For a Song Pt. 09

I shift my attention and keep playing. Eliza falters without my bolster, but the distraction is shut down underneath the layers and layers of discipline. The boon is gone now, so it never existed. Gawain, I focus on his arms, how they clench and twist and pull at the knots. Good work, very good work, but everything has its flaws. I make them bigger, undo the intertwined frays. Kay cracks something in Eliza and she falls into the pain. It is sickly lemon yellow, and she refuses to cry out. She is the grave maiden with death and destruction on her mind. It is all she is, and ghosts do not scream.

Gawain's bindings fall away, and he has a moment where he is pretending to be still entrapped. He sighs and struggles and kicks a bit. Safon slaps him upside the head. I think he oversells the whole damn thing, but it still gets him a bit farther away. Safon looks and sighs and has to deal with this stupid idiot now. That's stupid and terrible.

I don't even get to see him do his vanishing act. The darkness takes him whole in its loving embrace. Safon finally stops laughing and the silence coming from the evening haze is beautiful. I take that drop in sound and move it into me. My dueling opponent doesn't know that little trick and that's just poor imagination. Music is the interplay of sound and noise through a length of time. There needs to be rests and pauses in order to settle the whole piece.

Safon lets the rage settle with another long drink from her cup. She takes her spear and comes to her feet.

"And you all just had to go and ruin my fun," she sighs, "We have like 10 more barrels of wine in there. We were going to take him back to town and let him have some fun while we drank and watched. Move south along the coast until we hit Solglow. Take a boat out to sea and find a new island. We'd go full pirate and make so much money."

"I know a thing or two and pirates don't actually make that much," I say, "A ship takes a lot of money to upkeep. And there's so many health concerns. Heard of scurvy?"

"Lemons. And limes. I've thought about all this. It's not that hard."

She spins the spear and it's sloshing just as the rest of her is. Its movement and water and rivers. Ice cold mountain streams fresh of snowmelt and cold. I feel the sharpness in her body flow. Rings and loops. Eliza finally breaks her vow of silence with a slight huff. I chance a quick flick of my gaze. Hammer to the ribs, something broken sure. But she's tough.

I keep playing as she teeters towards me. It's a dance, it's all a dance, just for her and me. There are two songs competing and it doesn't complement one another.

The spear comes for me and it's easy to step aside. The spear comes for me and it wants my blood. More drops on the ground to burst and spear all of us together. I do not let that happen. I do not let any of it happen. I add heat and burn and scorch the land. The song of blood and rotting flowers comes from on high. Gawain's doing his job as best he can. I hope. I need him to do something. Guitar is not a good matchup against spear.

I weave around her as I keep the song playing. It's faltering though. Distracting, it is all distracting. There is a spear, and it is sharp. She goes from the floor to a heavensward jump, back to the core of the earth and I can't find the tempo. It is the song in the window, and I can't find it. I need it.

I stop playing and let the music come through me. It is only a moment and I feel the rot set in. It is warm and sweet. Mulled wine and honey and fermenting fruit. I taste apples through it all, to my surprise. I do like apples, the sweet ones with cinnamon and butter and baked. It's calming, really. It's so easy to fall into it.

Something pierces my side and that is finally what I need. Pain, glorious pain. Cold and biting and razor sharp. I feel the cold spread through my veins. My blood is daggers in my body, and it is glorious. pain, glorious real pain. It is in my blood. It is in my soul. I am pain, existence is pain. We are all feigning our pleasure in the day to day. It burns and freezes, and I smile.

Safon laughs, but it is forced. She is used to things having grimaces and screams at pain. Not grim smiles and my own teetering.

I lack any alcohol on me, so blood loss is the quickest way to get to her level. I am not in the steady and stalwart. Down in the rot, down in the flowing water, down in everything sweet and cloying and thick, I start subversion and sabotage.

And to my surprise, the song stutters in a sharp gasp before coming back. And there's smoke in the tempo, little bits and motes of acrid and bitter. I like this smoke. I feel it on my skin, and it is everything I need. I breathe it in and let it fill my lungs. I breathe it in and let it fill my veins. It mixes so well with the sharp bite. I move and weave in lock step with Safon, laughing all the while.

She growls and it is beautiful. It is what I need from her. Anger and fury and rage, driving on. Happiness and drunken revelry can only go so far. The world needs pain. It needs suffering because that is what constitutes the base existence. Eliza gets hit again in the leg. She stays standing. Kay can't grind her down that easy and it was a pulled punch. He's back to fighting it again.

The nameless aria falters again and Gawain is getting his world rocked when we are back home. The poor boy will need to be carried on a stretcher. And in that moment of time, I start my own ballad to the terrible thing we call life. Those types of things seem to be life's favorite.

"Unchosen paths, a broken past, forespoken wrath

The pain won't cease, I'll find no peace, no sweet release.

Fragile creatures, we are taught to fear the Reaper.

Ever running, we are dead before we meet Her," I sing.

Faster and faster, we dance. I force the rot and cloy away in rose watered rapids. I refuse the slow death of agonizing stagnation. I walk and run and bolt through the measures, faster than my hands can keep up with. Safon stabs at me again and I hear something shatter into diamond dust. Gawain says something funny, and I can't quite hear it, but I am assured by the little knot of sunshine yellow in the smoke that it was something hilarious. He's also the type to laugh at his own jokes, so I can't really rely on anything that comes from him at all. It goes into the mix all the same.

I hear the chain rattle and don't bother to move out of the way. I feel where it's going to land. I painted the target so well. She does manage to get a wall in front of her to take the worst of the blow, but it still sends her teetering back on the slick ground. Not in way she wanted to either. It's fun to watch her try and turn it into something graceful. I think it's a pirouette, by some technicality. And it does lend itself to the icy ground well. All in all, a very fine bit of movement. I do move out of the way on the return, though. Harder to control and I don't trust his newly regained senses. The view I have of the window is much better as well, but that's just a side effect. Something else breaks and the sound weaves in beautifully with the new song I am breaking into this world.

The window thumps once and then again. I move back, letting Eliza and Kay have their fun, front and center. I am a stagehand at best. I am playing harder and faster. The window thumps again and breaks. Gawain, ever beautiful and always perfect, shatters through, a body in between him and all the sharp biting bits. He's hollering like a madman, laughing and shrieking at his own wonderful ploy. It stops when they both hit the ground. Bad landings always put a real damper on everything. Something cracks in them both, I think. A probe of noise tells me it's an arm. I'm going to have so much fun putting them all back together again.

I stop playing again. It's over. Violence has taken from me the stage I saw fit to occupy with pain and sorrow. The joyous slaughter is at hand. I pull my rapier from its place in the dirt and twirl it once more.

A Kurhk, kind of pudgy, but wearing it well. That bitterness in the back of my throat is growing, but never quite sour. She has larger tusks than Gawain. Her hair is darker too, cut nice and short. She's coughing and even that manages to carry a bit of wonder in it. The cuts on her chest are weeping bright red. I twirl the blade.

I bring it down, right on her chest, right through her heart.

The last gasp she has, the last gasp she ever will have, carries the cold snap out to its final second. I feel the shudder run through the blade. She's scared. She's scared and she's looking at me because she is scared of me. Bitter, the world is bitter and dark. I do not control that. I cannot change that. I just live with it and when my time comes to find myself on the end of a blade, I will taste that same bitter bile suffused through my entire body. I don't think the thoughts will make them any easier to swallow, but it is what I have done. I am still just over one hand with the lives I've taken. So many more have done so much better.

I pull the blade free, and the nameless musician goes still for the final time. The desert sands will take her soul wherever she wants. The winds carry from here to Solglow, to Goldenrod, to the edge of the world and around the bend. I wipe the blade clean on my pants. I carry that stain on me and no one can take it from me. I sigh to the heavens and the peaking stars.

"You alright," asks Kay. I don't bother returning the curtesy. I don't even bother asking if he's done the deed. Of course, he has. Between him and my paramour, I doubt the combined armies of the world could stand a chance.

"Not right now," I sigh, "but I will be. Probably."

Eliza's coming down from her high and Gawain's looking at his arm. It's broken. No way around that. There's a bit of a whimper and a quiver but he keeps it handled. A bit to stifle everything and get it aligned. I take in the last bits of cold air and let it try to settle me. Busy, I need to be busy. Gawain needs a splint and there's probably some good stuff in there. And some remnants of the gang, too. My head needs to be on straight. Can't get bogged down here.

---

The actual bathhouse in the actual Blood Rock is much better than the single tub we had to share. It's ice cold. I love it. I really do. It's familiar. It's calming. I am shivering, but my entire being is submerged in the cold. And I can stretch out. A full enamel plated copper tub, rimmed in cherry wood, a bar of neutral soap for me and me alone, it's one of the better ones I've ever had. I've heard that Goldenrod has heated baths large enough for a legion. That does sound nice, but I don't think it's worth the hassle.

I slip down, until my eyes dip under the water line. My veins pulse and throb. I'm getting a headache. Stressed and overworked, I am such a delicate creature. I hold my breath and count. I think my record is 47 under the waves. I get to 33 this time, before I have to come up. Out of practice, that's it.

Fresh roses in the air, from the vases of potpourri, help me feel at ease. I think there's lavender in there as well with some juniper and mint. Odd collection, but it is still a good mix. I could do without the flowers, but that's a whole thing I'd rather not get into. The candles in the corner of the room flicker and droop. Well made, fitting in with the whole atmosphere.

A stray shadow catches my eye, and my heart gets an odd little clench. I hope it's Gawain, back from a proper splinting and ready for some real healing. He complained the whole ride back, said his bird rode too hard and he couldn't keep it still. He was probably right, but no one could do anything about that. So, he just had to suck it up and move on. It's not though. One of Dantea's little helpers, sitting on the edge of the bath, dipping a long finger in the water and watching the ripples spread out and back. I hope it's watching the ripples. I don't think he's my type. If anything, he looks a bit like an Eddy.

"Thank you," says the shadows by my head, "for making sure he got back safely."

"Dantea," I sigh, "There are many, many, many stories I know that involve a sister-in-law and a man in the bath. I am not keen on any of them. If you could, send in Gawain. No offense."

"Not what I had in mind, but I get where you're coming from. Standard operating procedure and all, but I'm trying something a bit different with him and this town. Had my fun roaming, and now it's time to settle down."

"You sound like my dad."

"Wonder why. I do care about him you know? And I know him. Maybe not as well as you, but he needed to get out and do something. It's in his nature. And the fact that he came home all worked up, that's just efficient for me. I've been growing starved with the same old vanilla."

"Good for you. I hope you can't walk tomorrow."

"That's the plan. Your little friend will be in shortly. And then your big friend, but I suggest moving when she comes around. The tubs can only handle so much."

I wave some no committal gesture and that gets a small laugh from her. It carries the scent of clover blooms and rose petals. I've had enough of flowers for the time being. I want smoke and stone, river water and cedar wood. I will get all those things in due time. The neutral soap is alright.

"You really are sounding like a parent," I say, "Is Kay into that? I bet you have some secrets about him."

"Not telling, but his tastes are rather fun," she sighs, "And in the same spirit, one more bit of advice. Pick a path. You don't have to pick a spot, but a path. Unless you want to keep breaking away for the rest of your life."

The shadows darken for a deep moment and then they're back to normal. That little assistant is still there though, splashing about like he owns the place. I don't mind, really. Never had that big of an issue with being watched. Kind of beaten out of me after a while. And he's not hurting anyone as far as I know. Not quite sure of the specifics on these things.

It's odd to have that particular feeling expressed by someone else. I've had my little moment where I've considered it, but I don't think it's quite time to parse it all out. We are victorious and basking, a bit batter and bruised, but glowing after the conquest. I still have the shadows in my mind, but they're fading. I am safe. My friends are safe. My brother is safe, and I was surprised. That's all it was. A bad time that ended well. I don't like the scent of the room, but it's fine. It's all fine. Eddy over there picks up a pile of bubbles and lets it fall onto the floor. Rude, but I don't think he's getting any entertainment from me.

I smell smoke and that's wonderful. Greenwood and fresh leaves, mixed with pipeweed and night air. That is calming much more so than the rose and flowers. Eddy splashes a bit more and teeters a bit on the edge. He doesn't fall in.

"You really are despicable," says Gawain, "I was put up, being nurtured and cared for and you're here bathing with a new man."

"You will be nurtured," I purr, "But the ways I know don't work well with bandages and splints."

"And the little guy?"

"You're the only little guy I care about. If you mean him, he's not bothering anyone. Kind of surprised he's still here. Just had a chat with Dantea."

"Fun. Was it sexy?"

"Yes, but I think that's just her nature. Very hard to not have a sexy time with her. But nothing actually sexish. Honestly, kind of reminded me of talking with my dad."

"And was your dad a mysterious blonde with a huge pair of tits?"

"No, but he did like those things. Part of the reason he fell in love with my moms. Now, are you going to join me? My current companion isn't much for conversation."

"I'm not supposed to get the splint wet."

"I don't care. Do you want to be pampered or not?"

That word is enough for him to awkwardly shed what clothing he has, kicking it to the wall in a messy pile. I don't bother to look at him just yet. I have my cold water and that is trying to get me distracted. I can't be. I have so much to do, and the water will not get in the way.

"Your horn is still dull," he says as he traces a hand along its length, "I thought you said you liked it sharp."

"I do," I sigh, "but I haven't found the time. You know how it is."

"Not really. I just make sure I brush my tusks really good in the morning. I don't have anything to sharpen. Help me in? Kind of hard with only one arm."

He does have a fair point with that, and it is a good excuse to touch him. I am careful of the bad arm, but less so of the good one. A bit rough, a bit tight, a bit to let him know that he is getting the water with a shark. Eddy is contempt to watch us like the ingrate he is. Nothing useful to offer, apparently. Gawain yelps as he slips in a bit too fast. His teeth are clenched, and everything's tensed.

"Why is it so cold," he chatters, "I thought we were done with cold."

I don't answer for a minute. His nipples are hard, and he's covered in goosebumps. Those are fun to touch, to run my palms over. He is still soft and sore. A few cuts and bruises to press on and take away the pain from. I am warm and he presses into me, lying on my chest. He is a good weight, forcing me to sink into the tub, pressing me to the wood. I lean my head back and close my eyes for a moment.

"It's hot as all hells outside," I say, "so we have a cold bath. Never mind the winter wonderland we fought through."

"When you put it like that, I guess it's not so bad," he shivers. He snuggles into me more.

We have a calm moment where is lathering up. I tease his hair. It's gotten long, almost down to his shoulders. I think he looks better when it's shorter, but that's not my call. I will make my opinion known, but that's it. I have so much more to play with. I run my hands across his chest, feeling the slick soap between my fingers. I chance against areas a bit more sensitive, and he doesn't shy away. He leans into the sensation. It's a muddle pool of pink and blue and black all within him. I turn the colors and make them shine.

"It's incredible," he whispers, "being with you like this. My entire body feels everything."

I make some happy, smug noise I don't care to name and go back to my work. Despite all the play I have in mind, we are still working to get clean. That's what baths are for, primarily. Work before pleasure and all that. That doesn't mean work can't be pleasurable of course. Especially when the work makes fun little noises as I tickle his sides. He jumps a bit and splashes poor Eddy. That finally gets a reaction from the poor thing. He shakes like a dog and hops off the edge, surely in search of something a bit more to his preferences. Good for him.

Gawain mewls for me and slides a hand to my chin, to my cheek.

"You need to shave too" he murmurs, "Letting yourself go, are we?"

"Trying not to, but the road does that to people. I'm surprised you haven't gotten any scruff. Anywhere really."

"Kurhks don't really get that way. It's got its advantages. I don't shed like a dog for one. And I'm much more fun to touch, right?"

"If you say so. I'm still on the fence."

"You haven't been able to keep your hands off me since I've started traveling with you. Don't act coy. Not now."

"You got me. How dare I try and have fun with you in a bathtub."

"There are plenty of ways for fun here. Let me show you."

He takes my hands and goes to his length. He is hard. Very hard, almost nervous at his own excitement. The vestiges of adrenaline a day and a night gone are still enough to get him this giddy. He shivers again as I touch him.

"I bet this would be difficult with a broken arm and all," I whisper into his ear, "I guess I can help you."

I grip him and he goes still. I am amazed at how sensitive he can be. Everything, every little motion is a cataclysm, a chain reaction all over. His hands dig into my thigh, the crown of his head buts into my chin, even his spine arches and breaks with that one little bit of contact. Granted, my hands are amazing treasures and should be cherished as such, but the fact remains that it is fun to press his buttons and flip his switches.