[When Hayame had first moved to Alenroux... She had done so not just to be in a place that felt more comfortable and natural to a frontier jinba from Japan's medieval period, but also to avoid living in a city where she felt like an outcast. Then (perhaps still now), very few members of Meridian were as uncompromising or unforgiving as she. Her willingness to condemn those within their own ranks that she found lacking and actions she found traitorous had hardly earned her friends, particularly in earlier days where so many shard-bearers seemed reluctant to commit more fully to their faction or the Oracle conflict... and even amongst Springstar citizens, with Oracles lost to Zenith, they had all not been particularly celebrated.
Now, though... She has been bestowed the title of Decurion, like Liem Talbott had before her. After their successful claim on the Exalt Oracle, she had distinguished herself in the competition for the Harbinger. And thanks to the mysterious broadcast that revealed every single moment of what had happened in that labyrinth... She had become known to Springstar in a way she never imagined possible nor ever would have allowed. Being shown slaying a prominent Zenite, good, being shown fighting through the compulsions of the various magicked rooms in the maze, fine, being seen willing to kill Meridians if they were possessed or acting against their faction, sure, even that she might have been able to deal with, but...
They had also seen her kissing the man who she had hidden a relationship with for nearly half a year, even though part of why she had concealed it was fears for what it might do to their respective reputations. They had seen her nearly overcome by the desires of hunger in that room that crashed against the hungers of a sorceress, heavy and consuming. They had seen the tender moments shared between her and her war god, the admission of why cutting the beautiful, flowing mane from her head had been a sacrifice worth granting in the name of victory. And instead of turning against her, condemning her for weakness, or thinking of her as some perverse woman...
Springstar had embraced her. And she had run from it, at first, a being trained to crave and need praise but one who had never received it on anything compared to that scale. Over time she had begun to accept that... things had been seen, and there was no taking it back. That somehow... people felt endeared to her, or grateful, somehow, even though they didn't actually know her, and with Claude's coaching... She has tried to present the image of a woman that thought she belonged in that shining spotlight. (She was trying, anyway. It did not come naturally, and she still had nowhere near perfected it.)
But though she was spending more time in Springstar these days, a considerable change from the month and some she had spent avoiding it after a certain demon had suddenly appeared on its streets and taken her drugged body to Kowloon below... she continued to return to Alenroux to live, whether things had changed or not. She feels more... home, here. (Even though she had never imagined anywhere in Kenos could feel remotely like that.)
Set is one of the few people she had made privy to the nearest Cornerstone to her residence, but that did not mean she had been expecting company. Naira, the large white wyvern, slumbered contentedly in the sun near the rear of the house, having turned some of the grassy surroundings to a sandy pit with her preference for dirt baths. The weather was fair, and so Hayame had been doing various chores- there are sheets and articles of clothing drying on a line and fluttering in the occasional breeze, the pomegranate saplings Set inspects show signs of recent watering (as does the young persimmon tree nearby), there are peeled fruits and salted meats strung along the side of the house to start preserving. If one did not know better... It was a rather domestic scene.
And the Hayame that appears in the doorway does not look that much like the warrior she had always insisted was all she was or could ever be. Her shorn-short hair is pinned up in a tiny bun tied with a colorful ribbon, and she wears a half-apron hanging down over her equine chest, the pockets stuffed with gardening, sewing, and leatherworking tools. An empty hamper is balanced between one arm and her dun shoulder. But to suddenly see that man crouched in her "garden"- ?]
Set, what-
["What has brought you here today?", perhaps, or "what has happened", but he carries on in his greeting with the answer to that aborted question... and leaves Hayame blinking in confusion. Blinking with two eyes, these days, even if the sickly green one is still hidden behind her usual eyepatch for fear that she might betray someone she cared for or something valuable to Meridian to whoever was watching through it. He wanted to- ?]
Fun?
[And drinks? And sight-seeing? And whatever struck their fancy? Caught off-guard and somewhat unused to such invitations from people, let alone accepting them, she looks between her home and the god out front, conflicted because her culture dictated she invite him in, at least find some tea and sweets to offer, but... Maybe something had happened? He seemed strangely... nervous? Her brow furrows slightly and she begins to look... almost embarrassed.]
I have to take in the washing.
[Ugh, it sounds so much like a farmwife that she almost cringes to imagine a war god hearing his warrior say such a thing, but. Belatedly... she realizes how it might sound. That instead of spending time with him, she would rather- Wait, no, that is not quite it-]
Yes, fun. You and I have really only had fun in response to —
[ With one hand, he gestures with a snap of his wrist, as if wafting away an acrid or unpleasant scent. Their fun tended to come as a way to distract themselves from difficult situations; his terror over being haunted by his brother in the wake of dreams from the Tree, the fun of sexual intimacy was not entirely there either because it was her first time and he'd wanted to treat her better than her world taught her that she would be treated. The two of them never really went out, or did anything together apart from working, battling and acknowledging their bond.
When she'd shorn her hair, he'd realized — she was his friend, too. He'd named her such, desperate to show her that even though he was a terrible individual, he cared for her; that the two things weren't mutually exclusive. And now, he was in her small "garden" to ensure everything grew healthy and bountiful with a spell that had earned him a place wherever flora and crops needed tending to. ]
You know.
[ Hopefully, she does.
He laces his fingers behind his back, twisting his wrists to be able to tuck his knuckles into the small of his spine as he begins to approach her. The oddly domestic way she dresses, does her chores, styles her hair now — they're things he never had to do, because he either didn't need to wash his clothes ( nor bathe, really; as a god of desert sands, he was clean and smelled neutral with the hint of whatever someone liked ), nor dress any differently ( save for fun, or practicality on the Scorching Isles ). It was something he saw the mortals do, though. What a strange way to have to spend one's time! ]
Could I help you? [ And though his eyes drift over Naira, he doesn't say anything yet.
He's smelled Claude and Hayame's scents on one another for some time, and has been resisting the urge to give Claude the shotgun speech... save for that he nearly did, in telling him not to ruin his precious warrior's strong heart. ]
[… She knows, even if she, also, would struggle to find the words to say aloud what “—” was. It was… those things. Those painful, meaningful, struggling attempts towards something like understanding or comfort. Or friendship. The thing that took the place of what she thinks “normal” friends seem to do, like… sightseeing, going drinking, and… having fun. The things they never seemed to do without a wound to patch, that kept a rotting spot of doubt alive in her hearts that maybe… maybe the two of them, two people who never knew and perhaps never were meant to know what true “friends” were, might just be tragically playing at the word. That “war god” and “warrior”, in the end, was the only real part.
Except he’s here in her garden now, uncalled and unannounced, and he wants to… ?]
… If you’d like.
[It doesn’t seem the time to insist that guests shouldn’t do chores, that it would reflect poorly on her as a host. Somehow. Cheeks somewhat ruddy despite herself over being seen in such a womanly and domestic scene, she leads him over to the laundry line, setting down the basket and beginning to pull the clothing and sheets down, putting the wooden pins into a pocket of her apron and folding the dried fabrics before depositing them in the basket.
If she looks a little nervous herself, well. Had Hayame possessed any misconception that she might be successfully keeping her relationship with Claude (Khalid) to herself, hidden even from those who called her friend, it had been shattered by the broadcast. And of the Meridian shardbearers she might expect to trawl through the plethora of information to be gained from the tabloids and citizenry gossiping in the aftermath… it was Set. A sound enough strategy, to glean useful information, but…
What- How absurd would it be to announce it now, too late? Should she just pretend it’s not how things are, when a few of the items on the laundry line are very obviously men’s shirts and trousers? (For the record, she is not doing his washing! She had just been doing the washing, and they were dirty, and she isn’t so petty as to clean everything but his clothes!)]
Ah… Is there some bar you are interesting in granting your patronage?
[Was that a normal thing to say??? The folding is much faster with four hands instead of two, they can go any minute now, but- Ah, they’ve never gone drinking like that, so maybe he doesn’t know…]
I cannot really get drunk on most things… Is that a problem?
[… She assumed that gods could just. Decide if they got drunk or not??? But with her large form and metabolism… Would it still be fun? Her archery students were always complaining it wasn’t when she wouldn’t get intoxicated with them…]
[ Set follows her to her laundry line, his hands clasped behind the small of his back as he observes the way that she plucks the pins from the sheets of fabric and pockets them. He's never really, well, done chores, to be honest. Things like this were unnecessary for the gods, and any familiarity he has with them is from watching the mortals who needed to bathe and keep their environment clean and organized. Honestly, he had always enjoyed seeing it, too. It was the innate drive he had as an Egyptian god, to be clean — hence his aversion to body hair, aside from what was on top of the head. IT'S BARBAROUS!!
Watching her, he determines the method she uses, and begins to follow suit from the other end of the line in her direction. In his hands, he holds one of Claude's shirts and just — it's so stupid, ignoring the obvious. Before he addresses the questions she asks of him, he folds it in his hands ( wrinkling it, a little meanly ) and looks up at her. ]
You do know that I knew, right?
[ He shifts his hands a little, to show her the facts that are in his hands. ]
Before the Oracle, I could smell the two of you on one another. I told him to mind your heart. He is a diplomat and you are a warrior, I did not... want him to try and force you to be someone you are not.
[It is barbarous. A normal thought for Hayame, coming as she did from a world in which only tribes unconquered by the Yamato court, those considered uncivil and primitive, still kept to the culture of facial hair. But it is... slightly less barbarous than she thought. If one gave consideration to... different worlds and... apparently other cultures, in which such things were instead considered distinguished or signs of manhood. ... Apparently.
... And it is. So stupid. Ignoring the obvious. But-
She knew she would not be able to, but she still cannot stop herself from blushing the moment Set breaks the unspoken false ignorance between them and says aloud that he knew she and Claude were... intimate. Had been, for months now, since the island of Xanadu. And in all those months... She had not told Set. She had not told Akua. She had not told Liem until she had been calling him a liar and realized she must make herself not one if she wished to throw that insult at his feet and have it actually mean something, coming from a woman who was not one. Was it... She just hadn't known. How to say it like a "normal" person. How to conduct herself in public with a lover. How to even admit to herself... that perhaps having one did not make her less of a warrior and more of the woman she had spent all her life trying not to be.
Her hands keep moving, but she can't... She can't reply that fast. She folds one of her own robes, a breast-binding sarashi cloth, a bedsheet, before-]
Of course, I would not underestimate your senses...
[But if she didn't say it out loud... and he did not say it out loud...]
- He is a warrior, too, you know. A splendid archer. A skilled rider. A commander of an army.
[A king, too, but. That part still seems unreal to her, and it also doesn't quite count to answer this charge. More importantly, why is she even defending... (Wait, did being called a diplomat need defending, like it was an insult or a character flaw? Maybe, look, it's complicated, everything about this is so...) Her hands have lost their momentum, slowly grown awkward and still in a half-folded pillowcase. ... Should she apologize, for keeping it from him? "Friends" would not, would they? Should she... be angry, at the insinuation that she might allow someone, let alone a man, to change her? But he has, and she isn't that stupid, she knows he has and she must pray it is for the better and not the weaker, but... What... He did not want... and she...]
I did not... know how to say it.
[She will admit that. It was foolish, when she knew Set must at least suspect, but she had just wanted... Before she could understand her own feelings, even be sure of what the hell it was she was doing, she could not easily put it into words to tell another, even if they were also close to her. Even if... they were part of the reason she had what she did now. Her fingers tighten in the pillowcase. If he had just said "No, it's not a problem if you can't get drunk on human liquors"... ! But no, now she must be clear when she says]
I would never let any man force me to be anything I am not.
[ OKAY HAYAME WHOA GIRL he wouldn't say he knew you were INTIMATE, just AROUND ONE ANOTHER enough for your scents to rub off on one another
which ig if you're rubbing against one another that'd do it
destroys this stupid man for you ]
Mm, I suppose so. What skills he possesses matter less to me than whether or not he treats you well.
[ Certainly, he says the words, but does Set even know what it means to be treated well by a man? As one, he knew to give his wife his loyalty and respect, his ear and heart, his love and gentleness. But to him, men are dastardly things. They are rough and difficult, hungry and harsh. Claude does not seem the type, not compared to men he has known ( men he has both willingly, and unwillingly, experienced — ), but. Still, his wish is that her willing partnership was with someone who treated her very well. ]
I would never stand for it, if he did not. If... to be loved, and accepted, you had to twist yourself too far beyond who you are.
[ Because to him, there is a difference between changing for oneself and changing for another. What he's asked of Hayame was for her own peace and longevity, her own confidence and control. To think that she might transform herself to belong with someone else was — well, it was a fear that Set possessed, extending from his own experiences unto her. A protective sort of fear, that has his hands twisting a little tighter into Claude's shirt; like, at any moment, he might shred it to pieces if he hears anything in her tone or sees anything in her body language that suggests she is,
being coerced,
or hurt.
And then she affirms it. Giving voice to a sentiment he has always wanted her to feel like she could say and embody. It lets him relax, and lift his head to look up at her again. Not quite chagrined, but verging on some trembling, hopeful thing — for her. ]
I do not blame you, for keeping it between you and he. Sometimes, we all want privacy with another, before the world imposes itself into our lives. Taking the time to feel secure with him could only help you, especially considering... well. [ What they both have experienced, in certain ways. And her own world's jinba-human relations, as well. ]
[Wh- He said that he smelled them!!! While holding Claude’s (Khalid’s) freshly laundered shirt! At her house! Of course she assumed he meant intimately!!! After all, she can smell… Well, she couldn’t smell… that two people, precisely those two, had been intimate, but she could smell… sex… and then also the scent of others, so usually one just… assumed… That’s part of why she’d left Akua’s so early in the morning after That Night, afraid to be detected by smell by those she might not know capable and-
And anyway- !
He says he wouldn’t accept it. If she had to twist herself to be accepted, or to be loved, and she looks… pensive for a moment. Not about Claude. About… other things. About her past, too. The weapon she had forged herself into in order to survive in the world she’d been born into. It was good she had, surely, better to be steel than a flower crushed underfoot, but…
But Set knew better than some, than most. The threats that Hayame had lived her whole life under. What she’d seen happen to the women around her for a single mistake, a single mistake of birth. The fate that had awaited her. If she felt even the first hint of it… of fingers ripping her hair, of feeling cornered, powerless, of being treated like… like the barely-different-from-a-horse that she had been… She would run, and likely leave blood in her wake. Hurt, hurt, too, and a sure belief that she was stupid to ever have thought she might be able to have something good, but…
She wouldn’t tolerate it. … She wouldn’t, right?]
… He treats me well.
[Too well, she sometimes thought. She should say that. He deserved her saying that, even if she can’t say it without her cheeks ruddy and her lips pursed strangely. Set is right, though, about why she hadn’t told anyone and kept it secret. It had nothing to do with how much she trusted anyone, only some to do with how she feared it might affect her reputation (a warrior ruined by softness) and his (a diplomat arguing for peace bedding one of Meridian’s most vocally hard-line members), and so much to do with…
Not knowing how she felt. And if she didn’t know… How she could tell anyone? How could she say what this was? Her world… a woman having sex was either married or a whore. There was no concept of “dating”, and courting was ritual and exchanging wealth wi to intimacy dangled as the reward after sale, and so this… this thing where a man claimed he loved her and instead of saying she loved him back she said “you are a fool”…
She looks taken aback. Just to hear something other people must think is normal. “I’m happy for you.” She… she wanted to be happy for Set, for Akua, for Liem, for Yuri, for Gray… She’d told him that, hadn’t she, on the banks of that pond where they lay exhausted, his shade left temporarily behind. She didn’t know what form that would take, but she wanted it. Even so… other people weren’t supposed to say it to her. Finally, she remembers how to move again. She takes Claude’s shirt gently from Set’s hands, and puts it in her basket. Muttering, trying to be… fun, despite being obviously touched by his words…]
Set, I am…
We are… far too sober for this sort of talk, are we not?
[She’ll put the laundry in. And they can… they can go where he wants to show her? Hopefully… somewhere, eventually, that does have strong liquor.]
I wanted to say it before you could put doubt to my words.
[ Which is to say, they might be too sober for this sort of conversation, but he's unwilling to allow Hayame to have any more ammunition that she might be able to use to spin falsity into what he says. Oh, he was drunk and didn't really mean what he was saying, is something he really, really wants to avoid right now.
Set finishes crumpling Claude's shirt, folding it neatly ( very tidy and devoted to the task, for a sloppy war god like him ) and relinquishes it to Hayame as she takes it from him. The laundry done, there's no further chores that will keep them from having fun. Set doesn't know how to have fun that isn't brassy and messy, but for her, he will try to keep her dignity as intact as possible — even if he wants to see her listing to one side with every step, her cheeks rosy with drink and laughter pouring from her. He hopes she's the sort of drunk that doesn't get maudlin, and instead finds joy in everything.
One will never know, until the moment, though. ]
I'm going to take you to the Last Dance. It's my favorite location — close to Kowloon but beyond that city's politics, and neutral among neutrality. The arts are beloved there. I watch theatre shows and observe occultists reading the stars and cards, booze and smoke and dancers and ware-hawkers... well, it may be a bit hedonistic, but it is not... a cruel place. They don't care about a lot of things, just what's nice and feels good.
[ As if to show Hayame how intent he is on having a good time, he even lets his tongue slip. Pulls words together informally, his normally arched and elevated address blurring into something casual. It makes him sound very human, much younger than he is. And he offers his hand to her, invitingly, once she's ready. What he doesn't tell her is that the Last Dance views him as a strong patron, but that he hasn't gone back to it without a companion on his arm in a long time. Because Osiris haunts him, no longer in his mind, but lingering in crowds.
That's too abysmal to talk about, so he ignores it. Hayame is here, with him. ]
[... Hayame may be flustered, perhaps flushing, and it may be her instinct to deny that she would doubt them... But Set was not wrong, and in the end, and she cannot pretend that he was just for the sake of her proud or her desperation to be perceived a certain way in order to advance her standing in her world. She had learned early on in life not to trust the words of others, that those who said kind things to her almost never meant to be kind, and so even now... It was an instinct to find a "reason" for why someone would say something touching or sentimental to her, allowing her to dismiss it as insincere or false. So... maybe it was better that he said it sober. Later, when she is (not) alone at night and thinking of what he said... she won't be able to blame it on drink.
He says their destination is his favorite, and she finds that... Did she have a favorite place? Just one? Was she even a good choice, to bring to a place that is so focused upon the arts? She surely-]
I am afraid I am no great patron of the arts... I have only seen the performances my master arranged for Exhibition Day guests...
[... Buyers. The buyers of "horseflesh" who purchased jinba for generals and lords afar. It was just a few times a year, overhearing or watching from afar as a blind lute player sung of heroes past, tumblers put on comedy shows, actors performed tragic loves or dramas, and dancers twirled with fans and bells. She had always imagined... perhaps hoped, that if she were to be sold as a warrior she might be exposed to more of it, like human samurai of class were, but. Until then, she had been focused far more on the "being sold as a warrior" part that was necessary for the rest.
And in Kenos... She had continued to cast herself that way. A warrior. One with no time to see... art. Or shows. Or waste time on... booze and fortune-tellers and smoking? On... things that make her blush even more noticably, when she considers "what's nice and feels good" could mean. ... Had meant. (... Surely he wasn't taking her to a brothel? Or... a part-time brothel???) She has the time it takes to put her laundry back away, to take off her apron, to arm herself, and to lock her door behind her to think if she ought to demure to avoid the potential humiliation of not understanding something else that other "normal people" did...
But she puts her hand in his, instead.]
... I suppose it will be alright as long as you explain things properly.
[She may not know it, or know why he has not attended The Last Dance without one, but... She will be there, a companion on his arm. One who has temporarily run that sickly presence off before... and who would gladly, viciously do so again.
One who also did not know that she was about to find out she was actually an affectionate, somewhat emotional drunk.]
Well, then! Let us make a grand patron of you, Hayame!
[ Because.
He will not dwell on Hayame's past, not now. It may define her greatly, inform her decisions and personality, but if he wants to create new memories for her, they cannot be held up against the measurement of other experiences. He wants these to be unique, no matter their similarities, because they are being made between two friends. Let this be her foray into a new life, to encourage her to find people and things that she will fight for. That she will want to bring to the children she is going to save. That she will want again, when she survives what is waiting for her.
Set takes her hand, linking his little finger with hers as he does so. Warm, as he brings her hand up to give the knuckle of her thumb a kiss. And then he brings her away — away, through Alenroux. A Cornerstone. It brings them both out into a dark booth, heavy wine-red curtains drawn around a low table and cushions neatly pressed below it. There is enough room for Hayame to move, and the brass lanterns hang low enough that she could easily touch one, metal and starry mirrors and a single hanging sign made of light and mist displaying a unique mark — his own. ]
This is my private booth in one of the businesses, called the Seven Black Oaths. I have a Cornerstone — the dark stone there, among the other pretty stones in the censer — that allows one to jump close to Kowloon, fairly unseen. If ever you need one, for any reason. Through the curtains, Hayame. Through them and out through the Oaths, and into the alleyways! It is a theatre, a bazaar, a place of culture!
[... A grand patron. That, truly, would be... unique, unlike anything she would ever likely be able to experience in her world, even if she did figure out how to save that village and elude capture at her (former) master's hands. If she remained there... It would by necessity and circumstance be a hard life, eking out survival in the deep mountains and hiding from human hunting parties with weaker individual strengths but overwhelming numbers and clever traps. No shows, no markets, no luxuries... But if she... If, once she had fulfilled her duty and cleansed her honor, if after she saved those she had damned she were able to go to a much more distant place where a home had been offered her, one of heat and sand and flying lizards...
No. It will surely not be possible. It is already a feat enough to imagine going back to her own world. She should not entertain the thought. (But she does think, briefly... Oh. Because of Set, she would know a little of how to exist in such a place full of desert. He showed her what those look like.) The kiss, small and soft, draws her from that musing because she did not expect it... But does not deny it. Even if she averts her gaze with a soft blush, her little finger reflexively curls and squeezes on his.
Then soon enough they are in a place she has never been, in a town beneath Springstar she has always avoided because she could never feel safe there. With Set at her side, if she put away her pride and her desire to never be the one in need of protection, she knew no harm would likely come to her, but. Her large body was not as adroit at navigating the narrow alleys, the crush of people, and the many, sometimes precarious staircases of the underground settlement. And... The last time she had been in Kowloon she had woken on a makeshift surgical table in a room that stunk of rot and chemicals with her arms lashed down and her fetlocks bound to the wall.
Despite herself, she balks before the curtain Set urges her out of.
Until a hand finds a simple bracelet on her wrist he has not seen on her before, and she remembers-]
... Allow me to. Make things easier on our trip. Cetina recently provided me with something, after I expressed to her my reservations about how useful I could be outside of Springstar.
[With her face (and distinctive shape, the only non-humanoid shard-bearer in this generation) known in Highstorm, with her body clumsy in Kowloon... If the battle spilled into those places, what could she do, when the illusion magics would not last the minute someone tried to touch her or she joined a crowd that would bump into an equine rump disguised by visual magic alone? Apparently there was a solution. One that involved turning a small stone inlaid on the bracelet the Tribune's assistant had handed over, so that from one moment to the next-
A centaur mare becomes a human woman. One with the same face still, yes, the same build simply transferred over to a different configuration, but decidedly only five feet tall instead of seven, and something like half a ton lighter. Also... not wearing pants or underwear, it was a transformation spell, not a dressing spell, but... she learned her lesson last time and so she manages to grab her garments to clutch her not ill-fitting robe shut and keep the pelt wrap on her hips from dropping down to the floor.
Gods, balancing in this damn shape on two weird legs... No, she has been practicing, so. She can stay upright as she lets out her robe to cover her strange new rump, as she retied her pelt wrap into more of a kilt-like skirt, pulling emergency soled slippers she had started carrying in one of her many belt pouches out to put on her feet... So that she can be ready now. To step out out into Kowloon feeling less like she sticks out. To see...]
If you might... lend me your arm, Set, while we see this culture of yours...
[She may have been practicing, but, it has not been that long at all. The first steps were still tricky.]
[ The atmosphere of the Last Dance is that of a lively bazaar, a set of narrow alleys not as warm as Springstar above, but not as chemical-and-blood soaked as the depths of Kowloon; it is both a part of the city and a unique entity unto itself, ruled by a small coalition of artists and occultists, who prefer freedoms from the Factions, but also do not devote themselves to harder crimes. A little bit of a hippy commune, with the hippies still willing to knife someone in the back. It creates an artistic environment of actors and culture that Set thrives in, and has patronized since soon after his arrival.
It's a place he likes to share with people he counts as friends, because his liveliness pours through him and becomes something animated, sweeter, when he is here. And he cannot bear going alone anymore, so having Hayame at his side means a lot to him.
He pauses, as she touches a hand to a bracelet upon her wrist. One he thought, perhaps, was a gift from her lover rather than a practical thing from Cetina. Color him pleasantly surprised, then, as Hayame's form shifts and morphs — the same way his had when he had taken the form of a fleet-legged jinba to join her and flee the things that had haunted him — he reaches out with both hands to seize her elbows and forearms, to steady her as she tumbles onto two legs. ]
— you're so short.
[ The words seem harsh, but he speaks them with a spreading grin on his face. ]
Hayame, by the end of the night I will have you dancing on these two new legs of yours! Come, come! Do not put too much thought into your gait, let your muscles move you as you [ walk like an egyptian ] follow my lead!
[ He whips the curtain back then, and presses her along, out into the dark-lit tavern proper. Outside of his personal booth, the ambiance is a little more occult, rife with esoteric symbols and the acrid scent of herb and hookah smoke, lounging figures behind more gauzy-satin public-use booths, and a long-faced woman polishing glasses behind the bar. Her voice a haunting siren call as she hums and sings and spares a fond sort of nod toward Set, and his companion.
He draws her from the darkness, and into the shimmering, layered lanterns and lights that decorate the cavern ceiling of the alley-shops and businesses that make up the Last Dance. The moment they're out of the tavern area, the throng of people encompasses them; a crowd of various peoples, species and genders, hawking wares and putting on plays right in the street. There's a beautiful and terrifying disorder to it, and Set immediately tugs Hayame to his side. ]
Stop me if you see anything you are curious about, though I have an idea where I want to bring you!
Th- This is a perfectly respectable height for a human woman in my lands!
[Even though she is not insulted, because he says it smiling and he does not linger on it, Hayame cannot help but try and defend her new height. Mainly because she herself is very self-conscious about it, having been completely discombobulated by it the first time she'd found herself looking up at people. She had looked up at jinba stallions before, of course, she was neither short nor tall for a mare, and her brother Yubari, with whom she spent the most time around, was a few inches taller...
But look, she's not used to it! Is this what Set looks like from below? Not that... she hasn't occasionally seen him from a lower angle, whether while sparring or... cleansing Discord, but, those moments she had not been focusing on their height differences. (Had his lips always been so... soft-seeming and defined?)
There is no time to really wonder. She is pulled out of the booth into the whip and fervor of the Last Dance, sudden memories trailing behind them of her dance lessons with Liem Talbott before the masquerade at The World's Edge that had been left untested, as she had been left lingering on the edge of the ballroom, unasked and telling herself that she preferred it that way so that she might patrol the event for dangers. (Dancing would be--)
There is so much to look at. First, because she is on alert for attacks knowing that it is technically Kowloon, and then... simply because it is fascinating and foreign, and Set was right that she moved better when she was distracted and not thinking overly on whether the ball or sole of her foot should hit the ground first. Even if she would violently protest the idea that she was relying on a man to safeguard her, she does feel... more at ease closer to his side, and also it is loud so, simply... a practical consideration! Beside him she stares at bizarre foods that smell amazing but look atrocious, (goodness, no, she will pass on trying it until she is far more intoxicated, thanks), there is a seller of golden baubles she does linger by with a certain person in mind (but no, the idea of buying something was too embarrassing, it was not even a gift giving occasion), a fan dancer captures her attention for a time just because the items they are using look so similar to what she is used to (well, used to seeing the wealthy hide their face behind, richly painted and perfumed), and eventually...
She almost starts to look something possibly perhaps kind of adjacent to "comfortable enough". Which for Hayame in this situation is no small feat. At some point, she has made herself grab hold of Set's hand, not just stick to his side, because as lewd as it was... Otherwise, she feels like she could genuinely lose him in the crowds. Squeezing it to get his attention beneath the bustle and chatter, she cannot help but inquire as she swerves around a large, lumbering patron,]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
SLAMS IN jfc this is so long just read the bottom half
Now, though... She has been bestowed the title of Decurion, like Liem Talbott had before her. After their successful claim on the Exalt Oracle, she had distinguished herself in the competition for the Harbinger. And thanks to the mysterious broadcast that revealed every single moment of what had happened in that labyrinth... She had become known to Springstar in a way she never imagined possible nor ever would have allowed. Being shown slaying a prominent Zenite, good, being shown fighting through the compulsions of the various magicked rooms in the maze, fine, being seen willing to kill Meridians if they were possessed or acting against their faction, sure, even that she might have been able to deal with, but...
They had also seen her kissing the man who she had hidden a relationship with for nearly half a year, even though part of why she had concealed it was fears for what it might do to their respective reputations. They had seen her nearly overcome by the desires of hunger in that room that crashed against the hungers of a sorceress, heavy and consuming. They had seen the tender moments shared between her and her war god, the admission of why cutting the beautiful, flowing mane from her head had been a sacrifice worth granting in the name of victory. And instead of turning against her, condemning her for weakness, or thinking of her as some perverse woman...
Springstar had embraced her. And she had run from it, at first, a being trained to crave and need praise but one who had never received it on anything compared to that scale. Over time she had begun to accept that... things had been seen, and there was no taking it back. That somehow... people felt endeared to her, or grateful, somehow, even though they didn't actually know her, and with Claude's coaching... She has tried to present the image of a woman that thought she belonged in that shining spotlight. (She was trying, anyway. It did not come naturally, and she still had nowhere near perfected it.)
But though she was spending more time in Springstar these days, a considerable change from the month and some she had spent avoiding it after a certain demon had suddenly appeared on its streets and taken her drugged body to Kowloon below... she continued to return to Alenroux to live, whether things had changed or not. She feels more... home, here. (Even though she had never imagined anywhere in Kenos could feel remotely like that.)
Set is one of the few people she had made privy to the nearest Cornerstone to her residence, but that did not mean she had been expecting company. Naira, the large white wyvern, slumbered contentedly in the sun near the rear of the house, having turned some of the grassy surroundings to a sandy pit with her preference for dirt baths. The weather was fair, and so Hayame had been doing various chores- there are sheets and articles of clothing drying on a line and fluttering in the occasional breeze, the pomegranate saplings Set inspects show signs of recent watering (as does the young persimmon tree nearby), there are peeled fruits and salted meats strung along the side of the house to start preserving. If one did not know better... It was a rather domestic scene.
And the Hayame that appears in the doorway does not look that much like the warrior she had always insisted was all she was or could ever be. Her shorn-short hair is pinned up in a tiny bun tied with a colorful ribbon, and she wears a half-apron hanging down over her equine chest, the pockets stuffed with gardening, sewing, and leatherworking tools. An empty hamper is balanced between one arm and her dun shoulder. But to suddenly see that man crouched in her "garden"- ?]
Set, what-
["What has brought you here today?", perhaps, or "what has happened", but he carries on in his greeting with the answer to that aborted question... and leaves Hayame blinking in confusion. Blinking with two eyes, these days, even if the sickly green one is still hidden behind her usual eyepatch for fear that she might betray someone she cared for or something valuable to Meridian to whoever was watching through it. He wanted to- ?]
Fun?
[And drinks? And sight-seeing? And whatever struck their fancy? Caught off-guard and somewhat unused to such invitations from people, let alone accepting them, she looks between her home and the god out front, conflicted because her culture dictated she invite him in, at least find some tea and sweets to offer, but... Maybe something had happened? He seemed strangely... nervous? Her brow furrows slightly and she begins to look... almost embarrassed.]
I have to take in the washing.
[Ugh, it sounds so much like a farmwife that she almost cringes to imagine a war god hearing his warrior say such a thing, but. Belatedly... she realizes how it might sound. That instead of spending time with him, she would rather- Wait, no, that is not quite it-]
... First.
[Then... She can go???]
HAMYAAAAAAAAAAAMS
[ With one hand, he gestures with a snap of his wrist, as if wafting away an acrid or unpleasant scent. Their fun tended to come as a way to distract themselves from difficult situations; his terror over being haunted by his brother in the wake of dreams from the Tree, the fun of sexual intimacy was not entirely there either because it was her first time and he'd wanted to treat her better than her world taught her that she would be treated. The two of them never really went out, or did anything together apart from working, battling and acknowledging their bond.
When she'd shorn her hair, he'd realized — she was his friend, too. He'd named her such, desperate to show her that even though he was a terrible individual, he cared for her; that the two things weren't mutually exclusive. And now, he was in her small "garden" to ensure everything grew healthy and bountiful with a spell that had earned him a place wherever flora and crops needed tending to. ]
You know.
[ Hopefully, she does.
He laces his fingers behind his back, twisting his wrists to be able to tuck his knuckles into the small of his spine as he begins to approach her. The oddly domestic way she dresses, does her chores, styles her hair now — they're things he never had to do, because he either didn't need to wash his clothes ( nor bathe, really; as a god of desert sands, he was clean and smelled neutral with the hint of whatever someone liked ), nor dress any differently ( save for fun, or practicality on the Scorching Isles ). It was something he saw the mortals do, though. What a strange way to have to spend one's time! ]
Could I help you? [ And though his eyes drift over Naira, he doesn't say anything yet.
He's smelled Claude and Hayame's scents on one another for some time, and has been resisting the urge to give Claude the shotgun speech... save for that he nearly did, in telling him not to ruin his precious warrior's strong heart. ]
SET 😭
Except he’s here in her garden now, uncalled and unannounced, and he wants to… ?]
… If you’d like.
[It doesn’t seem the time to insist that guests shouldn’t do chores, that it would reflect poorly on her as a host. Somehow. Cheeks somewhat ruddy despite herself over being seen in such a womanly and domestic scene, she leads him over to the laundry line, setting down the basket and beginning to pull the clothing and sheets down, putting the wooden pins into a pocket of her apron and folding the dried fabrics before depositing them in the basket.
If she looks a little nervous herself, well. Had Hayame possessed any misconception that she might be successfully keeping her relationship with Claude (Khalid) to herself, hidden even from those who called her friend, it had been shattered by the broadcast. And of the Meridian shardbearers she might expect to trawl through the plethora of information to be gained from the tabloids and citizenry gossiping in the aftermath… it was Set. A sound enough strategy, to glean useful information, but…
What- How absurd would it be to announce it now, too late? Should she just pretend it’s not how things are, when a few of the items on the laundry line are very obviously men’s shirts and trousers? (For the record, she is not doing his washing! She had just been doing the washing, and they were dirty, and she isn’t so petty as to clean everything but his clothes!)]
Ah… Is there some bar you are interesting in granting your patronage?
[Was that a normal thing to say??? The folding is much faster with four hands instead of two, they can go any minute now, but- Ah, they’ve never gone drinking like that, so maybe he doesn’t know…]
I cannot really get drunk on most things… Is that a problem?
[… She assumed that gods could just. Decide if they got drunk or not??? But with her large form and metabolism… Would it still be fun? Her archery students were always complaining it wasn’t when she wouldn’t get intoxicated with them…]
no subject
Watching her, he determines the method she uses, and begins to follow suit from the other end of the line in her direction. In his hands, he holds one of Claude's shirts and just — it's so stupid, ignoring the obvious. Before he addresses the questions she asks of him, he folds it in his hands ( wrinkling it, a little meanly ) and looks up at her. ]
You do know that I knew, right?
[ He shifts his hands a little, to show her the facts that are in his hands. ]
Before the Oracle, I could smell the two of you on one another. I told him to mind your heart. He is a diplomat and you are a warrior, I did not... want him to try and force you to be someone you are not.
no subject
... And it is. So stupid. Ignoring the obvious. But-
She knew she would not be able to, but she still cannot stop herself from blushing the moment Set breaks the unspoken false ignorance between them and says aloud that he knew she and Claude were... intimate. Had been, for months now, since the island of Xanadu. And in all those months... She had not told Set. She had not told Akua. She had not told Liem until she had been calling him a liar and realized she must make herself not one if she wished to throw that insult at his feet and have it actually mean something, coming from a woman who was not one. Was it... She just hadn't known. How to say it like a "normal" person. How to conduct herself in public with a lover. How to even admit to herself... that perhaps having one did not make her less of a warrior and more of the woman she had spent all her life trying not to be.
Her hands keep moving, but she can't... She can't reply that fast. She folds one of her own robes, a breast-binding sarashi cloth, a bedsheet, before-]
Of course, I would not underestimate your senses...
[But if she didn't say it out loud... and he did not say it out loud...]
- He is a warrior, too, you know. A splendid archer. A skilled rider. A commander of an army.
[A king, too, but. That part still seems unreal to her, and it also doesn't quite count to answer this charge. More importantly, why is she even defending... (Wait, did being called a diplomat need defending, like it was an insult or a character flaw? Maybe, look, it's complicated, everything about this is so...) Her hands have lost their momentum, slowly grown awkward and still in a half-folded pillowcase. ... Should she apologize, for keeping it from him? "Friends" would not, would they? Should she... be angry, at the insinuation that she might allow someone, let alone a man, to change her? But he has, and she isn't that stupid, she knows he has and she must pray it is for the better and not the weaker, but... What... He did not want... and she...]
I did not... know how to say it.
[She will admit that. It was foolish, when she knew Set must at least suspect, but she had just wanted... Before she could understand her own feelings, even be sure of what the hell it was she was doing, she could not easily put it into words to tell another, even if they were also close to her. Even if... they were part of the reason she had what she did now. Her fingers tighten in the pillowcase. If he had just said "No, it's not a problem if you can't get drunk on human liquors"... ! But no, now she must be clear when she says]
I would never let any man force me to be anything I am not.
[... Not anymore, anyway.]
no subject
which ig if you're rubbing against one another that'd do it
destroys this stupid man for you ]
Mm, I suppose so. What skills he possesses matter less to me than whether or not he treats you well.
[ Certainly, he says the words, but does Set even know what it means to be treated well by a man? As one, he knew to give his wife his loyalty and respect, his ear and heart, his love and gentleness. But to him, men are dastardly things. They are rough and difficult, hungry and harsh. Claude does not seem the type, not compared to men he has known ( men he has both willingly, and unwillingly, experienced — ), but. Still, his wish is that her willing partnership was with someone who treated her very well. ]
I would never stand for it, if he did not. If... to be loved, and accepted, you had to twist yourself too far beyond who you are.
[ Because to him, there is a difference between changing for oneself and changing for another. What he's asked of Hayame was for her own peace and longevity, her own confidence and control. To think that she might transform herself to belong with someone else was — well, it was a fear that Set possessed, extending from his own experiences unto her. A protective sort of fear, that has his hands twisting a little tighter into Claude's shirt; like, at any moment, he might shred it to pieces if he hears anything in her tone or sees anything in her body language that suggests she is,
being coerced,
or hurt.
And then she affirms it. Giving voice to a sentiment he has always wanted her to feel like she could say and embody. It lets him relax, and lift his head to look up at her again. Not quite chagrined, but verging on some trembling, hopeful thing — for her. ]
I do not blame you, for keeping it between you and he. Sometimes, we all want privacy with another, before the world imposes itself into our lives. Taking the time to feel secure with him could only help you, especially considering... well. [ What they both have experienced, in certain ways. And her own world's jinba-human relations, as well. ]
Hayame, I am happy for you.
no subject
And anyway- !
He says he wouldn’t accept it. If she had to twist herself to be accepted, or to be loved, and she looks… pensive for a moment. Not about Claude. About… other things. About her past, too. The weapon she had forged herself into in order to survive in the world she’d been born into. It was good she had, surely, better to be steel than a flower crushed underfoot, but…
But Set knew better than some, than most. The threats that Hayame had lived her whole life under. What she’d seen happen to the women around her for a single mistake, a single mistake of birth. The fate that had awaited her. If she felt even the first hint of it… of fingers ripping her hair, of feeling cornered, powerless, of being treated like… like the barely-different-from-a-horse that she had been… She would run, and likely leave blood in her wake. Hurt, hurt, too, and a sure belief that she was stupid to ever have thought she might be able to have something good, but…
She wouldn’t tolerate it. … She wouldn’t, right?]
… He treats me well.
[Too well, she sometimes thought. She should say that. He deserved her saying that, even if she can’t say it without her cheeks ruddy and her lips pursed strangely. Set is right, though, about why she hadn’t told anyone and kept it secret. It had nothing to do with how much she trusted anyone, only some to do with how she feared it might affect her reputation (a warrior ruined by softness) and his (a diplomat arguing for peace bedding one of Meridian’s most vocally hard-line members), and so much to do with…
Not knowing how she felt. And if she didn’t know… How she could tell anyone? How could she say what this was? Her world… a woman having sex was either married or a whore. There was no concept of “dating”, and courting was ritual and exchanging wealth wi to intimacy dangled as the reward after sale, and so this… this thing where a man claimed he loved her and instead of saying she loved him back she said “you are a fool”…
She looks taken aback. Just to hear something other people must think is normal. “I’m happy for you.” She… she wanted to be happy for Set, for Akua, for Liem, for Yuri, for Gray… She’d told him that, hadn’t she, on the banks of that pond where they lay exhausted, his shade left temporarily behind. She didn’t know what form that would take, but she wanted it. Even so… other people weren’t supposed to say it to her. Finally, she remembers how to move again. She takes Claude’s shirt gently from Set’s hands, and puts it in her basket. Muttering, trying to be… fun, despite being obviously touched by his words…]
Set, I am…
We are… far too sober for this sort of talk, are we not?
[She’ll put the laundry in. And they can… they can go where he wants to show her? Hopefully… somewhere, eventually, that does have strong liquor.]
no subject
[ Which is to say, they might be too sober for this sort of conversation, but he's unwilling to allow Hayame to have any more ammunition that she might be able to use to spin falsity into what he says. Oh, he was drunk and didn't really mean what he was saying, is something he really, really wants to avoid right now.
Set finishes crumpling Claude's shirt, folding it neatly ( very tidy and devoted to the task, for a sloppy war god like him ) and relinquishes it to Hayame as she takes it from him. The laundry done, there's no further chores that will keep them from having fun. Set doesn't know how to have fun that isn't brassy and messy, but for her, he will try to keep her dignity as intact as possible — even if he wants to see her listing to one side with every step, her cheeks rosy with drink and laughter pouring from her. He hopes she's the sort of drunk that doesn't get maudlin, and instead finds joy in everything.
One will never know, until the moment, though. ]
I'm going to take you to the Last Dance. It's my favorite location — close to Kowloon but beyond that city's politics, and neutral among neutrality. The arts are beloved there. I watch theatre shows and observe occultists reading the stars and cards, booze and smoke and dancers and ware-hawkers... well, it may be a bit hedonistic, but it is not... a cruel place. They don't care about a lot of things, just what's nice and feels good.
[ As if to show Hayame how intent he is on having a good time, he even lets his tongue slip. Pulls words together informally, his normally arched and elevated address blurring into something casual. It makes him sound very human, much younger than he is. And he offers his hand to her, invitingly, once she's ready. What he doesn't tell her is that the Last Dance views him as a strong patron, but that he hasn't gone back to it without a companion on his arm in a long time. Because Osiris haunts him, no longer in his mind, but lingering in crowds.
That's too abysmal to talk about, so he ignores it. Hayame is here, with him. ]
no subject
He says their destination is his favorite, and she finds that... Did she have a favorite place? Just one? Was she even a good choice, to bring to a place that is so focused upon the arts? She surely-]
I am afraid I am no great patron of the arts... I have only seen the performances my master arranged for Exhibition Day guests...
[... Buyers. The buyers of "horseflesh" who purchased jinba for generals and lords afar. It was just a few times a year, overhearing or watching from afar as a blind lute player sung of heroes past, tumblers put on comedy shows, actors performed tragic loves or dramas, and dancers twirled with fans and bells. She had always imagined... perhaps hoped, that if she were to be sold as a warrior she might be exposed to more of it, like human samurai of class were, but. Until then, she had been focused far more on the "being sold as a warrior" part that was necessary for the rest.
And in Kenos... She had continued to cast herself that way. A warrior. One with no time to see... art. Or shows. Or waste time on... booze and fortune-tellers and smoking? On... things that make her blush even more noticably, when she considers "what's nice and feels good" could mean. ... Had meant. (... Surely he wasn't taking her to a brothel? Or... a part-time brothel???) She has the time it takes to put her laundry back away, to take off her apron, to arm herself, and to lock her door behind her to think if she ought to demure to avoid the potential humiliation of not understanding something else that other "normal people" did...
But she puts her hand in his, instead.]
... I suppose it will be alright as long as you explain things properly.
[She may not know it, or know why he has not attended The Last Dance without one, but... She will be there, a companion on his arm. One who has temporarily run that sickly presence off before... and who would gladly, viciously do so again.
One who also did not know that she was about to find out she was actually an affectionate, somewhat emotional drunk.]
no subject
[ Because.
He will not dwell on Hayame's past, not now. It may define her greatly, inform her decisions and personality, but if he wants to create new memories for her, they cannot be held up against the measurement of other experiences. He wants these to be unique, no matter their similarities, because they are being made between two friends. Let this be her foray into a new life, to encourage her to find people and things that she will fight for. That she will want to bring to the children she is going to save. That she will want again, when she survives what is waiting for her.
Set takes her hand, linking his little finger with hers as he does so. Warm, as he brings her hand up to give the knuckle of her thumb a kiss. And then he brings her away — away, through Alenroux. A Cornerstone. It brings them both out into a dark booth, heavy wine-red curtains drawn around a low table and cushions neatly pressed below it. There is enough room for Hayame to move, and the brass lanterns hang low enough that she could easily touch one, metal and starry mirrors and a single hanging sign made of light and mist displaying a unique mark — his own. ]
This is my private booth in one of the businesses, called the Seven Black Oaths. I have a Cornerstone — the dark stone there, among the other pretty stones in the censer — that allows one to jump close to Kowloon, fairly unseen. If ever you need one, for any reason. Through the curtains, Hayame. Through them and out through the Oaths, and into the alleyways! It is a theatre, a bazaar, a place of culture!
no subject
No. It will surely not be possible. It is already a feat enough to imagine going back to her own world. She should not entertain the thought. (But she does think, briefly... Oh. Because of Set, she would know a little of how to exist in such a place full of desert. He showed her what those look like.) The kiss, small and soft, draws her from that musing because she did not expect it... But does not deny it. Even if she averts her gaze with a soft blush, her little finger reflexively curls and squeezes on his.
Then soon enough they are in a place she has never been, in a town beneath Springstar she has always avoided because she could never feel safe there. With Set at her side, if she put away her pride and her desire to never be the one in need of protection, she knew no harm would likely come to her, but. Her large body was not as adroit at navigating the narrow alleys, the crush of people, and the many, sometimes precarious staircases of the underground settlement. And... The last time she had been in Kowloon she had woken on a makeshift surgical table in a room that stunk of rot and chemicals with her arms lashed down and her fetlocks bound to the wall.
Despite herself, she balks before the curtain Set urges her out of.
Until a hand finds a simple bracelet on her wrist he has not seen on her before, and she remembers-]
... Allow me to. Make things easier on our trip. Cetina recently provided me with something, after I expressed to her my reservations about how useful I could be outside of Springstar.
[With her face (and distinctive shape, the only non-humanoid shard-bearer in this generation) known in Highstorm, with her body clumsy in Kowloon... If the battle spilled into those places, what could she do, when the illusion magics would not last the minute someone tried to touch her or she joined a crowd that would bump into an equine rump disguised by visual magic alone? Apparently there was a solution. One that involved turning a small stone inlaid on the bracelet the Tribune's assistant had handed over, so that from one moment to the next-
A centaur mare becomes a human woman. One with the same face still, yes, the same build simply transferred over to a different configuration, but decidedly only five feet tall instead of seven, and something like half a ton lighter. Also... not wearing pants or underwear, it was a transformation spell, not a dressing spell, but... she learned her lesson last time and so she manages to grab her garments to clutch her not ill-fitting robe shut and keep the pelt wrap on her hips from dropping down to the floor.
Gods, balancing in this damn shape on two weird legs... No, she has been practicing, so. She can stay upright as she lets out her robe to cover her strange new rump, as she retied her pelt wrap into more of a kilt-like skirt, pulling emergency soled slippers she had started carrying in one of her many belt pouches out to put on her feet... So that she can be ready now. To step out out into Kowloon feeling less like she sticks out. To see...]
If you might... lend me your arm, Set, while we see this culture of yours...
[She may have been practicing, but, it has not been that long at all. The first steps were still tricky.]
no subject
It's a place he likes to share with people he counts as friends, because his liveliness pours through him and becomes something animated, sweeter, when he is here. And he cannot bear going alone anymore, so having Hayame at his side means a lot to him.
He pauses, as she touches a hand to a bracelet upon her wrist. One he thought, perhaps, was a gift from her lover rather than a practical thing from Cetina. Color him pleasantly surprised, then, as Hayame's form shifts and morphs — the same way his had when he had taken the form of a fleet-legged jinba to join her and flee the things that had haunted him — he reaches out with both hands to seize her elbows and forearms, to steady her as she tumbles onto two legs. ]
— you're so short.
[ The words seem harsh, but he speaks them with a spreading grin on his face. ]
Hayame, by the end of the night I will have you dancing on these two new legs of yours! Come, come! Do not put too much thought into your gait, let your muscles move you as you [ walk like an egyptian ] follow my lead!
[ He whips the curtain back then, and presses her along, out into the dark-lit tavern proper. Outside of his personal booth, the ambiance is a little more occult, rife with esoteric symbols and the acrid scent of herb and hookah smoke, lounging figures behind more gauzy-satin public-use booths, and a long-faced woman polishing glasses behind the bar. Her voice a haunting siren call as she hums and sings and spares a fond sort of nod toward Set, and his companion.
He draws her from the darkness, and into the shimmering, layered lanterns and lights that decorate the cavern ceiling of the alley-shops and businesses that make up the Last Dance. The moment they're out of the tavern area, the throng of people encompasses them; a crowd of various peoples, species and genders, hawking wares and putting on plays right in the street. There's a beautiful and terrifying disorder to it, and Set immediately tugs Hayame to his side. ]
Stop me if you see anything you are curious about, though I have an idea where I want to bring you!
no subject
[Even though she is not insulted, because he says it smiling and he does not linger on it, Hayame cannot help but try and defend her new height. Mainly because she herself is very self-conscious about it, having been completely discombobulated by it the first time she'd found herself looking up at people. She had looked up at jinba stallions before, of course, she was neither short nor tall for a mare, and her brother Yubari, with whom she spent the most time around, was a few inches taller...
But look, she's not used to it! Is this what Set looks like from below? Not that... she hasn't occasionally seen him from a lower angle, whether while sparring or... cleansing Discord, but, those moments she had not been focusing on their height differences. (Had his lips always been so... soft-seeming and defined?)
There is no time to really wonder. She is pulled out of the booth into the whip and fervor of the Last Dance, sudden memories trailing behind them of her dance lessons with Liem Talbott before the masquerade at The World's Edge that had been left untested, as she had been left lingering on the edge of the ballroom, unasked and telling herself that she preferred it that way so that she might patrol the event for dangers. (Dancing would be--)
There is so much to look at. First, because she is on alert for attacks knowing that it is technically Kowloon, and then... simply because it is fascinating and foreign, and Set was right that she moved better when she was distracted and not thinking overly on whether the ball or sole of her foot should hit the ground first. Even if she would violently protest the idea that she was relying on a man to safeguard her, she does feel... more at ease closer to his side, and also it is loud so, simply... a practical consideration! Beside him she stares at bizarre foods that smell amazing but look atrocious, (goodness, no, she will pass on trying it until she is far more intoxicated, thanks), there is a seller of golden baubles she does linger by with a certain person in mind (but no, the idea of buying something was too embarrassing, it was not even a gift giving occasion), a fan dancer captures her attention for a time just because the items they are using look so similar to what she is used to (well, used to seeing the wealthy hide their face behind, richly painted and perfumed), and eventually...
She almost starts to look something possibly perhaps kind of adjacent to "comfortable enough". Which for Hayame in this situation is no small feat. At some point, she has made herself grab hold of Set's hand, not just stick to his side, because as lewd as it was... Otherwise, she feels like she could genuinely lose him in the crowds. Squeezing it to get his attention beneath the bustle and chatter, she cannot help but inquire as she swerves around a large, lumbering patron,]
Where are we going, Set?
[Or... is it a surprise?]