly.” She shouted at the door, curling an arm around the raven haired Hexxos’ waist and encouraging his arm over her shoulders.

“You know that’s the ladies bathroom? Are you sure you don’t need a healer or something? Did you fall at all? I don’t feel anything out of place.” Her brow was still drawn in concern, and her field almost shied back from the runoff in his aura as her fingers danced over his ribs and clavicle.

“By the Circle, Vks, who exactly were you scrying and how long for? Whatever it was, you have far overdone it. Come on, slowly, back to our seats.” Leading him to their room, she carefully helped the boy to sit down, before crossing her arms and looking down at him for a moment with her stern frown.

“Why did you call me vre’ia? Is that like silly? Because I mean, I know there’s nothing wrong with speaking to Gods should one believe in that, but Hesse isn’t silly it’s just very direct. They believe in nature, and that which can be felt or seen or heard or tasted. Gods are none of these things, and superstitions are irreverent to the gold in your basket or the sun on your back. The mona in your hands, that’s what we believe in. A warrior feels the sentience around them, and binds their will with theirs, they drawn strength from the food they eat and the air they breathe.” Her mind caught on the word he had used earlier, honing in on the conversation already passed out of concerned annoyance. Why had he scryed someone secretly? Had she asked too much of him? Why do it when she slept?

Why hide it?

“Sorry, that’s really not important right now it just popped into my head. You had me worried, and then you just wandered off, like no big deal? I didn’t mean to sweep you into this, I realise now that I put a lot on you. It’s a bit late but…you don’t have to do this. I mean, mother isn’t going to like, bite my head off or anything violent. She is just so Hessean, and the idea of accepting he is dead when I know he isn’t is just the last straw. I think you could explain to her about all these things. Or not, I mean, she probably will laugh at you. Well not laugh. I don’t think she is capable of laughter, well not for me anyway. Maybe she laughs with father. I don’t know. She’s sour and so set in her ways. Is she vre’ia?” There was no filter in between her mind and her mouth, words coming as fast as they formed in her head. Shaking her head, the red haired Hessean raised her hand and waved.

“No nevermind all that. What I mean to say is, clocking well be more careful Ezre. I was scared, seeing all that blood, then you just wafted off like the King of Anaxas looking for his wheel of brie. What if you had passed out? I certainly can’t lift you, I’ve got no upper arm strength. Good Lady, imagine what your family would think? I whisk you away to Vienda, only to have you over exerted and bleeding from the stop clocking ears!” And there it was, her rambling, wrought from worry and frustration, a finger pushing her glasses back up again before returning to the crossed arms over chest.

"I've already got one loved one to worry about at the moment, I certainly don't need you to make it two." She huffed, finally pausing long enough to allow Ezre to insert his own answers, blue eyes staring from under a still drawn brow,

[Ezre Vks]

In the Clouds

Late Afternoon on the 14th of Vortas, 2719

Ezre heard her confusion, vaguely aware of the jarring difference between spoken words and the words he'd just been hearing purely in his head. She was not a Clairvoyant sorcerer and the after-effects of overtaxing oneself could be rather frightening or disturbing if one wasn't so used to the sight of blood as the ninth form mortuary sciences student had become. He could only glance at her as he slipped from the door with some helpless look, but then he was gone, staggering down the hall like just some student in the Stacks on St Grumbles, struggling to contain what little he'd eaten all day in the whirlwind of preparations to leave.

He was still dripping—face wet, barely managing to spit out a mouthful of almost too metallic to be palatable water he'd rinsed with while the tap ran—when he swiftly exited the cramped lavatory, dark eyes narrowing in barely-contained offense when the older woman chided him. The Hoxian hardly had it in him to answer the other galdor, still not sure how he was standing considering how dizzy he was and disconnected he felt from his own body, thoughts still coalescing from their monic journey across the Anaxi landscape toward Vienda far faster than their beast of an airship chugged and bumped along.

His eyes widened for a moment, however, as Lilanee spoke up on his behalf, just as her arms reached to support him. Her aura flared brightly, a flash of bold color and strong, protective emotion, and Ezre winced, closing his eyes for a few fluttering heartbeats as she spoke of the obvious distinction made in who could use which small restroom while her hands wandered in concern over his body. Glancing at the Hessean, the dark-haired student made an impatient noise, tongue against the back of his teeth briefly. There was a hint of defiance that crept into his words, a sharp edge that wavered with his nausea,

"Would it have been better for me to empty my stomach on the floor here in the hall? Why does it matter for which socially-defined gender one room was made for when neither apply to me? I am not male just because I dress as Anaxi expect a male to dress or answer to the naming conventions Anaxi have designated for my anatomy. I am not female, either. I gave up those identities. It was my sacrifice—I mean—I just needed somewhere—I did not want to throw up all over the airship. Dru, I did not fall. I reached too far magically, but I succeeded, none the less." His free hand shook as he brought the towel back to his face, wiping water that was still dribbling down his delicate features, and his other hand gripped the redheaded young woman's uniform coat very tightly, needing her to counterbalance his movements.

There was a bit of triumph in his tone. He had done what he set out to do, after all, and his brain had not entirely melted out of his ears even if it had felt like it would.

The pair made it back to the cabin and he melted into the seat, pausing to undo the buttons of his itchy, uncomfortable, bloodied green coat and slip it off. He finished wiping his face, his ears, his neck, and did not answer any of her scrying questions right away, staring at the smears on the small towel as if they held some sense of direction. He'd pushed so far! He shouldn't have, but also—

"It was only a few minutes. Maybe less. I am not sure. Thoughts move so fast, vre'ia—why?"

The Guide leaned his head back, eyelids heavy, very aware of the shift in the Hessean's body language as she stood before him, arms crossed over her chest, concern draining away into something more frustrated. A frown. He couldn't help it; he closed his eyes for just a heartbeat or two while she spoke of her own culture's spiritual viewpoints—or lack thereof—and the room spun with him in the outer edges of it, spinning while his heart still raced. He exhaled slowly, fingers reaching up to the buttons of the no less scratchy, slightly thinner, terribly uncomfortable pale green shirt of the Brunnhold standard uniform, loosening the collar, freeing himself from the fabric all the way down to the inked lines on his chest.

She was still talking.

"Lilanee, I—" His eyes fluttered open, "Silly? Dru—Now is not the time to discuss the gods and—wait—"

"Do you—" —really think I think so little of you?

He couldn't get a word in, for Lilanee kept going. Instead, Ezre's jaw clenched and he sat up, immediately regretting the motion as his small, inked world spun again on its axis. He listened, expression unreadable until his eyebrows drew together in frustration. His stomach churned and he gurgled, reaching to dry heave into the bloodied towel, wishing he had water to rinse the disgusting sour that lingered at the back of his throat.

The Hessean's words kept coming, washing over him like an unrelenting tide, until finally—finally—she slowed. He heard them all, he did, for the Hoxian was a far better, far more attentive listener, than even his quiet self appeared to be. He sifted through all she'd said, though it was difficult to follow along with her emotional side trails about her mother, about a word she didn't know, about him scrying without waking her as if she was still worried he didn't include her on purpose like when he'd returned home to Hox in Roalis.

He didn't miss her last sentence, a flush of color already staining his cheeks from her all but shouting at him, but those last words—

Ezre sighed.

Carefully, cautiously, the Guide met her pale, bright gaze. He set the towel over one knee and sat up, just a little, to reach with a tired, heavy-feeling hand toward her sleeve. Slowly he convinced her to uncross her arms if she'd let him, taking her hand to place it over the left side of his chest, palm against tattooed skin,

"Vre." He answered her most important question first, the vr-sound almost like a soft exhale, closer to an hr- in Estuan only with his teeth against his lower lip, "Do you think me so shallow, Lilanee, that I would view you as silly? Do you think so little of me that I would walk away from supporting you? Dru, listen. Vre. Vre is Deftung for heart—"

Ezre pressed her hand firmly so she couldn't deny the sensation of his still-rapid, still ridiculously off-kilter thrum of life, breathing the onomatopoeic syllables for the sound as if in emphasis:

"—vre-dun-vre-dun-vre-dun. Do you feel it?"

Releasing her hand, allowing her to leave it where she wished or pull it away, inked fingers brushed along the side of the redheaded young woman's face, tucking stray curls away behind her ear to gently trail a thumb over her cheek,

"Vre'ia," he offered, the vr-sound taking on a much more recognizable v-emphasis when paired with the diminutive 'ia, "literally means little heart. Or a piece of. It is a term of—affection—er—endearment that I do not use lightly. With you."

Leaning back again, Ezre did his best not to slump over entirely, not to curl up and take over the whole seat, bringing his hands up to cover his face for several slow breaths. He spoke against scarred palms, between his fingers, not hiding so much as protecting himself from all the stimulus that still threatened to overwhelm him after stretching himself so thin with that Clairvoyant connection,

"I reached out to Tom Cooke. I did not find the conversation with Everus Alinet forthcoming enough with her assistance on finding religious support in Vienda for this funerary endeavor. The Incumbent has better references. Also, how do I know I will be welcomed into your home? What if I need somewhere to stay? I was—I needed to—I did not want to wake you. You seemed sad. Upset. Rest seemed good for you. I also wanted to practice. I wanted to really see what I was capable of, to test my boundaries—"

Hands slid away, downward over a haggard face, coming to rest on his knees, curling fingers into the thick, green fabric with only a hint of disdain flickering into his expression at how uncomfortable they really were,

"—so that when we are in Vienda in your father's house, with your father's things, I can try to search for him. For you. I know now it is possible, but I will need a second caster. Someone to interpret while I attempt to be the conduit for connection. It will be much further than the distance from Brunnhold to the capitol, but I believe myself capable. Clairvoyant overstepping tends to affect the sinuses, blood flow, equilibrium, and a sense of connectivity to one's body. It will pass, even if it is perhaps intimidating in appearances. I am sorry to have worried you."

He looked away then, eyes stinging with all the emotion he'd admitted to, all the emotions he'd felt along that brilliantly blazing conversation with the raen flooding back into his mind with overwhelming force. Ezre breathed a ragged, deep breath, "I am nervous. About meeting your mother. About being who—what—I am as Hexxos, as cxîl. My umah said it is good that one Guide has left Kzecka after so many centuries hiding in the shadow cast by Vroh Guar, but that does not make the duties I feel called to any easier. If your father is not dead, I want to prove this truth also. I do not feel adequate, but I want to be present for you and your needs."

The dark-haired Hoxian frowned, remembering all the self-doubt he kept hidden, all the self-doubt he'd let Tom see in their shared mental space because he was too inexperienced to maintain his own inner composure, letting the worry sink in and gnaw away at what little rhakor he had at this moment anyway, "I am afraid that even though you have seen all of me, you do not yet see me for who I am."

[Lilanee Kuleda]

14th Vortas, 2719
BRUNNHOLD TO VIENDA | LATE EVENING, OVER THE CITY

Would it have been better for me to empty my stomach on the floor here in the hall?

“No, I—”

Why does it matter for which socially-defined gender one room was made for when neither apply to me?

“It doesn’t but—”

I am not male just because I dress as Anaxi expect a male to dress or answer to the naming conventions Anaxi have designated for my anatomy.

“I know, it’s just—”

I am not female, either.

Lilanee pressed her lips together for a moment, holding the boy—not boy—holding the Hoxian up as they moved to the private cabin, letting his irritation wash over her and fuel her own frustrations. They came out then, in her flurry of words and thoughts jumbled between the conversation at Brunnhold and the moments here. She knew she was rambling, knew she was talking too much, but gods damn it the Hessean couldn’t stop. It was the only way she knew how to cope with anything, with everything. It was easier to focus on things like perceived insults and her own shortcomings than the curiosities of gender neutrality or cultural slights.

She finished her verbal dump without considering what she’d actually said, only realizing when the color appeared on Ezre’s tawny cheeks. Her blue eyes widened, but in true blunt Hessean form, she owned the slip of the tongue, lifting her chin slightly as though daring the other student to challenge her.

Instead, the weary galdor reached for her, tugging on her sleeve till she unwove her hands from across her body, and pressed her own palm against his chest. She listened, her ears burning with shame at his gentle admonishment.

“Of course not.” Lilanee said quickly, embarrassed by her thoughtless accusation, but fascinated by his words. He repeated the Deftung vre, and true to her nature Lilanee repeated it softly, testing the word in the way he pronounced it. She stood there, hand on his chest, freckled face flushed as Ezre mimicked the sound of his thrumming heartbeat.

Do you feel it?

The red head nodded mutely, wide eyed at the already dawning realization of what was being said to her, unable to hold onto her frustration. His hand swept across her cheek, tucking away stray curls, as his mouth explained the word in full.

Vre’ia. Little heart. A term of affection. From him. For her.

“Oh.” The teenager said quietly, drawing her hand away to curl her fingers under and press it to her chest as he held his face in his hands, the wind escaping her sails. Ezre was speaking again about his scrying, normal conversation as though neither of them had just confessed to something more than just a more-than-friends coupling, and Lilanee inhaled sharply. Onto the matter at hand. Righty-o!

“Well, that is a fair point, and I appreciate your concern. But, honestly, do you really think I would let you out into Vienda on your own?” Sweeping onto the chair beside him, tucking close to the Hoxian to allow him to rest against her, Lilanee drew his fallen scrystone from her pocket and placed it in his hand with a soft tsk.

“Mother welcomes us both, or she denies us both. I won’t stay in a home that can’t accept my…partner.” She tripped over the word, not at all sure what to call their relationship. He was still her best friend, but it felt lacking just to call him that. And boyfriend was so ridiculous, and perhaps unbefitting. Suitor felt too formal. Partner. That would do.

-so that when we are in Vienda in your father's house, with your father's things, I can try to search for him. For you. I know now it is possible,

Lilanee felt her pulse racing heavily in her ears, and her eyes stung with tears suddenly, forcing the girl to glance away and blink rapidly to clear them. He would look for her father, not physically, but by the Clairvoyancy. Far more intimate, far more effective. If her father was alive, surely this would prove it. And if not?

She couldn’t bring herself to think about it.

I am nervous. About meeting your mother.

Looking back at him, Lilanee frowned, turning slightly to face the Hexxos even as he struggled to compose himself after so much frank talk. Her brow drew closer again, and she shook her head.

“My mother is true Hessean, and I won’t lie to you, she will probably be full of things to say about religious believes and communication with the dead. But, you shouldn’t have to be nervous Ezre. I don’t hold her opinions in high regard, not when it comes to father. Nor, when the time comes, about you. I won’t let you be berated by her, if that’s what worries you.” Her hand moved to cover his own, resting together on his knee, searching his face.

"I am afraid that even though you have seen all of me, you do not yet see me for who I am."

Lilanee felt his words in her chest, like her heart had just fallen into her stomach. Guilt, that’s what it was, and it didn’t feel very nice. That feeling of concern nagged at her again, and the teenager felt a sense of panic. Could she do nothing right in his presence? Swallowing her fear, the red haired Hessean felt her brow draw further.

“I don’t…I don’t understand Ezre. I’m trying. I’ve put aside my disbelief to open my mind to ghosts and raen, and I’m being really careful about the Gods. I’m attempting to learn more about the pantheon, so I can understand your religious beliefs better, I even borrowed a book on the Ten Gods of Vita. I…I’m trying but…I don’t understand what you mean?” She felt stupid, and worried, and afraid. What was she missing, why was she missing it?

“Is this…is this about the bathroom thing? Because I was just…it’s the…Anaxas has…anatomically speaking…” The Hessean struggled, putting her foot deeper and deeper into the hole she was digging with her ignorance. Her mind was literal, it operated in the realm of tangible physical things. What she could touch, or see, or hear, or smell. The Hoxian felt very male, if anyone could attest to that it was Lilanee. But he wasn’t. Or he was but also was not.

She couldn’t understand, and it frustrated her.

Unconsciously, her fingertip drifted to her lip, pressing it between white teeth as she tried to back out of her mess.

“I’m sorry.” The freckled student almost whined, wishing she could think more openly. Like that night in Roalis. With the Chan. Thats what they needed, Chan. Maybe she should just keep a flask of it on standby, for the times such as this.

[Ezre Vks]

In the Clouds

Late Evening on the 14th of Vortas, 2719

"Iassumed if I was unwelcome, you would be, also. That is why I made sure to reach out to a friend who would allow us both to stay." He murmured breathlessly, moving like an osta in the sun to lean against Lilanee as she sat next to him. Welcoming the purposeful press of her body in invitation, he didn't resist the comforts of her familiarity. The dark-haired Guide might have wanted more of her hands on his person, the tawny skin stretched over his heart missing the touch of her palm once she pulled it away, once he made the mistake of dismissing the emotional moment in nervous vulnerability.

She did not reject his admission—

Inked fingers turned the scrystone she placed in his palm over and his dark eyes strayed from her freckled face to look at the rose carved out of ivory with the ferrous monic oxide shaped into a sphere in its center. He swallowed a tremor of nausea as if just touching the thing reminded him of the casting he'd just crawled out of, and he exhaled a shaky breath while he tucked it in with the others he'd collected over the years.

—did that mean she felt the same?

If Ezre could measure his worth in anything other than coin, it would be by the sheer value of his seerstone collection, after all.

Or did her restraint in interjecting her own feelings mean she felt differently?

Looking up again as the Hessean stumbled over what to call him, what to call the Hoxian within the growing, changing boundaries of their relationshhip, he smiled, briefly. As cxîl, he was aware he complicated titles, but he'd also simply accepted male pronouns and male linguistic norms while in Anaxas because it mattered so much to the Anaxi culture and mattered so little to himself. He shook his head, gently, regretting the motion with a squeeze of his eyes shut and a hiss. Making sure to meet Lilanee's gaze when she admonished him, he smirked, tilting his hand to curl his fingers together with hers,

"I am not afraid of conflict, though I also am not going to attempt to seek it. I do not want to misstep culturally with your mother and inadvertently hurt you by my ignorance. I have—it has been brought to my attention that I can be harsh with my opinions and too lofty in my Kzecka-formed views." Ezre admitted, voice soft, falling quiet for a moment as he let the worry sink in. Hox was such a different kingdom than Hesse, and the Hexxos were hardly considered the norm in terms of a religious group of people in the frozen north, not like the Mhorven Basheva were. Those who'd become Mhorven were much more widely accepted (and acceptable) than the Carriers of the Dead. The Hexxos were historically ostracized even in their own Kingdom, given their associations with corpses and burials, let alone barely known beyond the shadow of Vroh Guar.

It felt in this moment—still so raw from Clairvoyant conversation without any of his usual external boundaries, still so open and aware of himself and his very vibrant, very strong feelings—as though Lilanee simply refused to see this truth, that she accepted Ezre as a person without bothering to sift beneath the surface. Most of the time, the dark-haired ninth form appreciated her enthusiasm and innocent positivity when it came to how she saw him. He found the way she thought out loud fascinating, and her overabundance of warmth was so very contagious.

He had not been entirely convinced he would enjoy her personality when he'd first met her, but now he had come to crave the balance she brought to his stoic stalwartness more often than he cared to admit.

And, in all fairness despite his teenaged need to be overly dramatic in his own, unemotional way, she did in fact see him, she had, actually seen so much of him already—bits and pieces of himself brought to light from behind his rhakor in their private companionship—but also, she didn't. Not because she didn't want to, but perhaps because he didn't entirely know how to let her.

He frowned, aware that he had misspoke the moment that chilly sensation of panic buzzed at the edges of her heavily polarized field,

"This is not a theological issue."

He attempted and failed at a proper apology, shifting slightly against her frowning self, eyelids fluttering heavily with the willpower it took of his now-achy body to move. The Hoxian squeezed her hand but looked away at the same time, unable to face the emotional expression that had completely taken over her pretty face, "You are allowed your own beliefs, and I appreciate your efforts to understand your magical origins and the Circle who has blessed us all. I also am aware I make everything complicated because of the distance between my feeling, private self and my reserved, public self that is simply a part of a well-developed and culturally expected rhakor. I—dru, vre'ia—you have nothing to be sorry for."

Dark eyes drifted with the motion of her hand, watching the way the Hessean toyed with her lower lip and the way she tucked it, just so, between her teeth in an expression that warmed him on the inside in distracting ways,

"Please do not be sorry. You do not have anything to be sorry for. I fear you simply see me as wise because I have faith and conviction to follow after it, but I fear that I cannot entirely step out from behind the layers of distance that I wear to keep my inner life separated from my life with others, but I also am afraid that if you do see all of me that it will not at all be what you hoped for. I have a strange feeling this is a normal fear once one comes to realize just how much they care about someone else."

He paused and this time his smile was brighter and lingered longer than before, "In some ways, zjai, my being cxîl is tied into those worries. I am aware of my body and its shape, as are you, for we have enjoyed our differences together. I have been aware of how I was born all my life, but there was no pressure on me in Hox to declare myself male simply because of my anatomy. Further, as Hexxos, even though I was not assigned to be a Vessel, I simply gave up my claim to male or female in order to be able to touch the dead without dishonoring their most private selves even in death."

It was a sacrifice made out of respect, but it was very difficult to translate an emotional surrender in words in Deftung, let alone Estuan. Ezre faltered and fell silent for a moment, searching Lilanee's face to see if she understood, to see if perhaps she could infer the deeper layers of meaning that were laid like a burial shroud over his words.

"The Hoxian concept of gender is not tied to physical presentation, unlike Anaxas where everything seems so literal and academic. Mugrobi has a third gender, but as Hexxos I am simply without any. It is a higher function than mere biology, much like how our feelings for each other are a much higher function than friendship or attraction. Would you feel as you do for me if our bodies were the same? Would you—would there be the same physical interest? Would you want to enjoy my company as intimately if we were, in fact, both female? Or is what we have found with each other anchored on my anatomy? I can say I do not think it would matter—for me, as I am—had you been as I appear: male. You would, in my imagination, be no less attractive."

He moved again, slow and careful, and set the hand he'd been holding on his tattooed chest again, her palm back over his heart. Ezre held it there, curling his inked fingers needfully around the back of her hand. He then fell quiet, leaning against the Hessean in a way that allowed him to meet her gaze, though his attention strayed to her lips more than once in a handful of heartbeats,

"I understand the Anaxi binary, the Anaxi need for two sides to every coin, two enemies on every battlefield. I just am not able to conform to it, not entirely. There are times when a coin has no face on it to flip for and when enemies are not so clearly defined. I have chosen to pick my battles. That brief skirmish over where to vomit, well, I think I made the best possible choice, even if that woman may never agree. I must compromise here, far from a home that knows me for all that I am as Hexxos, as cxîl, and as the child of a raen, but I am grateful that I do not have to compromise when I am with you. I know that you always mean what you say, even if perhaps you say it in far more words than necessary. Your sincerity is genuine and lovely, vre'ia, and there are times I envy your transparency."

Ezre smiled again, tilting his head away and back to look at the ceiling of their small cabin as the airship lurched. He groaned, centering himself with a slow breath,

"I do not entirely understand you, either, and in my selfishness, I have not made many attempts to do so beyond what is necessary. I have allowed myself to enjoy what we have, to feel the things we feel, but now that I am faced with meeting your family, I see clearly my own failure to be an acceptable partner in our relationship. It is my duty to honor your family in this time of grieving, whether it is warranted or not, so I need you to help me navigate what I do not know as much as you need me to support you in the direction you know you are going."