worthallthis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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pennysheets2023-06-08 12:30 am
worthallthis) wrote in pennysheets2023-06-08 12:30 am
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Swept into Faerie for @punched_hitler
The realms of faerie love their frivolity. Great gatherings with music and food and dancing and chatter. Soldier doesn't know which great fae lord this is; it isn't like it matters. He's not here to kill any of them. He's here to prevent anything from happening to his own master, so he keeps his attention on him, as is only appropriate.
Though he does find his gaze drifting from his master to the swirl of movement and color from the ballroom floor, from time to time. There are flashes of leaves and talons and raven wings among the dancers, in cloths and hair and eyes, but the rhythm is engaging, the melody is pleasant, and he knows the steps. His feet itch to move, even though he knows he could probably never keep up with the true faerie dancers, and might lose what little he has left of himself if he tries. He still kind of wants to.
He knows he mustn't ask. But apparently his master can tell what he wants, because he finds the cool eyes on him when his gaze wanders back where it belongs. He straightens up, guilty and afraid, but the old fae just smiles indulgently.
"Go on, pet," he says. "I am safe enough for now."
Soldier goes. He doesn't have the same grace as most of the people on that dance floor, as heavy as he is with the metal growing out of his bones, but he has some value as a dancer still. He spins the real fae around to the beat as it picks up in response to the newcomer, strange steps from another life that they manage to pick up with laughter and chattering amongst themselves-- not for him, never for him, but still pleasant to have around him-- and feels almost happy enough to smile. It won't last, it never lasts, and he might come away from the dance with new fangs hooked into his mind, but he doesn't care. He wants to dance.
Though he does find his gaze drifting from his master to the swirl of movement and color from the ballroom floor, from time to time. There are flashes of leaves and talons and raven wings among the dancers, in cloths and hair and eyes, but the rhythm is engaging, the melody is pleasant, and he knows the steps. His feet itch to move, even though he knows he could probably never keep up with the true faerie dancers, and might lose what little he has left of himself if he tries. He still kind of wants to.
He knows he mustn't ask. But apparently his master can tell what he wants, because he finds the cool eyes on him when his gaze wanders back where it belongs. He straightens up, guilty and afraid, but the old fae just smiles indulgently.
"Go on, pet," he says. "I am safe enough for now."
Soldier goes. He doesn't have the same grace as most of the people on that dance floor, as heavy as he is with the metal growing out of his bones, but he has some value as a dancer still. He spins the real fae around to the beat as it picks up in response to the newcomer, strange steps from another life that they manage to pick up with laughter and chattering amongst themselves-- not for him, never for him, but still pleasant to have around him-- and feels almost happy enough to smile. It won't last, it never lasts, and he might come away from the dance with new fangs hooked into his mind, but he doesn't care. He wants to dance.
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Unless-- "You have not always been fae?" he guesses, and for a wild moment he feels something almost like hope. He doesn't know why or what for, if he would hope to be someday equal to the masters himself, or just for someone who might understand what it's like living among them while being separate from them, and yet not quite human anymore either.
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Steve makes a face, which is somehow both apologetic and unapologetic, at the same time. "No, I have been," he admits, not looking at Soldier for a moment, eyes going to the path they're walking, then the grain of the wood of his spear handle, then the wicked point of it.
His voice is strangely nonchalant, quiet and understated, with a little twist to his lips when he says, very much intending it for Soldier's ears only, "I just haven't always been powerful."
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Still, he does have a point. Fae are not good at change. "What were you like before you were powerful," he asks, keeping it quiet as well. If this merrow doesn't want it to be heard beyond the two of them, he will follow that cue.
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But Steve focuses on the question he was asked.
"Weak," he says, simply, his eyes flicking to Soldier and then away again. He hopes his brutal honesty can be another olive branch to the human, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt him, still, to offer it. He always was prideful.
"Small. Undesirable and overlooked. I was - nothing. No one - well," he finally laughs, a little self-deprecating. "I'm not much of anyone, now. But it's a little harder for anyone to look over me, at least."
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He's trying to sound lighthearted, but there's a small, soft note in there somewhere that can't help but come across as bitter.
Then a soft laugh, as he tries to regroup. "I am still male, these days," he points out, in case that needs pointing out.
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The merrow is being remarkably tolerant. Soldier considers whether it would be wise to ask a question. "How did you get big?" he finally does ask, though there's a tentative quality to it, like he is ready to leap back should he take offense.
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And it's what he gives now: "Magic," is the simplest answer, and he lets that sit for a moment. "Not mine," he elaborates, after a beat. "It probably shouldn't have even worked. It was - a bad idea. But I'm good at chasing those down."
He pauses again, then adds, "It's not a type of magic that I think anyone like Lord Pierce should ever know about."
well this sure did get accidentally archived
And if Pierce figures out who he spent this portion of the Hunt with, there will be no escaping the questions.
<33 and then it took me half a month to respond ;;
For a minute, at least.
Then it opens, again. "He would make you tell him," he concludes, not quite a question. "Because you're his man."
He doesn't look happy, but he nods. "Then I won't tell you." He doesn't want to make things worse for Soldier. Or himself. He doesn't want Pierce knowing the truth.
"I guess we'll have to find things other than ours pasts to talk about," he suggests, with a rueful smile, and pauses, before he asks, "If you didn't have to be here tonight. Hunting. What would you like to be doing?"
There - a personal question that's hopefully not off-limits.
we're just a coupla slow people :D it's fine
Which does make Steve pretty unusual, for a fae. Changing, and all.
Then again, everything else about him is unusual, too.
He feels safe enough to turn the question back on him. "What would you be doing. Obviously not this." After all, Steve still isn't really holding his spear right.
lolol SUPER slow in this case /o\
Also, he's doing his best with the spear, but he's just not used to all the weight associated with a weapon this large. It's not that it's too heavy for him, it's that he expects his environment to react to it - and him - differently.
He sees Soldier eyeing him, and laughs a little, quietly. "Maybe I should say I'd rather be asking you for lessons on how to fit in a little better."
Because, after all, "Maybe I'd be swimming. Or painting. Or both."
s'all good. I am here for it even if you take months
"I don't fit in," he counters. "I can be overlooked, if I am where I am supposed to be and doing what I am supposed to be doing, but I do not fit in. I would not be much help there."
He scans the woods. They dogs baying is further away now. He picks up the pace a little, not wanting to lose sound of them entirely. "If I can find fiction, I read that first, but I will read anything. How do you paint underwater? Do you have dry places?"
<33
Albeit the more frustrating of them, as well.
He matches Soldier's pace when he picks it up; Steve would much rather just be left behind, but - no. That would be suspicious, and displease Lord Pierce, and he isn't going to let any of that come down on Soldier's head. It's why they're here with those boar spears in the first place.
He does make a mental note - fiction is preferred - before he grins a little. "We do have dry places, although they're few and far between. But we also have ways of painting underwater. You just need the right paint. And only merrows get to see it."
He tilts his head, considering, then grins. "The truth is, there's no substitute for the way paints work on dry land, though. Mortals have come up with some truly amazing inventions. And they're so creative."
He can't very well wax eloquent about how impressed he is with human art anywhere, else, so Soldier might be getting a bit more enthusiasm than he bargained for.
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"Are they?" he asks, more out of bafflement than out of real curiosity. He knows a few more of them in this realm, but mostly the others are either afraid all the time, enchanted, or very boring and shallow. And he certainly isn't creative. Unless you count ways to kill people.
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Killing people can still involve creativity, he'd agree if asked.
"Most fae are..." He tilts his head, as though he's maybe trying to come up with a diplomatic way to say what he's thinking, "much better at taking than giving. They prefer consuming over creating. Not all of us, I'd like to think. But many. Especially those with no reason to be otherwise."
Those with power, he maybe means.
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Soldier does allow himself a little snort at the idea of fae being good takers. He's not wrong, after all. Soldier has seen it. He's lived it. He might not remember where he's from or what life was like before, but he knows it was different, and that it was taken from him. He can't do anything about it, so he has long ago stopped being angry, but he still knows it.
"And you aren't one of those," he surmises. "Because no one let you take anything except what you were given."
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Even if he would like to take this Soldier, and take him far away from here. He would mean it as liberation. Even if there's a part of him that might want to keep him. That isn't right. He wouldn't do it.
"I don't know how long we can live like this. We already have such a small part of the world."
Most of the fae ignore it, focus on the power they hold in the places they hold it. But while the world is very big, the parts of it they hold feel like they're getting smaller.
Even the parts that humans haven't encroached on as much, like the deeps. Not yet. But it's coming. "And humans are not only creative - they're curious."
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And he doesn't want any pattern he might or might not have seen to get this fae in trouble.
"We should go find the hunt," he says after that pause.
LITERALLY three months late (with starbucks)
But they are in danger of falling too far behind, and that isn't really acceptable, no matter how little interest he has in any of this. He's here because Soldier's here, and Soldier is bound by far more rules than Steve. He won't risk the man's safety or what little freedom (or even the sick mockery of it) he has by being selfish.
Not now.
"All right," he agrees, if reluctantly, and picks up the pace. "I don't suppose Lord Pierce is the kind to stay out partying all night, after they catch their boars?"
Re: LITERALLY three months late (with starbucks)
He doesn't know for sure when he might see this merrow again. And he finds this has been-- novel. And not as threatening as he'd been certain it would be, not as many probing questions or even any attempts at enchantment or rattling the spells already on him.
"Which family are you staying with," he asks. Because he's been in this part of faerie for both of these events, so it's unlikely he's speeding back to the coast to the merrow territories every night. Maybe he can find a way to... visit. Or at least finagle to be in the same place at the same time again.
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"The Eriskas," he says, because Soldier is right - the sea is too far to return to on a regular basis, so he's managed to forge enough connections with a local family that they've agreed to give him temporary lodgings. (In truth, they don't know he's a merrow, but then, no one expects a male merrow to look like him.) It's an old, powerful family - though of course not as powerful as Pierce - with aging matriarchs and more cousins twice and thrice removed than anyone cares to count, which had made it much easier to find a place there. There's even a branch of the family with old Nixie blood.
"But I can come and go as I please," he adds. He'll also happily work with Soldier's schedule, such as it is, because it seems, "You'd be willing to see me again?"
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He glances sidelong at the merrow again. "I have a choice?" he asks, voice pointedly mild. Yes, this fae has been... weird. In a good way. But he can never entirely trust that. Fae don't treat humans like they have a choice, pretty much ever.