Session export: Kasiya: The Gay Tangent

He tried, he really did. Yet at some point between custom scanning their ship and reuniting with Erinyes, Flyndt had lost track of the meticulous planned itinerary they had fashioned together. The brochures started to blur and run together to the point he let Foxen handle the package the Zeltron gave them. Whether the hit to his focus was from excitement or the nest of anxiety stirring in his gut. It took a lot of consideration before the Omwati had agreed to consider asking Erinyes to aid his personal quest by checking her clan’s intel database. Bringing in another large unknown group into the search itched raw against his mind but the woman had been more than generous and felt genuine in their interactions.

And he was here to enjoy time with Foxen. Explore. Learn.

So he let his worries lay to rest behind a locked gate for now and sunk into the journey.

Taking in the sights spanning far outside the shuttle windows as the pilot gave their recited informational spiel of this region of Kasiya, Flyndt would pull his gaze from the sunset glow of mountains in the distance to glance beside him to catch large sanguine orbs fixed on him and him alone. Crimson feathers raised as his own amber, orange, and lavender eyes were stuck staring quietly, cheeks warming with the realization. The voice of the pilot faded from his awareness for a moment until he blinked and asked Foxen what they said. The Nautolan hybrid replied with the ‘Marid Plains’ and Flyndt somehow knew he had done the three point six second calculations and recited off the map he memorized to answer him. .

Chikk'dikk. A smile twitched on his lips even as he shook his head, his hand nudging Foxen’s until it unfurled and their fingers knitted together.

Fast forward to the shuttle landing and a taxi speeder ride through streets lined with buildings no taller than some of the neighborhoods within Estle City. When their ride stopped finally, Flyndt hopped off the speeder, antsy to be done with transport vehicles and only assuming this was the last stop. The confirmation came with the sound of Foxen exiting behind him and moving to unload their packs with the rest of the passengers. It left the Omwati’s gaze to explore the dispersing marketplace, taking in the locals and goods tied down on speeders and carts that passed by. His crimson crest raised when the voices of the merchants still selling hit his ears. The way it fluctuated up and down, tones almost at the back of the throat. There was a mix in the tonal flux of their words that made him think there was more than one language spoken here.

The chill in the air drew his attention back from wandering, nodding once towards a retiring merchant who also had been assessing the Omwati with curiosity. Flyndt turned and rubbed his hands together, breathing lightly to warm the three exposed fingers of his gloved hands each, the other two sheathed in leather. He had thin nerf wool gloves that he could layer with these if needed but for now he felt fine without mostly. The short man wore his usual attire handwoven by his people, the Han'duwil of Omwat. The mostly dark teal vest was lined with downy feathers but for the forecasted chill this week, he sported a nerf hide overcoat that hung to just above his knees and layered thick leggings under his pants. So far it was an effective change of attire, comfortable. .

It was then as he warmed his hands that Flyndt caught the sign labeling the ‘Old Shanjiaoxia Guest House.’

Guest house? That rung a bell–

That was were they were staying! The giddy feeling rose once more, Operation: give Foxen a trip he would love was a go! Flyndt pivoted to look for his partner, only to find him right beside him, two packs filled with the bare necessities they each would need strung over his shoulder. The avian reached out with one hand to take his own bag, a smile spread on his lips.

“This looks like the place. Shall we go in? Before all these others make big line to wait in?” Flyndt was half joking and gestured lightly to those still milling at the taxi’s trunk.

The compartments keep slipping.

They leak at the seams, microscopic tears in a vacuum space, venting precious atmosphere. It is. Problematic.

Identified: anxiety. Uncertainty. Difficulty in believing reality as real.

They cannot actually be going on a vacation.

(Minnie calls it a honeymoon when he tells her, because someone must make certain fruit is left for Drakor – or assorted rodents/avians/insect scavangers – daily at 0900 and 2100 and also give Mal'nies her heated oil bath q3d and designated minimum 60 minutes attention. In response, he blocks her for 34 hours before her upset knock rattling their door and demands of not disappearing on her again causes apology/reset.)

She and Jax have both recieved copy of their flight plan, itinerary, and access to the Shepard chip feed. In triplicate. And Jax already has the will from before deploy to Ethereal Realm, category: frak that fraking place. Heeks has been instructed to forward next standard shipment to Omwat’s spaceport for redistribution. He is as prepared as he can be.

Still he must consciously tell the hand not to shake. There is no reason for it.

There’s no reason for it, dammit.

Arrival helps, moderately. Going to be doing, movement, transport changes, signage following, greetings, scheduling, focus. Also: the trip is multi-purpose. Stunning him nearly more than his initial expression of interest, Flyndt had accepted the offer of information/aid with Gaile. So there is that, and while Flyndt is looking about at one point, Foxen and the Erinyes discuss data retrieval.

Then: more travel. They are on time. The world is objectively beautiful. Complete waste to him; he’s busy admiring the sunsets of Flyndt’s eyes, his little expressions, the rise of his feathers.

- This wild air here is good for him. Accessing memory of the first time the eyes beheld him, up in those sun-scorched stands, beside the Fraker Whom He Will Atomically Flense, he can compare the two images. Flyndt is brighter here. Very literally. His verdant skin holds peach flush and moves in easier smiles; his feathers and crest are smooth and tall and clean, groomed to shining, their saturation higher by estimated 27%. He looks back at Foxen watching him watch the sunset, and he is beautiful and burning and alive.

His perfect flame.

They hold hands and Foxen nearly sets one piece of the mind to contemplating the logistics of a move to the Caelus system before killing that thought. Too ambitious.

Just like this, hisses from the closed and locked fraking compartments.

Shanjiaoxia is another obviously beautiful and 89% ignored city. His bird is near vibrating with energy, and this is a reminder: Flyndt wants to be here. He said he was sure and it would be cool when Foxen asked him again if he actually wanted to go, the day after the festival. That was that. Planning began.

Flyndt is *coo-coo-brrr*ing right now, as he looks about the dwindling market and tilts his head towards songlike speech and stares back at locals. His breath puffs with a chill, like atop the Apaec mountains of their home. Red eyes narrow, suddenly wanting to add wooly hat/thicker gloves than they brought/additional three scraves and blankets. But the coat will have to do.

Also: his cheeks are flushed and it is. Distracting.

The Omwati spotted the guest house and his crest rose, a hip-hop of feet belying excitement. When he turned to Foxen, his smile was gutting.

- Not like a reek horn, or 16731 other weapons various and sundry.

Like late mornings when they nap a second sleep post-breakfast, Flyndt on his chest. Like when they play chase on the shore and lay down close to the surf, a small fire flickering with speared fish and salt-blue smoke. Like when Flyndt holds him, a touch to his headtails, and says, …but here, this space, feels safe with you, is ours yes. I am choosing that, is choice.

The times when there are no hurts, and it is only good. When the tears come from being too full of that goodness.

“…Fox?”

Oops, we were staring again.

The criminally inefficient leaking brain replays the questions, and the mouth curls up in a smirk for the joke. He pointedly looks at the people Flyndt has gestured at.

I could decimate them, he replies, gestures purposefully exaggerated with haughtiness. Burn the galaxy for you, remember? A little line is nothing.

He offered the other pack as silently asked for and then his palm, turning towards the building to show his readiness to go in.

Per usual the Nautolan’s eyes dissected the entire room in a sweep for threats/exits/assessment before cataloguing the pictures and then returning home to observe his partner’s reactions. The way the Shanjiaoxian spoke had him turning an ear that way, and he commented to the Omwati, I would bet you could pick up their languages with ease. The, he paused to reach for a different word, as only Jax’s damn influence had ever put phoneme in his own vocabulary, sounds remind me of when you speak yours. Yours is superior though.

To this, he added a private smile.

The strap of his bag had settled over his shoulder on time with a small grin. Their quiet inside joke resting between them – even if sometimes it felt more like a promise. The Omwati took his partner’s hand and followed in step to the center.

The doors. Open. By themselves.

No bottom to push nor need to leverage it manually. There may have been a small trill emotes from his lips as he half pivoted to examine the mechanics. The only thing keeping him moving was their joined hands pulling him and his gaze along, eyes finding the various displays and decor upon the walls. And from there, to the lilted greeting of the man behind the counter.

Foxen’s hand slipping from his nabbed his attention to him. A chuff chased by a small smile meeting the hybrid’s. The fact both Omwatese, and even his rougher sounding dialect of it, and the languages here in Shanjiaoxia were both tonal was true. His faith in his ability to learn it?

‘You F-L-A-D-R me,’ gloved hands returned, doing a very confident misspelling. He brushed Foxen’s arm lightly before stepping up to the desk.

“Hello, Longshun. Yes, we are. I am Flyndt and this is Foxen, hoo, Erinos?” He added, uncertain if full name was necessary.

Flyndt’s happy trill at automatic doors of all things was well noted. As was a note to go back to the lobby for one of their activities and just let him have time to look at the mechanism. Foxen could certainly walk in and out for the display to trigger.

The room itself did manage to draw his attention from his not at all flattered bird. If only to critique the aesthetics and design. And the assessment was: positive, actually.

Also: that kitchen.

Once the concierge had left and the door locked with a noise behind them (Foxen stopped to test the handle), he deposited bag by the door and looked to Flyndt, then to the kitchen.

Exploring it sufficiently would require letting go of his hand.

What awful decisions.

A second softer thud joined the first as Flyndt dropped his bag onto the rug beside the low living room table. His gaze caught the shift of Foxen’s head, the best indicator of where his gaze was moving, noting the looks between himself and the kitchen. Squeezing his hand, Flyndt slipped his from the Nautolan’s and gestured past the dining table to the cooking area.

“Well, what think?” The Omwati crossed to the kitchen in a couple quick paces, being the first to break that ribbon barring entry and inviting Foxen to come with. He leaned against the countertop, peering at the bowl-pan stove before his sunset eyes met sanguine, waiting.

Watching Flyndt walk into that kitchen was a damning thing. Their only saving grace was that the Omwati leaned against the expansive countertop; if he’d hopped up to perch on it or the workbench, they’d have been done for.

As it was, the Nautolan hybrid inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, a rumbling hum vibrating in his chest. He prowled after his bird into the woodfire sanctuary, the wok bowl the altar and the piles of lumber and the long tongs the cup and book of a supplicant come sinning. His palm reached out to brush over the countertop, feeling the cool, smooth surface, trailing towards the inlaid metal basin and running a single finger pad wide around the rim, having to stretch his arm the slightest bit to do it, a gentle flex. Red eyes met and held a sunset stare, smoldering as he stepped into Flyndt’s space, one foot between his forcing the Omwati’s to slide every so slightly further apart.

“Mmm,” he hummed again, gaze dragging down and back up, then drifting to the countertop, returning. His lips pulled into an unholy smirk before he turned and moved to the workbench, not yet answering.

Flyndt always tried to demonstrate patience for him. He didn’t always succeed, but he would always try, patient in the face of painstaking typing, of hands speaking, making shapes, changing tongues, patient through grunts and rasps and difficult words he cannot find. Patient to wait, and listen, and learn, and Know him.

And when it was so very hard, sometimes, for his impatient pretty little bird to do. That made it all the more precious, to go against his own nature. To fight the noise in his mind and his need to move and be and brrrt, to fight the times of withdrawal and silence and come close all the same.

So very precious.

- So he didn’t answer, at first. And Flyndt didn’t urge him to, waiting for him while Foxen made his round. He inspected each knife one at a time, picking them up and caressing them, testing the weight and balance, setting them to the beautiful oaken biopsy of the cutting board and slowly miming a measured cut. One after another after another. The cleaver was surprisingly light, and made the faintest whistle when he flipped it and caught it again, the swipe that followed more of a glide through the air terminating in an executioner’s drop into the wood grain. The narrower curved blade followed suit, his grip changing to account for its weight, a sturdiness for splitting marrow from meat.

Returning them to their places with precise movements, he reached next to inspect the pots, the mortar, the bowls and lids. Little touches, a thorough investigation, peering at and testing each. Then came the wood, and he selected a log and the hatchet and, with a glance back to the Omwati, checking for awareness before sharp sound, split it cleanly with one hit. The two pieces, smooth planes, fell to each side, clattering on the floor in a rich rattle. He stooped to pick them up then turned to the stove doors, inspecting both the smaller boiler and the wok and experimentally placing one each into each compartments.

“Hmm.”

His lighter was in his bag. He still carried it, but its home had left his pocket, ever present on his person or in his palm. Instead, the feather necklace warmed his skin now.

Besides. There would be time later for truly experimenting.

Standing again, Foxen looked down to the Omwati and smiled to him.

I think it’s good, he affirmed, specifically eyeing and gesturing to the wok. Good knives, vigorous set up. This will be very versatile. And very hot. Be ready to sweat when we use it. He tilted his head, gaze pining. What do you think?

Chikk'dikk!

That blasted smirk and purposeful positioning caught Flyndt off guard. ready he was to experience Foxen exploring a new environment of his passion, that the turned attention and gaze back onto him caused his breath to stutter. The telltale warmth of faint peach leeching into his cheeks betrayed him, feathers twitching. He stayed where he was, still determined to be a ✨witness✨.

A witness to the way large inky black and scarred hands meld seamlessly as if one with the bare metal hilts of the knives. How Foxen handled them smoothly, the sounds soft and loud resounding in his mind. Pots and pans, wood splitting and investigative stove prodding…

Foxen’s own thoughtful ‘hmm’ echoed with one from the Omwati’s tattooed lips inquiring. Sunset orbs flickered at the Nautolan’s reply. His crimson crest raised and a small smirk of his own ticked upon his lips.

“I can handle the heat,” Flyndt assured, folding his arms and leaning casually against the counter.

A couple seconds passed before he realized Foxen had asked him the same question he had earlier. His gaze flicked back over the open kitchen. “I do like the stove, and the, uh, bowl? Very cool. Shape be good for cooking and tossing batches of food, yes? Stir-able, mixing…cook…good.”

Yes, he was a man with a wide knowledge of kitchen etiquette slang.

Flyndt shrugged and instead smiled, his head tilting a couple degrees to the side. “I look forward to helping, or watching you use it.”

Very cool. Stirrable, mixing, cook good.

It was awful.

He melted for it. For watching and knowing and being watched and known in turn.

The promising, predatory smirk spread, softening at the edges, no less hungry and yet so very full. His gaze tracked the tilt of the head, the slightest baring of an extra millimeter of tattooed throat on one side, the thrum of a pulse, with Flyndt leaning back so casually, so secure, spoiled.

“Mmm,” Foxen hummed, deep. He shifted slightly, stance widening, smile for smile, locked eyes. How much do you want to go to that welcome dinner? He took a single step, closer, leaning in, his bulk alone hemming Flyndt in against the counter, without either of them touching. Sanguine eyes roved up and down, like taking him apart. Because I want to have you on every surface here. I’ll get on my knees. On this counter. Pretty on that balcony. Pin you in the bed. Think you could give me three? I think you could, my little bird…

A breath.

Then he leaned back, allowing space to move. A casual crossing of arms, mirroring Flyndt’s pose, his gesture questioning in faux innocence.

Or, dinner?

A low drawn out coo escaped from inked lips, that peach hue now bleeding deeply into olive cheeks. His body followed a few centimeters after his partner pulling away, providing room to breathe again. Heartbeats pass while the avian’s mind spun briefly, those words replaying on his lips. And then…

A smirk.

Small and curling gently at the corners of his mouth, it flashed there mischievously and thoughtfully. Flyndt uncrossed his arms, his hands moving to grip the counter behind him. With one hop, he sat upon the surface, shifting a bit until secure – sunset eyes locked on sanguine with lowered lids.

“Three,” he echoed, pausing to allow Foxen to draw close, knowingly so. His gloved hand then raised to press in a halting manner once near enough. That glint in his eyes flashing again, “Three…hours. After dinner. Then we can do all that, anything, yes?”

Stopping immediately under that halting touch, no closer, finding lowered sunset eyes that glint and that fraking smirk. Foxen groaned long, low and bass, leaning in now only to drop his head into the crook of neck and shoulder and just fraking recover for a second goddamn.

The hand that isn’t gripping the counter for dear life while his hips twitch lifted up a little behind him to sign to his partner, O.K., simple in this position, but showing agreement nonetheless.

I’ll be counting the minutes, he promised when he could stand straight again, and then dropped to his knees between Flyndt’s dangling legs, staring up at him ravenously.

And then reached into the stove to pull out the log he put in there exploring. Stood back up and backed away entirely.

Putting things up, he explained, innocent, since they could both tease now, and starts stacking wood. And splitting more.

Barehanded, just pulling it apart with a vicious flex.

But once there’s a neat little stack for later, he added, We should get washed up then. 25.4 minutes until food. Don’t worry. I won’t touch you until after dinner. At all.

It’s a promise in his eyes.

Red-striped feathers fanned forward, almost as if waterfalling over his birthmarked forehead when Flyndt tipped his head to follow Foxen’s kneeling. His heartbeat hit his ears for a second, meeting and maintaining their locked gazes until the Nautolan turned and reached over to remove the wood. The Omwati was in no way, shape or form dying over here on the counter he chose to o plant himself on as he watched the display.

Nope.

Foxen could use a bigger axe–

Crack.

Flyndt sucked in some air, his musings interrupted by the other man ripping wood with his hands alone.

Hoo.

So transfixed, he took a second to catch up on what Foxen was signing. Cleaning up probably was wise…

Wait a minute…

‘ I won’t touch you until after dinner…At all.’

What? No, puhta, why did this backfire? He should have known Foxen would take this direction. Oh, you chikk'dikk. Flyndt chewed on his lip for a second, debating protesting renegotiating. But then that would be a challenge lost, would it not? And his own challenge at that.

A chuff escaped the younger lad, his patience checked and resolve reaffirmed. Sliding off the counter, Flyndt shrugged off his coat and sidestepped Foxen, near but not close enough to brush against, to drape it over a chair. He turned back and looked up at his partner with his chin raised.

“Understood, we should then, get ready,” he clicked lightly, smiled and turned to go do so, maybe a bit too quickly.

Twenty-five minutes was way too long to wait for dinner.

Groomed, refreshed, and with the heaters turned on for when they came back so the room could be warm for his bird to nest, the couple strode in, taking in Longshun’s welcome. Careful as he’d been for the last 00:27:46, Foxen stepped one step aside and in front of Flyndt, pulling out one of the chairs– arranging both their backs to the door, and Flyndt’s with viewing angles on the tapestries in particular. Only when the Omwati sat did he take his own seat beside, careful not to brush.

It was. Challenging.

A good game, a near painful one, his clever little bird had started, but a good kind. Like the bite of that beak.

Not wanting to impose on the Omwati, Foxen’s datapad was already in his other hand, given they weren’t holding hands. He typed briskly and turned it to their host.

Samples of the wine would be appreciated, and a pot of the tea. Our thanks for your having us. The display is excellent. We look forward to this. Will you tell us of the treasures?

Flyndt noted the datapad in Foxen hands, drawing a small hmm from him. He debated offering to interpret but knew if Foxen wanted him to be would ask. So, the avian cocked his head to see what Foxen was typing.

“Yes thank you,” he echoed genuinely.

He took the offered cup and drank the small portion of wine, savoring the sweetness of the plum and sugar. It was arguably very good. Flyndt set the cup down next to Foxen’s, knuckles missing the other’s by centimeters, and shifted his attention to the display Longshun gestured at. His crimson feathers lifted as he leaned forward enough to see, admiring the amount of ingredients that went into the brew. It reminded him of leaning against one of the Eniors as the picked and mixed dried herbs and plants, explaining each to the quiet but curious young him. The sharing of tea after.

With nostalgia lingering softly, a gentle hand on his mind, the Omwati lifted the presented glass and sniffed it lightly, experiencing the floral aura. He looked over to watch their host before mirroring the motion effortlessly, the tink of the lid matching in tone with theirs. He sipped a small bit, warm as it was, and let the flavor wash over his spotted tongue.

“It is very good, both drinks,” Flyndt complimented. “And these ingredients, are they gathered or grown, both?”

The Nautolan hybrid exhaled with the smallest shudder when Flyndt’s hand missed his. Watching the Omwati’s reactions was a breathless thing, and when he took a drink and seemed pleased, only then did Foxen follow suit.

It was somewhat fiddly, with the missing finger, but months out now of practice he had gotten better and adjusted carefully to mimick the motion.

The blend is delicate but flavorful, a spectrum. The plum of the liquor is sweet. His eyes slide to the Omwati as the alcohol, barely a mouthful, is swallowed, and he thinks of sharing drinks, customs explained with cautious, initiate trust.

Flyndt is looking at Longshun, not him, but he stares and toasts the tiny cup all the same.

He wants to ask the Omwati what he’s thinking. Touch his hand.

What a losing game he’s playing.

It makes his lips curl. He listens for Longshun, but his stare doesn’t leave his home.

Foxen considered, then typed.

Would be interested in the ingredients of dinner as well. Perhaps a moment before we depart to speak to the chef(s) if they would, should the food be enjoyable. Would it be acceptable for us to explore and forage as well? Or is this protected?

He made sure to angle the pad so that Flyndt could read what he was asking as well.

Flyndt listened along while Longshun explained about the herbs. It all sounded quite diverse and spoke of the people’s lifestyles here. He glanced down at the tilted pad, a small smile slipping up on his lips. As exciting as exploring and foraging was – were the plants even in season? – he was more absorbed in Foxen’s interest of speaking with the chefs.

At one point, the Omwati had thought the Nautolan to be very strict, critical of cooking, and in a way he is. Yet talking about what it means to him and then at the fall festival learning his opinion on experiencing food made by the locals, by the very people who live it, that was eye opening for him about Foxen. It should not have been a surprise, not with the many times they discussed his own foods from home and his partner trying to recreate them from his own poor recollection.

It was endearing. And this, seeing Foxen want to learn and broaden his knowledge. That is what Flyndt had hoped for coming out here.

So enraptured by his admiration, his thumb tracing the warm ring of his teacup, Flyndt took a second to register their host’s replies. The avian looked to Foxen, tilting his head questioning. “Would you like guide? I would love hiking and foraging, and fishing is always good.”

He dipped his tea as well, subconsciously as Longshun unknowingly reminded him of his beverage. Hearing the dinner menu, and realizing he will be thoroughly and pleasantly stuffed if what their host says is true. Crimson feathers ticked at the last one and Flyndt chuffed, “The language of food itself is barred by no barriers. Raw meat and fish is common delicacy for my people as well. I am eager to try them. It is an honor to experience.”

Happy to try by ourselves or take a guide, whatever you would prefer. Just glad to do it with you, and glad you would like it, Foxen signed back to the question, watching the tilt of his head and tick of his feathers. He was pleased to hear about the raw meat, if only knowing how much his bird found it a treat. Not often I get to harvest my own ingredients, save the fish. Would be nice to practice. Learn from your expertise.

To Longshun, the mute Nautolan merely nodded, a long dip of his chin indicating appreciation. Rather than type again, he took another drink of the tea, needing to be careful with the cup. Then he lifted the littler one that the plum liquor had been in, a question to Flyndt in the tilt of his head.

Flyndt’s tattooed lips curled in a smile, a light almost purr-like trill pressed against his upper beak plate. “Be happy to show you. Hmm, maybe guide be good. Best not get selves poisoned, no?”

He chuffed at his own light comment, true as it was. There were tricks of learning what was likely poisonous on Omwat, but this was an entirely different planet. The avian shifted his attention to the silent question and nodded, grabbing his own small glass.

Foxen nearly forgot himself and reached out to brush fingers down the Omwati’s spine at that specific purring trill of delight. But at the last second he resisted, hand halting and arm falling back, a visible catch for either observer. His soft exhale wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but Flyndt would recognize the quiet groan for what it was, a mix of a chuff at himself and a tantalized expression of longing.

How easy it was, to just want to be closer to his home, to just want when Flyndt was happy.

Leaning over to reach for the decanter of liquor, the hybrid was exactingly careful not to touch the Omwati at all despite being millimeters within doing so, breath gusting down his cheek and the barely there sliver of exposed, dark tattooed skin where his robe collar terminated just under his inked chin.

“Best not,” he breathed in agreement, words barely audible, and grasped the flute in order to slowly, deliberately pour them two more servings, muscles flexing ever so finely.

Then he leaned back, and toasted his partner.

Crimson feathers ticked as the soft exhale caught notice by the Omwati. Flyndt paused, gaze darted from Foxen’s face to his arm. It took a moment for him to connect the dots and he exhaled himself a small bit. A quiet hoo. He shifted his hold on his cup, minded how close they were and feeling the silver feathers on his nape rise slowly with the barely audible reply.

With his cup filled once more, Flyndt too settled into his chair and raised it to toast back. He drank the mouthful of the plum shōujiŭ and waited to see where the conversation and dinner took them next.

“A palate cleanser?” Flyndt echoed mostly to himself, not really certain what it meant but no matter. He nodded along with the explanation, eager to sample the presented dish and accepting the bowl passed to him with two hands and a dip of his head.

He waited long enough for those gathered to settle with their bowls before he took up the short yet wide decorative ceramic spoon(?). Steam curled lazily from the scoop, licking up and around a hunk of poultry and a slice of mushroom. The admiration of such sight lasted only a heartbeat before the bite was taken. The meat was juicy and succulent, melting over his tongue in combination with the broth.

The mushroom was, well a mushroom. It tasted fine and went well with the chicken, it just also has that texture to it. Not bad, just interesting and odd to him anytime he ate it, which was often enough back home. The avian took time savoring that texture but not so much that it would be obvious he was pretty much playing with his food. Minding himself, he dug back into the soup, ensuring to get some of the berry this time and experiencing another combination of flavors.

“The Nuoso, they are the people from the jungle yes?” Flyndt asked after taking another drink of his tea.

Foxen was intrigued and pleased to see the entire bird in the pot, a hum of approval for the flavor the bones would produce in his chest. He nodded to the description of the dish and also at the purpose of it.

Briefly, at Flyndt’s question, he debated explaining palate cleanser, but decided not to interrupt the initial and sacred tasting experience. Instead, he tried his own soup, all the while watching Flyndt’s minute reactions, smiling when noting the way the Omwati’s jaw worked, hinting at the flex of a spotted tongue toying with some object in the dish. Which one was he enjoying the textures of? All of them? One in particular? But when Flyndt didn’t say so, a small pout creased Foxen’s scarred lips.

Hmm.

Flyndt was holding himself quite still, which could have been part of their game that had his skin burning and heart fluttering, but could have also been an effort at excessively polite and inane societal social norms. Where was the playing with the chopsticks, and bowl like spoons, and beak clacks and switching chairs or sitting on the table? Yes, supposition: trying to be polite.

Well, Foxen could be a heathen for him. Besides, based on the preparation of this soup, it was fully acceptable a form of enjoyment anyway.

As the Omwati asked after the Nuoso, Foxen reached out for the pot again. The liquid was hot, of course, but he was extremely skilled and careful, and used the larger ladle to lift the carcass out somewhat, then gripped a upper portion of the spinal vertebrae so as to now sully the whole pot with contamination from his hands. He snapped it with barely a flex, bones gone softer in their stewing, and then returned everything to its place. With his prize, the Nautolan sucked out the tiniest bit of marrow and bit into the bone itself, complimenting the crunch with another spoon of his soup for the full flavor experience.

Satisfying.

He hummed with extra volume, to indicate the pleasure/approval, and smiled to Flyndt and Longshun.

Once he had properly enjoyed his mouthful, the Nautolan wiped his hands and asked on his pad:

Do your people and the Nuoso have good relations? Would we be able to contact them, and ask after visiting to see their culture? Another time. We have the honor of visiting another tribe in coming days.

Flyndt watched as several new dishes were set down. Their colors popped and added to the already impressively displayed table. The scent indeed was sharp against his senses like the crackling warmth of a fire. His gaze shifted from the minced meat and herbs to the ruddy heap to the sauce and noodles. It all looked delicious and he did not know where to start. The Omwati dipped his head to the servers as they set down the small clean bowl for each of them and took the old.

“These smell very good,” Flyndt stated. He moved to help himself to a scoop of rice and of the minced meat dish. “Longshun, you said you could not translate some of the food’s names. What is it in their native tongue?”

Foxen dipped his head too to each server, touching fingers to chin and out gently in thanks, mentally cataloguing their faces as he discretely offered them each a large denomination of credit piece as they passed. Then he turned to briefly examine the food itself before, as before, watching Flyndt take it all in. Listening to the sounds of the words, picking apart their phonemes, imagining what their shape might be. He wondered if they had their own characters, as the Han'duwil did, and thought of making those into new signs, new shapes, to honor their language properly the more Omwatese Flyndt gifted him with.

Instead of reaching for the food, he reached for the Omwati, intending to brush knuckles across the back of his hand, press the shape of ardor there and let his bird’s hand complete the missing piece, easy as breathing. But he caught himself mid-motion, freezing with his arm outstretched over the table. Quickly, the Nautolan redirected, unsure if he’d been caught in nearly losing their little game or not, and drew his new bowl closer.

Huffing at himself, as much for the slip up as for starting this in the first place, he mimicked his partner and took to the rice and meat first, pleased to try the strong-smelling, eye-watering dish first, as it had intrigued him most of three very intriguing (and one presently forbidden) options.

And release endorphins it did, the hot nerve numbing sensation of the chemical agony in his mouth and throat eliciting a noise nearly akin to a whine from the Nautolan. His general face everything watered, treating him to blindness with his lidless eyes for several minutes, but with the knowledge of Flyndt directly beside him, deep breathing kept both his airway incrementally cooler and his elevated heart rate stable.

Flyndt was here, so he was safe.

Of course, the pleasure-pain release and the blindness definitely didn’t help in the no touching department. Foxen panted heavily, the cocktail of literal spice, vulnerability, and general temptation making a mess of him. His body gravitated towards his partner’s as if magnetized, and he barely held himself back. One could only hope their servers would be presuming just the heat, and take his tears for the compliment it was to the cooking.

He did lift one hand in an O.K. signal, just to be clear, and used his other hand, shaking now, to pour more of the liquor. It burned too, even more intensely in combination, like a hot branding iron in his mouth, but the quicker evaporation on his tongue was at least a different pain than the uncompromising, continuous smolder of the chillies.

Crimson feathers ticked in interest with each new word presented, following the shape of the letters. Flyndt dug into the food he dished, feeling the shifting flavors as they reached his tongue. There was a tingling sensation at his inner nostrils, not so much to cause discomfort but certainly triggered a secondary enjoyment of the consumption experience from the odd burning. Pale translucent nictitating membranes passed over watering eyes, clearing them as easily as breathing.

He went back for another small helping when he noticed Foxen’s huff. The pause in his own moments, hand retreating just slightly as gears clicked in that quick avian brain. Recollection of a hand nearing his before redirection rose to mind. Flyndt cleared his throat and instead first turned slightly to sip from his tea.

Mid enjoying a second scoop of the dish – and this time trying to explore and pinpoint the cîqín, jiucéngta, and yuènán xuāngcài separately – the quiet whine and shift of the larger body beside the Omwati dres his attention to Foxen again. Flyndt leaned forward with an elbow on the table to get a better look at the hybrids face, still finishing up a bite himself. An assuring flash of his hand came before he swallowed. He raised his own up in mirror, double checking?

‘O.K?’

“Okay,” Flyndt nodded, verbalizing out loud also to share Foxen’s voice as well.

Anything dairy present? Foxen signed for ease, relying on Flyndt for it. While he could type on his datapad blind – and in other states of impaired functioning…at least, with one hand, now – it wasn’t ideal, and there was no need to subject himself to the pain in the ass. In the meantime, he scooped up rice as if it were water, taking a bite large enough to fill his mouth. While he was holding that on his tongue more than really chewing it, he added, C-A-P-S-A-I-C-I-N does not affect Flyndt. He could eat any of your dishes unblinking.

A smile was turned to the birb birbing for this, as if proud of him, though it was a bit of a wobbly one since his lips were still actively on fire.

Flyndt relayed the message easily, although he did squint in a bit of amused jealousy at Foxen’s ability to eat and communicate at the same time. It took him a moment of trial and error to sound out capsaicin until he got it right with a nod from his partner. He cocked his head, having not a clue what that was or why it did not bother him, but surmised it had something to do with the food.

He shrugged lightly, returned the smile with a light one of his own, and followed Longshun’s lead with more rice and some of the roba.

Feathery brows rose at the joke, a light chuff escaped Flyndt partly because social code. Someone laughs, he follows suit. But he genuinely was curious about this reference.

“What is a ‘Zhūquè’?” He looked to Foxen and asked after their host stepped out.

I have no idea, his partner replied, storing the word in the memory banks to ask about when Longshun returned. He gestured at the roba Flyndt was already eating. How is it? Are you enjoying?

“Mm, it is very good, yes,” Flyndt replied initially. He paused for a moment, chin resting on the back of his right hand which dangled in turn the small ceramic spoon.

“Hrmm”

Just ‘very good’ did not seem like a worthy answer for both Foxen and the people whose lives were tied with this food. He wanted to give more, something better. His gaze flicked back to Foxen, having wandered to stare at tapestries while thinking.

“Did not truly understand how much I would enjoy learning about this, foods of Kasiya’s people.” A quiet clink as he set the spoon down and lean back in his chair, one arm drape over the back, to better converse with his partner. “And you? You enjoy this?”

“Or has met match? With this Cap-say-sin?” A flash of mischief crossed his gaze, a teasing lick of his tongue.

Foxen’s gaze roved over the Omwati as he leaned back, the opening and sprawling of his pose…distracting.

And that fraking tongue.

It elicted a hungry, low bass growl from the hybrid, whose teeth sank into his lip, burning on burning with the cap-say-sin still lingering.

Met my match already. But not with the spice. Eleven months two weeks nine days six hours ago, he answered, fixated for a long while on inked lips and the speckled tongue behind them before his focus slowly dragged up to meet those mischievous sunset eyes. He shifted in place, adjusting his legs. I am truly enjoying this. It is excellent food, and it is excellent to watch you enjoying it and enjoying learning of it all the more. To share that with you.

Reaching out, he picked up one of the cloth napkins, and then, careful of his fingers, leaned forward and dabbed the cloth at Flyndt’s chin. Without touching, of course.

“Mmm. Ner kar'ta.”

Eleven months, two weeks, nine days, six hours ago…

Flyndt stilled, inhaling a small breath through still tingling nostrils and his inked lips parting. Surprise, endeared surprise at the unexpected comment to his teasing. A whisper of a low coo escaped him in his exhale as Foxen shared his thoughts on the experience. His brain was still mildly buffering when the napkin touched his chin, his hand reaching up to grip that wrist –

Footsteps approaching.

His hand halted, fingertips brushing the corner of a sleeve before pulling away. A small pout, a declaration, “What happened to no touching?”

As if they both had not nearly failed in doing so several times in the past half hour.

The door opened and Longshun walked in. Flyndt sipped from his tea before nodding to acknowledge his return. He returned to his own sample of the roba. “It is very good, was sharing about it in absence. So chillies and roba is the, hoo, meat?”

We didn’t touch, Foxen returned, a smile mangled slightly by biting into his lip to see that pout, skin buzzing from his sleeve being brushed.

Longshun’s return prompted him to lean back again and raise a hand, shaking his head in a gesture meant to convey the apology was unneeded. He gratefully took the carafe and poured a glass, not at all graceful in chugging half of it before holding the liquid in his mouth as a balm.

As Flyndt ate and asked, he took the moment to recover, then went back for his datapad.

No apology necessary. The cuisine is delicious and it is an honor and experience to have it and take part in your flavours, spice and all. Please know the tears are a compliment only to your people’s cooking.

I will have some roba, and some of every dish.

Flyndt listened along and used the small scoop of a spoon to pick out various ingredients the man listed. The fact they dry them for a couple months brought him back to the memories of long strips of meet dehydrating from the rafters of his home. He could taste both the tough savoryness of the jerky and the sight of watching it rehydrate for cooking by recollection alone. He took a drink of his tea, washing lightly the bit of numbing tingleness of his mouth.

“Ignorance of a planet’s people is as grave an insult as raised hand,” Flyndt replied, dipping his head back to Longshun. He gave a small smile afterwards. “Learning keeps it alive and strong against outside influence. I thank you for sharing it with us.”

He finished the roba and took up some of the third dish, keen on savoring the strips of raw meat. The Omwati also helped himself to a lime slice. The sourness of it combined with the memories of home and the past. An image of young him sitting with an older Omwati teen with pied white and blue feathers. A greyish pink fruit cut up and passed between hands, a gift from their aunt. Of contorted faces and pursed lips. ‘No, you look like a fish! Not me!’ Reliving the recollection, Flyndt grew quieter and focuses more on the meal itself, still somewhat keeping an ear open for the conversation around him.

Foxen took rigorous notes of the preparation method and ingredients used; with permission he could perhaps copy the dish, or at least adapt the methodolgy, particularly if Flyndt favored it. When Longshun made the gesture, Foxen noted it, and upon finishing his typed notes, mimicked it, folding right over the fewer left. His head dipped in kind over his folded hands as Flyndt conveyed their gratitude.

Ignorance of a planet’s people..earning keeps it alive and strong against outside influence…

It was a strange mixture of hope and despair. Of longing and letting go. But one he had come to know so well by now in the totality of living again that was loving Flyndt that he barely noticed the emotion; it was a constant undercurrent, a secondary heartbeat. It just waxed and waned at times.

This was one of those moments, reminded so starkly: here they were, learning of another culture not dissimilar to the Han'duwil, but definitively outsiders. So too would Foxen always be, regardless of how many glimpses of his people Flyndt gifted and honored him with, no matter how he hoarded the precious scraps.

…pull your…Kymis…he could be gone tomorrow…

The food was delicious. He’d heard before sorrow was a spice, and had never found the particular sentiment ridiculous; especially given how tears could impact a dish’s saltiness or a clogged nose its overall profile. But even speaking only in metaphor, the idea held merit. A meal coming once and only, to never be had again, made it all the more precious to savor. A last meal. A first meal. One shared with most beloved, or squandered or savored alone.

He wondered what sorrow quieted Flyndt as he bit into that slice of lime, suspecting but leaving unasked. Scoops of noodles and rice cleansed his pallets after the milk, the roba was roasted perfectly, and the drink was plum sweet and syrupy with the saudade of it all.

Is this why you do this work? To share it?

He asked Longshun after sometime simply eating.

A frown pulled at Foxen’s lips almost instantly, and his eyes inevitably went to Flyndt.

Dammit.

He hadn’t intended to remind the Omwati so exactly of his own trauma motherfraking shit.

But there was no helping it. So instead he attempted sympathy, and perhaps distraction, and set his pad down, instead softly snapping his fingers in quiet request for assistance, then signing to Longshun.

You have been gracious to us, and have given my Heart joy. I regret that your people experienced such theft. It is something we both know well. For what it is worth, so long as we live, we will know whatever of the M-A-R-I and N-U-O-S-U that we are taught during this visit. You have my contact. If you would like, you may tell me more beyond this. I am a stranger, but I would listen and remember. I remember everything. For your hospitality, I would carry it.

This last he signed slowly, but more firmly, for emphasis, gesturing to his head and then repeated the gesture he’d mimicked, right fingers folded over left.

Flyndt chewed his food gradually slower as he listened to the exchange between the other two men. To hear a story with notes that echoed similar to his own to his people’s and species’ history filled him with a confusing mix of emotions. The familiar well of agitation and frustration bubbled to head, yet quelled moments later much to his astonishment. It was like feeling a bit of kinship, knowing some other culture and people went through those experiences and still came out of it preserving proudly their ways of life.

A sigh escaped him, one that could be mistaken as a response to the food consumed. He sipped the wine and mulled over Longshun’s further words about changing times and culture practices. The Han'duwil Nation has kept to their tradition, but it would be dishonest to say time has not changed them. That they had not adopted such tech as portable stoves and rustic speeders, and communications arrays. Things change, and hells it may be different once he returns, someday…maybe. He finished the small portion of wine.

Fingers snapped.

Sunset eyes looked to Foxen before slipping into interpreting for him, almost second nature to him like breathing now. The avian nodded once done and mirrored the gesture of Longshun’s as well.

“Aye, yes, I aim to know,” there was emphasis on the word, “all that is shared with us, and remember.”

Foxen inclined his head one more time, and then followed suit as indicated, making certain to sample at least some of each dish but leaving plenty behind with the knowledge that the staff would be eating too; he had already had plenty, and Flyndt was ever a light eater (stuff him though Foxen loved to). He only paused to note, they are welcome to feast now; need not wait while it grows cooler.

If the staff elected to join, that would be fine. He had his only wish right by his side.

He just had to be careful not to touch, an objective that only grew harder and harder, especially as Flyndt’s cheeks grew peacher from the wine and fine food. He could feel a tipsiness washing over him, a vulnerability he had not allowed since the Pit, despite the rare and sacred occasions of sharing sips of drinks with Flyndt. It made something that sat always in his chest, shaped like the darkness in the distance of he’ll be gone tomorrow and just met in arena, lodged between pleurae and ventricular chambers, dull to a faint ache instead of a saw blade edge. And then when Flyndt smiled and made pleased noises for the food and something Longshun said, and reached automatically for Foxen like it was natural, bunching fingers in his shirt–

Well then the ache wasn’t there at all.

And he is going to die tonight if he can’t hold that olive hand soon.

- Are you finished? he asks eventually, and the question is clingy, knuckles brushing robe sleeves and the woodgrain of the table 0.02 cm from where Flyndt’s arm rests. The Omwati has been yawning more. He wants to tuck him into their nest and swathe him in soft things and scratchy things and preen his feathers and massage his back and breathe his skin and crawl inside him until there’s just them and never come back out. He wants to cradle his face and brush his fingers through the short blue gray feathers at the nape of his skull and fall asleep to his snoring and his fingers tracing the tattoo on his chest. He wants to bite– he wants–

Too much, really.

But that doesn’t hurt right now.

We should get some sleep. Long day here. Full day tomorrow. Yes?

Another yawn ended in a stuttered trill, Flyndt sitting up to the brush against his sleeve. It had taken him a moment to process the question and suggestion, and a moment more to fight the protest resting on his tongue. Sleep? No, he did not want to sleep yet. His body might be tired but it also buzzed from everything today, excitement, socializing, learning, new places. The wine and the not-touching. Anticipation. There was still time to wait out on their challenge and, and…

“Yes,” his red feathers twitched, his thoroughly peach flushed cheeks warmed. “Should go back, rest.”

Flyndt finished his tea and rose. He folded his hands and bowed slightly as he uttered good bye to Longshun, Foxen following alike. Another thank you to their host and the cooks, again complimenting their cooking. Then, the pair took their leave, crossing back to the building they were staying in. Still not touching, not even lacking their fingers together. Elongated minutes passed, a door opened over his shoulder, letting them inside…

~~~~

Sunlight poured from the window, warming his cheeks in a way that belied the crisp air outside. The sounds of avians chirping lured him farther awake. Flyndt shifted and curled under the thick, downy quilt, electing to keep his eyes shut and listened to the slow rhythmic breathing of the bare chest he laid on. In…out, in…out…

He must have fallen asleep again. Stirred awake again, by nuzzling of his feathers and large hands massaging small circles into his olive toned back. A quiet whisper, “Ciris…”

“Mm, morning.” .

A rumble, a near purr. A kiss gently pecked over his mauve colored birthmark upon his forehead. the Omwati shifted, hands planted on silver and crimson ink, and pulled himself up to return the kiss. His hand idly fiddled with a thick scarred tendril as a yawn escaped him. He was tired still, content and felt good however. Part of him wanted to see if they could just cancel whatever plans they had today and just stay right there, like this.

“What time is it? Slept good?”

“Mmmn…don’t know,” Bapti whispered back, sense of time beginning and ending between the soft spill of sunlight over the dimples of olive hips and the soft cocooning white of the sheets that ensconced them, wrapping them up in their own warmth, their mixed scents. Everything was just that: soft, out of focus, except for that smile, that yawn, the kiss that reached for him and the fingers on his headtail. “Slept O.K.”

And he had, despite the vulnerability of wine, here in this faraway place not their house surrounded by strangers and lacking any proper security measures or perimeter checks. Because it had just been them.

The Nautolan hybrid hummed, brushed their foreheads together, drew his nose along the line of jaw just below ear to jugular pulse and breathed. Tasted it. Knew it home.

“Mmm. You, ner ver-copa?”

A sigh.

“Hoo, too well,” Flyndt chuffed.

Another yawn escaped him as he rested his head on Foxen’s shoulders. The headtail was abandoned as his attention shifted to listening to his lover’s breaths and watching the light pour into the room. Eventually, the warmth he felt from being curled up together beneath the covers left his back with the blanket slid down to his hips. A slight involuntary shiver down his spine. It was a drawing reason to finally get up and ready for the day, to eat something and set themselves on their plans once more.

With another sigh and not at all a small pout, Flyndt pushed himself up into a sit, straddling Foxen’s waist as the blankets fell farther off. He rubbed at one tattooed shoulder, olive fingers massaging where inked lines and dots depicted a quadruped avian and a sun – the symbol of his clan. “I am going to dress. Talk about day’s plan after?”

He leaned forward and gave Foxen another kiss. Just a quick peck before he flitted away and off the bed – knowing his partner’s tendency to try and wrap him up and prolong the embrace. A small amused and cheeky grin lit his face as he turned to his pack and –

Cough.

Right.

Flyndt sheepishly left the room to gather his clothes.

He supposed they were getting up for the day after all.

Alas.

Although the view was marvelous.

Foxen rolled onto his side, propping up on one arm and watching unblinking and unceasing as his partner bent to his pack – mmm – and then ventured out into the main room. Once his strong, thick, deceptively light and compact body was no longer in sightlines, only then did the Nautolan move.

To stand in the doorway and watch him gather his clothes up from the floor, the counter, the entryway, over a plant. The underwear up on the stove’s smoke stack made Foxen laugh, breathy and gravelly, even when his Omwati shot him a stink eye.

He didn’t offer to grab the article. Flyndt could easily jump or climb that, and watching him do it was better.

He did get said garment thrown at him.

“Go dress,” his Home hooted at him, and then seemed to realize his mistake when Foxen merely pulled the cloth off his horn and pressed it to his nose and mouth, walking backwards into the bedroom without breaking eye contact as he breathed in.

“Hoo–! Bapti!”

Mine now, little bird.

“We have plans!”

Come get then.

He’d left his pack in here, after all. Which had his other underclothes.

He saw the determined, narrowed sunset eyes of challenge accepted before he turned and dove for the bed as a Tactical Defensive Position. High ground, and all.

(They got dressed, and out, eventually. But not without Foxen murmuring in Flyndt’s ear to ask him what he should wear for the day, dress me, and then to debate breakfast, and clean up again, and then on to actual food before finally emerging to plan for the day’s explorations.)

Foxen’s carmine gaze turned from watching Flyndt watch the sheer breadth of what there was to observe – having assessed it himself for any potential threat/spots Flyndt would like/admiration of market organization planning and produce – to Meihua. He smiled back at her, showing teeth that surely had been seen last night, with the way Flyndt’s presence and the excellent food and drink and being there doing this had made smiling so easy. Her tip, like the other cooks and servers, had been substantial. It was nothing compared to the gratitude and interest in her cooking, but money was useful, and on a schedule, the most straightforward support to provide, aside from compliments and questions about their shared passions.

He had a free hand where his and his Omwati’s weren’t twined, purple scarf tied round his wrist. He lifted it in greeting, exaggerating his expression and body language to convey his answers even without understanding of the signs themselves.

Good morning, M-E-I-H-U-A. Slept well. Thank you. How are you?

Flyndt indeed has been taking in the market place. The stalls, variety of wares and attire, the merchants harking and people bustling though it all reminded him of the markets that would edge the cities back on Omwat. Where handwoven fabrics of vibrant silk and cotton threads shown in the sunlight peaking past the honeycomb towers. Produce and crafted goods such as the kaskoto and carved wooden box of the Gon'alanc artisans Heeks had found. The reminiscing outweighed the slight pang of homesickness, coupled with strolling through the streets with Bapti. He could not be happier.

His sunset eyes shifted from their surroundings to look at Foxen, gaze rocking over the cream three piece outfit with a sweater and jacket to keep the amphibian warm that he himself chose for the man. The fashion was foreign but it…looked really good on the Nautolan-Chagrian. Foxen raising his hand brought the Omwati’s attention back. He glanced to the purple scarf around his wrist, then the scarred dark grey palm before clearing his own throat and clueing in on Meihua’s greeting.

“Greetings! It is good morning, good to see you too,” Flyndt smiled lightly as they came to a halt beside her. Watching Foxen’s signs, he offered his voice to interpret, “We slept good. Foxen asks how are you?”

“Mmm,” Foxen hummed in reply to Meihua’s query, after dipping his head in thanks for the payment network add-on. He didn’t sign anything specific, merely gesturing to Flyndt with an adoring look that said it was to whatever the Omwati liked best…and an edge of teeth to his smile that, to his partner, implied just what he liked eating most of all here.

A deep breath of the scents and intake of the sounds was pleasant. Steaming clouds of rice vinegar, stringent and sweet, opened his sinuses and made his eyes water as they drifted by in billows. It was excellent an environment.

Want anything specific, ner kar'ta? Or just walk? he asked his home.

Flyndt certainly had gotten absorbed in the span of marketplace that Meihua’s arm swept to attention. His gaze shifted from one stall to the next, wares to lingering faces. Inked lips parted with an inhale or several, drawing the flavored air over his tongue and tasting it as much smelled it. Crimson feathers twitched when he looked to Foxen and noted the inquiry finally from their guide.

“Hrmm,” the Omwati shook his head. He shifted to address his answer to the both of them. “No, not specific. I enjoy many foods, meats, fruits, grains, noodles…walking, meeting the vendors and moments that appear, yes?”

Foxen smiled at him in a way that could only be described as besotted. OK, he signed, and then reached out, seeking an olive hand hopefully to hold, as he’d once asked in a different market.

Even Foxen was unsure where exactly he intended to start, largely due to caring most where his bird would want to go as his mind filed away the rich array of options, ingredients, dish names, and information about Shanjiaoxia Meihua provided. After all, he had given Longshun a promise to remember.

The being avoided was not unusual to him. It was somewhat convenient even, as it allowed him precious moments at each stall to observe the chefs at work, copying their technique into the database. He tried to make note of where his Home’s gaze and flared nostrils and licked lips – mmm – lingered longest, though obviously the abundance of information and choice was quite a lot.

Privately, the Nautolan was betting his bird would choose one of the items with pickled vegetables and rice over the sweet wheat doughs, particularly any “bread on bread” options, but he was intrigued to see what was chosen.

What want? he asked once the produce was in sight and the prepared food section had been toured. Or, sample a bite of everything? Pay them all. <@244244400488710155>

Flyndt looked up away watching her another runner pass by with their basket, a slight twitch of a smile as he recalled the morsels’ name, the youtiao. A light chuff escaped him and he leaned in with a lowered voice, “Everything? That is so much!”

Despite the comment, it was clear the Omwati was seriously considering that. The way he clicked his beak and tucked his mottled tongue in the corner of his lips. “Mm, perhaps we share these dishes? The zhou sounded very good, imagine taste good with, hoo, youtiao and the uh doujiawn? No, doujiang, yes. Or – ”

Flyndt turned and looked about to the other stalls, excited and indecisive. A moment later met Foxen’s gaze again and looked to Meihau then back, giving a small sheepish smile.

“Is there something you like too? And Meihau, have you ate? If may ask?”

Fried dough and rice is NOT healthful…Those are starches on starches… Foxen might have said another day, in a more “bitchy” baseline mood.

But today was not that day.

No day seemed to be, since the sunset had come into his life. Laughing and smiling like that, clicking beak and spotted tongue, abuzz with the energy of it all.

Sounds like two for Z-H-O-U and Y-O-U-T-I-A-O then. And anything else. Can sample. Have everything by time we leave. He smiled back at his bird, then looked to Meihua. “Would want join us? Our treat…?*

“Mm, this is very good. Good paired with the rice, the uh…Zhou,” Flyndt praised after a mouthful of the rice congee.

The first bite has been quick because starving for breakfast. The second bite he had reminded himself to try savoring it, just for the taste alone, but any after were consumed in the mild fervor of hunger and enjoyment. The thin roba was a growing favorite of his among the ingredients from dishes they have had so far. And these eggs? While he hadn’t thought to try bits of one separately, he loved it with the rice congee and did find it tasting somewhat similar to a cheese.

The Omwati set his spoon down, the chopsticks had been a battle which may have surely bemused Meihua or caused her to cringe. He grabbed the long half of his youtiao remaining, having snack on the other half following suit to their guide, and broke off chunks to add to the remaining congee. He sipped gently the hot doujiang before addressing Meihua.

“this is called, century egg? Is named after age? Is it aged?”

Flyndt blinked slightly, tongue rolling behind his teeth as he considered the info with mild surprise. “Mud and soap fat soaked in ground for a century? Hoo.”

He isolated a piece by itself with a thoughtful look before trying it. The piece of dark brown white was certainly a flavor, curling on his tongue and up towards his nose. It passed quickly and wasn’t entirely horrible. Sulfurous for sure. But he preferred it with the Zhou, he thinks.

“Ah! No, not from same planet. We met…” His mottled tongue tucked behind his upper beak, lips parted in thought as he paused to choose his wording, “Traveling, away from homes.”

“Food of Omwat, hrmm…” He cupped his warm drink and again took a moment to think. “Varied. Many different cultures like here, different lands and resources. My own we favored both livestock goods like eggs and crop milk, fish and meat, and harvesting from the land. Seeds, fruits, roots, game and insects.”

“Kew'maxi, raw meat, is common dish. We also dry it, darn out on racks or in homes. Nothing was wasted, soups made with marrow.” A smile graced his lips slowly as his pace quickened with reminiscing, eagerness to share. “And we have common drink, Tcailen'ilim hîm, fermented crop milk. Very sour but good. Sometimes mix with Kaskoto, a ground fruit or drupe. Good to eat and drink. Also used for its oils, help healing during molt seasons.”

Foxen merely ate appreciatively and quietly while listening to the two talk, his chest swollen with a warmth the chill could never touch. Hearing Flyndt discuss his people and their food with someone else was a strange joy. Part of him catalogued the silliest of jealousies, curling shy and possessive around the moments and scraps of these tidbits entrusted him by the Omwati over the months of their Knowing each other. Other parts were an unbridled happiness for Flyndt’s happiness, to know the rightfully reserved and private Omwati was glad enough to share in this moment, that he felt safe, and happy, and comfortable enough to share. Yet another part preened, nodding along to the answers, knowing these preferences, having done his damnedest to recreate them, to encourage the koskotos to grow in the new garden and to experiment in fermenting non-dairy milks and to farm crickets and mealworms and scorpions in boxes behind the shed. To rebuild the house and pick rugs and make it a fleeting and temporary home for Home.

The mention of this mari-ren caught his attention. He had not discovered that in his research while writing with the orbak riders for the surprise…it would have to be arranged. A drink when they camped, perhaps.

Mmm.

And he was going to leave Meihua enough of a tip to fund her congee breakfasts for the next three years.

Where is this lake? Would you want to go fishing? he asked Flyndt and their company in turns.

<@244244400488710155>

Flyndt nodded in agreement to it all being fragrant. His feathered brows rose in curiosity at the mention of sour orbak milk, curious how it would taste compared to home’s. Did it come from avian or…mammal? Mammals produced milk he thought. Shaking his side tracked thought aside, the Omwati focused on the other bits she commented on. “We had sapie last night, I think. It was very good.”

The slight tink of Foxen’s spoon setting down, brought his attention to his partner and he translated for him, bridging the language barrier. A pause and light hum. He considered as Meihua described the place. “We did think bout hiking and gathering. This sounds like good place to see. I would…like fishing, yes. It was a favorite past time.”

“Is there, importance in any fish? Any protected? Sacred?” Flyndt asked their host. “Like, hoo, we have the Aurqila. Big fish with gold ringed black scales that look like molten metal trapped beneath them. It is a special right to fish them, and must be done certain way to value the fish’s spirit.”

<@244244163002892288>

Crab? Foxen postulated, offering the possibility. Any we should not take or disturb.

If the aurqila he made a note, doubt though he did he would use it himself.

Foxen smiled at her and shook his head, gesturing in a way he hoped conveyed it’s Okay.

Good explanation. Language is difficult. We call those turtles in Basic. Probably another word in Flyndt’s language. Will respect the large warriors.

That is not a mollusk, Flyndt mused to himself. Then again, most mollusks he knew did not have legs or rather psuedolegs. The only thing in common here was a shell.

“Warrior? Why are they called that?” he mused curiously, interest peaked by the definition. As for her original query on if they were done eating, Flyndt wrapped the rest of his bread and tucked it into his sash for later. A final sip from his bowl before nodding as if to say ‘am finished.’

Flyndt halted abruptly, crimson feathers rising up in surprise and then ticked with curiosity on if what he saw was true. Without saying a word to either his guide nor partner, he pivoted and backtracked the short distance back to the cart. He picked one of the drupes up and examined it in hand. Turning it this way and that, fingers splayed over the thick rind, and examining color and – sound. The Omwati knocked on the Koskoto twice with a light coo following.

“Meihua?” Flyndt paused, waiting to see if their host heard him before continuing with his inquiry, “What is this fruit? Did, hoo, is this grown here?”

Please, yes, Foxen confirmed to the vendor via Flyndt and then Meihua – translations were a bitch at times. Seeing the way his Home had honed in on these drupes had lit his curiosity and heart, busy as he’d been both cataloguing the ✨produce✨ and trying to observe Flyndt’s reactions too.

There was…a lot of input. And he was very interested. <@645466919415054357> <@244244400488710155>

“In trees? Oh,” Flyndt responded, surprised.

He set the stone he picked up back down and took a cube from the tray, dipping his head in thanks to the vendor. He took a bite and let the taste of it sit on his tongue. His brow furrowed lightly as he weighed the flavor from his strong recollection of Koskotos‘ flavor. It tasted remarkably similar, to the point Flyndt wasn’t sure if his preference for Koskoto was something actually different between flavors or nostalgia alone.

“It looks much like our Koskoto, though they grow on ground in vines and bush. Two kinds, Peye and Khaw Koskotos, 'little and big skull fruit, cus…hard and looks like eyes, nose…” the Omwati broke off, not sure if it was over-explaining. He shrugged and moved on with a light smile. “Mm, use in stew too and more. We also make oils for lots of use, good for feathers’ health and cleanse.”

To make a point, he finished his cube and carded his fingers through his crimson feathers once, massaging a brief second. He pulled his silver tail feathers back over his shoulder when he withdrew his hand.

Foxen took a piece after Flyndt did, busily observing every microexpression his Bird made as he ate with absolute focus that would surely be disturbing to the vendor and most people; but Flyndt was used to by now, if still sometimes flustered by. Only once the Omwati’s brow had unfurrowed and he had gone on to explain his people’s plants without commenting overly on his enjoyment of the yezi did the Nautolan grant the sample his attention, scraping off a piece to let it sit on his tongue.

Definitely different from koskotos, despite originating from a similar genus. The minerality was lower, the acidity higher, and the quality of the sweetness more potent, even for the mild fruit. It likely owed to the significantly richer soils and higher temperatures here in the valleys than in the steppes of Omwat.

Foxen’s eyes tracked Flyndt’s hand over the feather he swiped as he mulled over the morsel.

He inhaled, finished the bite, and then reached out to cup Flyndt’s chin, regardless of their audience. He tilted the Omwati’s head up and stared into sunset eyes. He hummed again, using his free hand to signal Meihua, not a sign that would need translating: he was just holding up the payment card they’d been loaned. But to his Home, he mouthed: “You like?”

<@244244400488710155>

Flyndt paused, his hand half withdrawn from swiping a small dab of the balm offered. A peach flush spread on his cheeks from the display of affection and physical touch in the market place.

“Chikk'dikk!”

An endeared scold, flustered and surprised as he was. He reached up and grabbed Foxen’s hand, pulling it down then rubbing the balm into his palm. His crimson crest of feathers slowly fell as the Omwati cleared his throat and returned focus back to the question and fruit.

“I do. It is much like Koskoto, tastes very good.” Flyndt’s gaze flicked to the extended payment card, brow furrow as he debated. “Buying some? Hmm, maybe one stone or…two? Much to see still.”

<@645466919415054357>

Flyndt considered, then nodded. “A basket would be wise. Where may I find them? I can grab while finish here.”

Flyndt’s eyes wandered as they walked, using the presence of Foxen’s larger body to ensure he didn’t run into anyone among the market crowd. Colorful and oddly shaped produce, fruits, vegetables, flowers; all nabbed his attention but not as much as the buckets of fish he paused to glimpse down at or the cages of insects that elicited an interested hoo from him. Were it not for him remembering Meihua was guiding them to a specific location, he’d still be there inquiring about them.

Halting at the present stalls carrying the array of baskets, the Omwati examined them all. Almost predictably to anyone who knew him, he approached first a row of the larger variety, looking over the dimensions of it, interior and the weave.

“How big you think we may need?” Flyndt asked Foxen, letting the basket rest back against the others. While he paused, he noticed the conical hats and picked one up to look at it, recalling seeing others donning the accessory. He spun it in his hands lightly as he continued talking, “Hmm, the large ones would fit most produce, many goods might be interested in. Can reuse it for rest of trip too. What think?”

<@244244163002892288>

Confirm, Foxen replied with a smile and hum, already with the yezi bagged on one arm. The weight was insignificant to him, but arms inevitably grew full even with the most organized of stacking. One of the large ones would be excellent.

Also, that it was Flyndt’s size was unbearably charming and once again he nearly grabbed up his bird then and there just to hold him.

Will be a suitable challenge, fitting everything inside in the proper order so that items on the bottom can support the upper mass.

He glanced back at both the stalls with insects and the ones with fish. Insects would definitely be on top. Fish…if Flyndt wanted them alive, another carrying device would be required. Perhaps one of the shoulder-poles with buckets on either end.

Red eyes went back to his Home.

Do you like the hat? he asked, smile curling more towards a smirk. Try it on for me?

So absorbed in the mission: basket, Flyndt had temporarily forgotten about the woven hat he was fiddling with. He blinked and returned a small smile back before flipping it upright and resting it on top of his feathers. Instantly a curtain of shade fell over his face and shoulders. The Omwati tipped the brim up with a nudge of his forefinger to look at the Nautolan-Chagrian.

“I do, it intrigues me. It looks like none I have seen before, more like an, hmm, umbrella.” Flyndt looked to Meihua and asked curiously, “This helps keep sun off outside, yes? Is it also waterproof?”

Foxen gave a pleased hmm both at Flyndt’s liking and at the versatile practicality of the hat. Approved. He picked up a second one and examined the edge, mimicking flicking it at the wrist like a discus weapon.

But can it kill? he signed to Flyndt, in reference to their show. A chuckle followed, and he put that one down before gesturing further. We’ll take the large basket and three hats. The additional will make adequate souvenirs.

Jax wouldn’t touch one with a ten foot pole that actually covered his hair, nevermind sharing the same horn problem Foxen did that made most unwearable. Minnie would like it though, and ugh, Bril.

Once purchased, the large hybrid would take the basket over his shoulders, leaving his Bird free to roam.

Flyndt’s lips ticked up in a small crooked smile at the versatility of the hat, especially the ability to hide items. That smile parted and widened with a chuckle at the Forged in Plasma reference, the avian shaking his feathered head with his amused doubt. He nodded in agreement with the purchase, interpreting what Foxen said for Meihua and the merchant.

Flyndt had intended to carry the basket originally, but in truth it probably was best for Foxen to. The basket would have likely grew too heavy for him eventually. So, Flyndt helped put the yezi into it and two of the hats, the third hanging on his back with the string around his neck, in the woven bag.

“What is a ‘S O U V E N I R S?” He asked as the three resumed their market perusing.

Happily basket-bearing with the expectation of eventually feeling the weight of produce – eventually, given his strength – Foxen was content to explain, always interested in which words or turns of phrase were new to his bird.

Pronounced like soothe-ven-ear. Type of gift or trinket one specifically obtains during travel to places not the home or on vacations. Meant to be mementos of the travel. Not sure why that word exactly. Will research the etymology.

“Ah, netil, I see,” Flyndt nodded on now understanding, deciding to leave the question of who the gifts were for for later. For now, ✨Produce✨

Spell for me? What is this word, to your people? Foxen asked in turn.

Flyndt took the proffered Yáng nǎi guǒ, examining the small elongated fruit. He was not sure what Meihua meant by ‘pressing’ it, so he watched her for how she handled the fruit. He mirrored, rolling and rubbing the fruit between his fingers, and marveled how more vibrant the red skin became with more of the rusty spots wiped clean. Curious, his mottled tongue licked the tip of his thumb and instantly his taste buds puckered in response to the sourness.

“Hoo!” he trilled, a smile twisting on his lips once the initial flavor subsided. Without further hesitation and a lick of his lips, the Omwati bit into the goat’s milk fruit. The tart astringent taste gushed in his mouth, followed by hints of sweetness. His crimson feathers rose with a light coo before finishing the sampled morsel. “Mm, thank you. It is very good. Tart, sour, yes, but also sweet? Yes.”

Confirm, Foxen agreed, more out of general absolution with Flyndt’s delight than anything else. If it made the Omwati trill, smile, and coo, it was Good. He didn’t even need to taste it.

(Though of course he did taste it, making the same motions Meihua and Flyndt did to properly handle the fruit with interest. This would require experimentation, using the fruit in both its pressed and unpressed states.)

We’ll take some, he added next, and through Meihua bartered with the vendor for a suitable sample size. He also asked: how are they grown?

I’m going to build a greenhouse, Foxen declared, and proceeded to gratefully tip the merchant after a few more questions about seeds back and forth and where to perhaps obtain a small sapling. As they continued on, he offered his hand to Flyndt again, their fingers sticky with various fruit juices.

The venture through the rest of the produce and food sections were quite enjoyable. Flyndt curiously invested in each new item Meihua brought to their attention, her explanation of it, and the interactions between themselves and the merchants even with the language barriers. Heeks was convenient, but nothing would replace going to a market and hand selecting goods yourself. Second, of course, to actually harvesting, hunting, or raising it personally. Yet, the best part of the experience was seeing what Foxen took interest in, to watch him engage and gather knowledge with keen intrigue and respect.

Witnessing the art of noodle-pulling and learning of noodle school, savoring fermented and pickle foods, and spice tasting – Flyndt near preening at his apparent superpower here. Meats, insects and fish. The restraint he had not to ask about all the different types. By the time the market shifted from food to other goods, the Omwati was mildly regretting breakfast after all their sampling. Worth it though.

Flyndt nodded along as they explored the various kitchenware, not at all eyeing the large bowl-pans and trying to remember if Foxen had anything of the like at home. His crimson feathers twitched and perked up as blades were spotted in the distance, responding to Meihua’s advice with a chuff and a thoughtful “hmm.”

He crouched before the spread of knives and inspected them. There was something appealing about the shine and cleanliness, interesting on how machine can make so perfect seeming. His thumb ran lightly over the design, idly noting it. But it lacked character and his interest had been fully stolen away at the mention of blacksmith work. Flyndt stood and dipped his head to the merchant before stepping back a couple pace to Meihua.

“You said your, hoo, yeye? And bofu? Are blacksmiths?” he asked curiously.

Where Flyndt shower restraint not asking about every type of protein available, Foxen had no such qualms. He asked after everything, was visually cataloging every detail, from identification of the fish samples Flyndt lingered most over based on the direction of their scale patterns to the relative degree of alkalinity of the vinegar in the 29th sample of pickled true root vegetables – taproots and tuberous roots – as well as non-roots such as bulbs, corms, rhizomes, and stem tubers they’d sampled in the last 67 minutes. It reached such a point that he would pause while Flyndt was busy astounding Meihua and merchants with his lack of ability to taste capascian in order to dump the mental memory file in a text log for the trip, typing furiously in his coded shorthand for notes while watching the way the sun struck Flyndt’s preening smile and how the cool air bled his olivine cheeks with its typical peach rosé the heat of the chemicals in the peppers couldn’t touch.

At least, not those cheeks. The Nautolan was already planning some comfort options for later that night when the seeds returned with a vengeance, between cooling packs for sitting on and gentle topical anasthetic creams, even including extra bacta. His research into basic acidity lubes had not been promising, as one still couldn’t deft the laws of chemistry and he didn’t intend to burn the Onwati’s skin even worse. Though, perhaps he could ask Bril for advice. The Zabrak might be nominally useful for once. Foxen recalled a memory byte of the other Force adept bragging about his ability to ignore heartburn and hangovers, and if he’d ever actually eaten anything Minnie tried to cook out of sheer suicidal love, he had certainly battled gastrointestinal devastation.

After this detour, Foxen spent a pleasant 345 seconds simply gazing upon Home while he ate some more noodles. It was extremely restful. The mind and eyes felt refreshed and ready to continue absorbing all of the local culture.

- And absorb he did. The “aunties” were particularly interesting. After watching them a long while for their technique and requesting and obtaining confirmation of permission to try their mincing method as well, Foxen stepped up, removing the out suit coat of the soft material that Flyndt had dressed him in that morning and folding it aside in his partner’s arms. He removed nothing else, confident of his ability to both perform the task and keep the perfect ecru wool intact and free of any blood or meat spatter. The elderly females clearly thought this a bold presumption, by their aprons and facial expressions. Also, they stared at his bare arms.

He ignores the stares. Flyndt has made love to and Known each of the scars, burns, and ridges that twist and mottle the limbs. That is the only regard besides Gaile’s, and Auntie’s that matters. The rest is irrelevant.

He completes the task diligently, humming one of Flyndt’s several stimming coocooburr patterns while he chops. It is good work. He is satisfied with it, and approves of the technique. The quality and texture to the meat like this has been interesting to consume, and it is valuable to learn. He turns to the aunties and offers them a shallow bow and, like many of the merchants thus far, a tip of generous denomination.

Then he looks to Flyndt, and smiles.

-

The rest passes in similar joy and learning. It is like a dream. Discreetly, at two intervals, Foxen bites the meat of his hand; discretion only for Meihua’s sake and that of the marketgoers who have welcomed them so well. When the pain does not make the world wobble around them and return to that place or anything else without sunset eyes in his life or an entire market of produce and the smell of feathers and the small, strong hand twined with his disappear, he contents himself. Eventually though it does end, and the basket on his back and satisfyingly weighted and packed optimally in order to not crush anything; he paid to have various villagers send heavier or more delicate items directly back to the inn for them.

Should’ve gotten a cart.

But then, he didn’t want to remember being a pack animal in this perfect day, and he didn’t want to deal with an actual pack animal yet.

That was scheduled for tomorrow.

On they went to the ✨knives✨. Foxen admired the hardware, thinking of replacing a few standard pieces in the kitchen – they were not becoming inferior in quality, as he wouldn’t let them, but he was inclined to support the local economy, as evidenced by his currently dumping thousands into it. But much as the blades are decent, Flyndt’s reactions are even better (of course). And his interest at Meihua’s talk of blacksmithing is immediately a priority from kitchenware. Foxen peered at the images Meihua showed them of likely paternal lineage, and hummed in considering praise for the work.

We would be interested in these. Would you be able to make an introduction? he asked.

<@645466919415054357> <@244244400488710155>

Flyndt admired the place and noted the similarities to their suite. This was a home, however, and felt lived in with its own personal vibes. He gave Foxen a smile with a sigh that was both satisfied and pleased as it was slight nerves on meeting Meihua’s respected elders and family. But he was excited and eager to even more so, an intimate experience they were being invited to have.

With the heavy thud of the ham on the cutting board, Flyndt moved closer to the table and gave a chuff, “I am not very good, but happy to help. Just tell me what needs doing.”

Of course. At your direction, Foxen conceded with the respect of one to a priest of her own temple; and most holy it was, someone in their own kitchen.

At least, when they were competent. Otherwise, interference and firm dismissal to hostile takeover was necessary, but Meihua had earned his regard in their time together, and he would not sully the character of her piety until proven to him sacrilegious.

With an assessing look of the ham shank, Foxen moved to draw the necessary and most appropriate knife, eyeing other tools he himself would reach for and the various cupboards and any visible spices or additions. However, he merely stood a holy soldier at the ready of this crusade, awaiting Meihua’s order.

You’re very good company. Critical role, Foxen signed to his Home at Flyndt’s comment, shooting him a smile like melted butter and sugar.

His ham cubes were approved to be adequate, and so were the other things Flyndt assisted in chopping. He did more retrieving and passing of ingredients down the table than cutting compared to the other two, but he was content with that and was aiding none the less.

He enjoyed hearing Meihua’s explanation of how they prepare the dry-cured ham. The process reminded him of the dried strips of Borts from home but yet different with the salt and pressing, and he happily shared about that as they worked. The orp carcass being chopped bones and all was a surprise, a curious one.

Flyndt nodded in thanks and happily munched on the papaya, his nose scrunching slightly to the enjoyable sourness. He looked on, ready to dive into the next dish.

The tasks of chopping and cutting through bone through sheer might and precision with excellent tools were satisfying ones. Foxen happily completed each task while recording the audio of what Meihua said with half an ear, enjoying sharing the kitchen with Flyndt more than anything. His eyes took in the various features of the kitchen and curiosity grew, at one lull requesting to see the drying area for the hams.

If Flyndt enjoyed the meat prepared this way, he would have to dig a basement. Create both a proper smoker/drying room and also one for mimicking the way the Handu'wil prepared their borp, where hams and anything else could be cured for–

But. No. That was an overly excitable thought.

Because they would not take years to rescue Gaile. Flyndt wouldn’t be here for years. And he’d certainly only deserve the highest quality cuts of proper aging.

Perhaps the body would dig one anyway, After. Perhaps send the meat as a gift if permitted to. Heeks could have it delivered, like the letter. Heeks hadn’t been able to obtain him any borp with permission from the locals in the main city yet. It was unfortunate. Flyndt deserved things from his home. To feel at home.

His plotting continued quietly as they worked, enjoying the fruit and the aromas beginning to rise from the stewing pot.

It was a surprise indeed to see the set up, but not unwelcome. Foxen found it all fascinating and sensible, in the lense of their culture. Certainly he would never have a floor covered in corn in his domicile – unless Flyndt would prefer as much – and never have animals about to feed – except Drakor, and were Flyndt to find any other animal as important, Foxen would remake himself into something that could accept that one too – but he could appreciate the simplicity and efficiency for its greatness. The preservation and drying of the meats made sense, and required perhaps fewer house renovations than he’d briefly imagined…

But the fact remained Flyndt would not be here three years, so it was perhaps still forbidden.

Unless as gifts, should gifts be permitted, after they parted.

The Nautolan yet again shook himself and focused on the cooking. It was a suitable distraction and the name scheme was quaint but accurate. He looked forward to trying the layered dish.

What next? he asked.

While enjoying Foxen’s curiosity and intrigue running free, Flyndt was loving aiding with the meal prep and handling it well. This new technique grabbed his ear. He set down the garlic beside the ham and half-crouched to watch the wok warm up. The twinning white smoke was memorizing to see. The heat was certainly getting to him and he adjusted his rolled up sleeves again, the feathers on the map of his neck flaring to cool down. He was keen on seeing how fast this method cooked food, of Meihua’s word was true.

.

“That was fastest cooking I have seen yet,” Flyndt exclaimed after recovering from his open-mouth stare of awe. As if on second thought, he gave Foxen a smile and shrug that spoke ‘It’s true, but your cooking’s good too.’

The Omwati grabbed two sets of chopsticks and passed one over to his partner. He then helped himself to the proffered bowl, ensuring to get a garlic stem or two with a piece of the ham in one pinch. Nom.

Too hot!

Flyndt exhaled shallowly and kept the food moving so it would not sit for too long in one spot on his mottled tongue. While forgetting it just came off a superheated pan – this was no Shuuz to be stolen directly from the pot – the act to cool the morsel of food also distributed the flavor through his mouth. He swallowed once his comedic attempt ceased, and hummed in approval.

“So very uh, hmm, thick? Moist? Plump? Very good.”

Flyndt’s little smile of reassurance both settled and itched the Nautolan’s pride, but it couldn’t be argued nothing he’d performed for the Omwati before was equal to this particular technique. Yes, he stir-fried – and he was prepared to debate with Meihua at length about her opinions of possessing the only ‘real’ stir fry – many, many dishes for Flyndt as one of the most similar cooking methods to the Omwati’s home and a great favorite to his taste buds, and yes, he had shown him very rapid cooking methods, but not one that combined specialized wok and jet-engine flame.

He was envious, but that could be fixed easily with acquisition, study, and practice. Hmm.

Moreover, the results were indeed scrumptious as he fiddled with the chopsticks his partner handed him, needing to switch hands to compensate for his lost finger and the amount of sweat currently on his palms from the heat. He watched his heart making the characteristic cheek dancing motions of swirling food too hot before carefully noting the Omwati’s approval and offering his own.

Very skilled, he complimented after freeing the hand to do so. May I try?

Crimson feathers ticked in rapid interest at the offer and invitation for Foxen to attempt the dish and cooking technique. Flyndt hummed contently and shifted on his seat, folding and resting a leg tucked underneath him comfortably. He leaned out and grabbed another bite of the stir fry to nibble on as his partner approached this new challenge.

Gayly tangents

Foxen did not roll up his sleeves in anticipation of the challenge – rather, he deliberately and slowly unbelted the cream-on-cream coat of the outfit Flyndt had chosen for him today and draped the garment with perfect precision to disturb not a fold of the fine wool over the nearest available suitable surface. The soft yet fitted material of the sleeveless turtlenecked top underneath yawned across his massive chest as he turned back, rolling boulders of shoulders, the expanse of his gruesomely scar-and burn-riddled arms revealed to Meihua. But his granite face revealed no embarrassment, the ease and confidence of his movements oozing only surety and quiet excitement as he stepped up to the sparking pan while rotating his thick neck to stretch it. The necklace of feathers hanging over his heart was carefully tucked inside the shirt, but otherwise, he seemed totally unconcerned about staining either remaining piece of his dangerously pale clothing to the cooking process.

“Hmm,” the Nautolan hybrid hummed, the air shimmering with heat above the wok like the space behind a starship engine in the afterburn. At any given time, such a thing might have activated worse memories; but today he had his dream and his heart and his everything by his side, perched and happily munching, feathers and expression bright. Good produce, good food, a plethora of new experiences together and theirs alone. Crisp mountain air and valley soil and sharp sour fruits and the crinkle of dry corn knobs and crust of salt thick ham. Meihua’s patience and thoroughness. Longshun’s promise.

Flyndt’s smile. Laugh. Hoot.

Yes, this was a good memory of heat that singed his face when he drew close.

A smile tucked the corners of scarred lips as Foxen took up his instruments and then, replaying the motions he had just seen in his mind’s memory file along with his own experience database access, began to perform.

Enough oil to fill.

Always moving.

- His arms worked furiously, just between machinework rigidity and dancing, evocative elegance. For all his precision, Foxen’s passion was in cooking, and he flowed in it as he did in the ocean, born to the waves. Only Flyndt would really notice how much more life in it there was compared to his form in battle, someone of creation and beauty rather than pinnacle efficiency and ruthlessness so awesome it became its own beauty.

By the end, a few pieces – 3.76, nearly unacceptable for a first try – were two degrees less and more done than Meihua had finished them, and a speck of oil and fat 0.66 mm was burnt on the pan, but the food was a successful mirror otherwise as he served more portions out. Not entirely dissatisfying…

But also.

“Hrm.”

I can see this requires great practice. I redouble my compliment to your skill, he said, thankful for his partner’s translating.

Foxen’s quiet preening for the compliment was evident in the crease of his ruby eyes. Even before Meihua had departed, that blood red gaze had returned, as always, to Home, simply watching him eat and taking him in. They’d been given an assignment, certainly, but it could be deferred a moment.

For ✨staring adoringly.✨

Did Flyndt end up fixated on the display of an attempt with chopsticks stuck in his mouth, his nictitating membranes keeping his staring eyes from drying out? Yes, yes he did. To his untrained gaze, Foxen had taken to the challenge like a pro. Perhaps if he had not some rose colored lens set in a heart-shaped frame, he’d notice the more charred bits and the few chunks of food stuck to the pan. But he was an oblivious, less perceptive bird at the best of times.

The chopsticks falling into his lap when he echoed Meihua’s cheer with a hoot of his own jolted him out of his stupor. Nimble hands fumbled to save them from clattering onto the floor.

Accepting the task of setting up the table and watching their host and guide leave, Flyndt shifted back in his seat to fold his other leg up upon the bench, a well balanced crisscrossing. Sampling a bite of Foxen’s batch, the Omwati flashed a grin up towards his partner.

“Impressive,” his mottled tongue stuck out in a light toy, voice mimicking some viral media expression Minnow taught him now adopted in fondness alongside the likes of ‘it will kill.’ Flyndt hummed and held sunset eyes to crimson, “Very good. You looked like a natural. Sure you have not done this before?”

A sound emitted from Foxen at the the impression, a short, rapid series of hitching clicks a slightly higher pitch than his normal rasping laugh. Some might have thought it coughing; Flyndt knew it as his giggle. His partner obviously preened under the praise, his chin lifting and shoulders rolling slightly while they stared at one another (and he nearly leant over to nip that teasing tounge).

Thank you. I like it. Not so different from other techniques of a kind. Hotter. More of a challenge. Reminds me of another. And he winked, all admiration and fondness. You like?

The Omwati’s gaze narrowed as his grin pursed in pleased bemusement, feathers twitching. The hulking amphibian was not the only one who could preen in pride of themselves and their acts. “Of course liked,” Flyndt tsked lightly. His eyes wandered to the shoulders protruding from the cream turtleneck top for a moment before returning, “All of it.”

He then leaned over and fetched a bit of the roba and garlic tossed by those familiar hands. The morsels were offered up, hovering in the space between them. “Here, have some, yes? Then we should prepare table.”

Foxen leaned in and accepted the bite, sure to hold eye contact with his partner while he did lewd things to the chopsticks with his tongue. He pulled back though after a moment and chewed, tasting the fine difference between his work and Meihua’s with a critical thought before swallowing.

78% match. Despicable. But practice would improve efficiency.

Lead the way, he replied, if only to watch Flyndt hop down and walk away, an excellent view to accompany dish-setting.

Sitting around a table, helping oneself to dishes, and the acquainting conversation among the small group gave a more informal air than the welcoming dinner they had with Longshun. There was something added by being invited into another’s home and sharing their space with them, more authentic? Like that was a word either of them or at least Flyndt even cared about. He took note of the cultural behaviors, felt some nostalgia despite the differences from his home. But it was starkly different from his experiences of meals with Foxen and Minnie, the cookouts with their small circle of close friends, find moments as they were.

The brief pauses for translations took little away from conversation. With both parties needing to interpret to merge the language barrier, it helped ease and normalize the gaps. An understanding and patience. Flyndt was comfortable sharing a bit about himself. His crimson feathers standing proud in mention of his homeworld and his role as a guardian there. A curl of his lips as he shares a small bit about Selen and referred whatever Foxen had to respond – no doubt causing a lingering look when he mentions home, earning a clearing throat and a redirection to new questions.

At some point of this chat as a soft lull fell between bites of orp and mushroom soup and rice, the curiosity that spurred this impromptu meeting rose to undeniable temptation. Flyndt set his tea cup down and looked to both Jin Chenning and Jin Fu, “Meihua spoke of your trade and wares, the quality of them that comes from masters of the skill and generations. How long has the craft been in your family?”

“Hoo, honor carried through generations and held most proudly in name indeed,” Flyndt uttered afterwards. His crest twitched with even more eagerness to learn more.

The food was, of course, excellent – 22% aside – and there was some strange level of comfort in a lack of strangeness in continued necessary translations. He was so accustomed to being the only one not understood, unheard or requiring some accomodations to do so. The slow pace of their trilingual conversation was…pleasant. And his gratitude to his partner as always immense. Patience was not Flyndt’s strongest suit; that he constantly, daily invested so much in it to be around Foxen and be with him was.

Honeymoon… blared the invasive thought in Minnie’s voice from memory when it was inquired as to why they were visiting. The Nautolan’s utensils snapped in his hand, and he nearly drove the point of one into his thigh just to punish the traitorous brain and muscular neurons. He kept control of that though, translating apology and continuing on with the meal.

Vacation, he explained instead, spending time together, just us, away, for the first and only, whispered the brain time.

He didn’t mind answering other questions either about Selen, speaking more of it while contributing to what Flyndt said also. The shared looks. The way he spoke of Selen and the house not as home, but only used that word for Flyndt himself.

But finally the small talk broke, and there were the rising feathers and near-vibrating curiosity in his bird. Foxen’s smile and stare stayed fixed on his Home even as the Jins, through Meihua, spoke. Rude, perhaps, but he didn’t give a damn. He had what he wanted to see, that spark.

Still watching, he signed, My partner is politely resisting many more questions. He is also a smith and tinkerer and makes many things. Made his own weapons, armor. Made me some as well. I have a passion for…blades. We were hopeful that you would do us the honor of watching you work, perhaps trade some tips and techniques? He wasn’t confident ‘shop talk’ would cross a multilingual barrier.

Foxen huffed his raspy laugh, nodding. He knew what he looked like, after all. Fine clothes couldn’t cover all his scars or maiming.

Confirm. He is not wrong. Very much, we like weapons. I would be interested in meeting and learning a kind I have not yet tried in order to master it. Would demonstrate, if wanted, in exchange for demonstration of their techniques. Then he rewound their explanation in his head. Two blades from one metal?

Crimson eyes glanced to the Omwati, and were an inked olive hand on a scarred black cheek, it would feel heat, a warm flush pleased by the idea.

“Ah, kirka,” Flyndt uttered as he examined the sickle in hand with care, thumb tracing the blunt outer edge’s curve. He paused, feathers lifting briefly, and added, “hoo, pardon, is name of one of our tools that share looks with the,” he lifted the tool with emphasis, “lian.”

The Omwati waited for Foxen to hand the gou lian over to Uncle Jin, who returned it back to its place on the rack, before handing the sickle to him. He watched that critical and assessing gaze hone over every millimeter of each blade, possibly examining for signs of cracks and defects or just appreciating the quality and experience of century old craft work brings. Flyndt wanted to know what he thought as much as did not wish to rush the man to give that opinion. Truly the greatest war ever waged.

“These are very well made.” He turned back to Meihua and Grandpa Jin with a small smile gracing his otherwise passive face. The avian’s keen ear for patterns gave a little aid in recognizing connection in languages, nothing that could rival a Scoundrel’s skill not a language scholar(Hi, Jax), but enough for him to ask curiously, “Is dao your people’s word for ‘blade’ or ‘knife’? And what of lian? If I may ask.”

“Ah, I see,” Flyndt replied, noting the meanings along with the shapes. “And what of dual-sided blades? Do you make such in your practice?”

Flyndt enjoyed feeling the weight of each tool. He balanced them in hand and imagined their application, miming so with some. Angling a chisel with three fingers pressed gently on the long flat metal, the vision of carving precise gouges floated easily to mind. A small hammer harboring a head shape and mass bid well suited for fine fastenings, etc.

“Good, very good,” Flyndt commented while closing a pair of tongs.

He was half withdrawn, musing on the idea of owning some of these tools for himself but greatly thinking of Foxen. The Nautolan-hybrid had been working on the house and surely the woodworking tools would assist. He tossed a lingering look over at the towering man as he had done through this tool viewing, noting for any sign of interest.

Withstanding decades of punishment.

Foxen nodded at the anvil in respect and a deep understanding.

The shop, despite its smoke and heat, was Good. The flavors of the woodsmoke and metalworks were different from the sand-gritted steam pipes that haunted him still, and much literally blistering exposure therapy in his own kitchen and the year on Selen had tempered his ability to deal with high heat once more. Like the jet engine wok back in the house, this was pleasant, exciting.

And the ✨blades.✨

The hybrid noted each translation, and even more happily so the ones Flyndt offered. Inspecting every single tool offered was thorough and delightful. He was relatively quiet due to both focus and volume as well as appreciation. They were observing masterworks straight from the hands of masters, and it was an ✨experience✨.

Indeed his hidden, mangled feet almost dragged as the tour portion continued, moving on to tool section with little pause to properly appreciate the difference between the single-edged dao and double-edged jian. But so too were the tools of great interest. It was the market all over again. He had a mighty need for hours here.

Tactical flexibility required–

Oh that’s a nice fraking knife.

Focus, he reminded as he caught sunset eyes of Home looking back to him after doing the appropriate and necessary three clappings of the tongs he was handed. He smiled back at Flyndt’s gauging look to demonstrate his happiness.

It is all good, he explained, echoing Flyndt’s sentiments. Too good. I am, he paused to make not a sign but a silly gesture, spinning a finger near his head and then miming an explosion, processing. Want everything. To test all the knives. To see you move with that halberd. To experiment with that, he pointed to the juzi as he did not know how to fingerspell the word, for if it can make the pattern I want for on the koskoto planter. Tell them I am impressed, please, my love?

A light, lopsided smile twitched upon the avian’s lips as he listened, seemingly pleased and smitten. Nodding, Flyndt turned back to the others and relayed Foxen’s opinion. His crimson crest rose as he added an inquiry.

“These tools, are they for trade? We would be of interest to buy a couple.”

Foxen took the weapon with appropriate reverence, testing its weight and miming a series of expert slashes at significantly reduced speed. The gold gleamed pleasingly.

It would match his jewelry.

And the second blade was perhaps even more beautiful in its subtle coloring but intricate carving. He watched it in his Home’s strong, clever hands and wondered how difficult it would be to forge the pattern of Flyndt’s tail feather into the metal–

“…when he is married.”

Foxen nearly dropped the blade.

Fortunately, his reflexes were honed enough that he caught it immediately, quickly returning it to its place and turning back to face the Jin men. He didn’t let himself stare at Flyndt.

…olive hands…

DENY.

Flyndt interest piped doubly at the mention that some of the tools were good for carving metal. His attention was quickly and easily moved along to the next section. He took the Husa duandao and examined the detailed lettering and fullers. It was always interesting to see how differently blades are made. The several thin fullers on this short blade versus the one wide etched onto those of his own people, or the smooth faces of other blades like some in Foxen’s collection. The avian traced the scrollwork down the metal’s face before weighing the duandao in hand. A wedding gift…

“The words inscribed, are they, hoo, blessings for the couple?” It was a guess at best, his mind wandering to items the Han'duwil depict wishes and blessings into, most were not blades though. The twitch of his feathered crest was of genuine cultural curiosity, completely missing the split fumble of his partner. His own gaze did turn to the returned Achang dao while he handed the blade he held back, more questions on his tongue. “Hoo, and this, what purpose does this notch gives?”

Struggling to recover from his Absolutely Disallowed Malfunctioning, Foxen was very careful as he was handed the circular axe, knowing he was doing a disservice to the Jin family by not admiring their works properly. It couldn’t be helped; his programming hadn’t reset properly yet, and he was still trying to drag the part of his brain that was circling around Flyndt holding an inscribed wedding knife.

It was an especial shame as these seemed to be the aforementioned pair of blades made from one piece of metal? Which also spoke to him on a frankly devastating romantic level, and was not helping.

Nevermind Meihua’s explanation of the Nouso culture, and the echoes to the Handu'wil’s, and the Top Secret Orabek Plans for tomorrow, and–

Foxen.exe has crashed.

He needed some air.

Tactical flexibility was needed.

Offering the wonderful pair of fraking metaphors for everything he wanted and was not supposed to be wanting back to Meihua, he asked, may I use your refresher?

Foxen nodded, then made a hasty exit again without looking at his– not his bird.

The bathroom was probably decidedly not sized for someone like him and probably had a neat description but we’re not going to make the narrator do that so excuse us while we imagine more corn and some tidy necessary furnishings and a mirror for him to angst into.

Crouching down quite a bit, red eyes met red in said mirror and glared at maximum strength. His gestures were sharp, wide, and merciless.

Get ahold of yourself, he snapped. These are disallowed wants. Violation of boundaries. VIOLATION. Failure of Mission. Take all your shit and put it in a box and just get it together!

Then a little percussive maintenance of the face/head. His horns and teeth vibrated with it, and he waited for that to stop before willing respirations and heart rate to return to baseline and all the singing, skipping, frolicking feelings that wanted to jump in place over ✨marriage knives✨ to go out back in a field to be summarily executed for treason. Took the corpses, burned them, buried the ashes.

Together, gotten.

CONFIRM.

Confirm.

Mollified, he returned to the workshop posthaste to see whatever else would be found Flyndt and company had been up to and to appreciate in more detail the ✨Weapons tour✨.

“Hoo, anār,” Flyndt uttered under his breath while examining the axe and utility knife forged pair. Another group of people who honor the sun. His mind went to the solar rays inked on his shoulders and etched upon his halberd back home. Though his clan revered a quadruped avian instead of horses.

He was busy thinking about suns and nomadic lifestyles and listening to Meihua explain the blades’ purpose, that it took a second to get his aid in asking for the fresher. A perfectly normal request but the hasty departure had Flyndt pausing, watching his partner leave. A brush of his senses against the Force revealed a trail of purple and magenta threads, heavily wafting from the room and accompanying a tightening throat. His feathers rose with a bit of concern as he pulled away and cleared his throat.

The Omwati returned his attention back to their hosts. He conversed with them in idle chat and questions on the collection they had there. When Foxen returned, Flyndt met his gaze and gave a quick gesture at his side. O.K?

O.K., Foxen flashed subtly back, and then, because it was Flyndt, looking at him with those sunset eyes, framed in a forge of fatal and filigreed steel, he added a shake side to side of his hand and clarifying numbers, 89% O.K. Happy though. Happy here, with you. It is wonderful.

Not wanting to be rude to their hosts, he made sure to give each of them polite nods as well whence he and Flyndt finished hand-speaking.

The avian narrowed his gaze a nanometer, assessing, but he seemed to be quickly mollified with the response for now. His hands flashed a response back with a small beaming smile to Foxen. ‘Happy too, agreed.’

Foxen directed to the Jin’s, are there perhaps, polearme? And after, do you think Flyndt could see the forge? Try, perhaps? With all respect – it is your kingdom.

Foxen took the weapon offered with relish, the knife-staff *podao,“ leaving the divine blade to his divine bird. He smiled with two rows of shark teeth at Grandpa Jin, nodding and moving forward to the center of the room. But first – a pause to once more remove his jacket as he had done while cooking, revealing his bare, scarred arms to their hosts. The oversized Nautolan hybrid paced the center of the workshop in a slow circle, testing the heft and balance of the polearm, pointed inward and low. He gave a pleased hum, then looked to his partner.

May I have this dance, ner kar'ta?

“Would be honored to watch,” Flyndt dipped his head in respect to the two elders.

He followed along and certainly was not oogling the various polearms as Meihua pointed them out…okay, maybe a little–lot. The Qinglong Ji and Fangtian Jim reminded him of his halberd with the three blades fixed to it, the crescent shape of the axes undeniably appealing. Wushu sounded like schools of martial arts, a fact he filed away in his head or at least attempted to with vigilance right now.

Foxen was well to select the podao as Flyndt had practically claimed the Guandao, so transfixed by the weapon he had forgotten to pass it along. He looked up at the mentioned offer and watched Foxen pace with the knife-staff. His feathers rose with the proposal, considering if tentative but he nodded in agreement. Looking to Meihua, he asked in curiosity, “This divine general, Gaun Yu, what is they known for? Hoo, their lore, if I may?”

Listening if she chose or permitted sharing, Flyndt took up a spot opposite of Foxen. He took up the dao in both hands, shifting his usual grip positioning to accommodate the blade head’s balance. Simply practicing a few faint, mock motions on his own in the semblance of actual slashes and feints until satisfied, he turned back to Foxen.

‘O.K. Run through form? No contact?’ Flyndt asked. The quality and resilience of the weapons had his full faith, but there was still a little weariness of marring one of these blades for sale. Little did the birb know, the ‘chip it, you buy it’ rule was just an excuse Foxen didn’t need.

No contact, Foxen agreed, though the gestures he used were an echo of their little game from the previous evening through dinner, no touching each other, and his lidded look and brief smirk said everything his fingers needn’t. Sweeping the podao out in practiced snap, Foxen swept an even, slow bow, bending at the waist without lowering his head, crimson gaze fixed on his partner.

It was an echo of a very different bow. Twin suns white and blazing merciless overhead, urine and blood baked fetid into churned sand, clamorous crowds and corpses newly cooling on all sides, and high in the stands, in that viewing box, a bird in gilded cage. Copper in the mouth, drenched over the head, down the side. A roaring. Metal thick. Eyes meeting. Scarlet to sunset. It was: his eyes, meeting. Their eyes. Eyes with a person behind them, because that bird, because Flyndt, saw him.

Now they are on level ground, in plethora of senses. It is cool and warm at once between the weather and the forge. They wear no collars. They are on a honvacation. The weapons they hold do not belong to them and have not been made by them, but they wield them for joy, not survival or duress.

-

Flyndt hoo’*d at him, a *look crossing his birthmarked features, and made the Han'duwil’s gesture of respect. Then as Foxen straightened, they shared a nod, as they did for now surely hundreds of spars together – 369 to be precise, as they have spared near daily of their own free will once able to around their shared trauma + injury recovery for the last 11 months 2 weeks 10 days – and began pacing in opposite directions, circling one another.

And it was a dance. It was because they had done this so many times it could be breathing. Because this was breathing. Because it was trust. They had fought for that; not in blood and fists, as they had been forced to fight each other, but in painful, silted conversations and lessons, in stiff silences and hurtful words ill- or little-thought. In patience and ground given, in digging fingers into chests to pry apart and lay bare ribcages and cutting open stomachs and choking on truths. In deep nights and deep waters and soft touches and screams without sound, not because they are silent but because one of them can barely use his vocal cords and the other learned an entire new language so their hands could speak in a way that was not violence. And oh, how they speak– words and touches. Here, there– no one else has touched you like this. I wouldn’t let anyone else touch me like this. I want you here. Don’t touch me. Can I?

Can I?

Yes. Yes.

They flow right.

Flydnt struck first, as even as careful as he was, Foxen was carefullest, eternally more patient. The guandao he held whistled as it cut through the air, a high warding slice, using the weapon’s reach to his advantage. Foxen’s reach was typically longer than many, due to his size, and typically Flyndt’s polearm of choice evened that gap for them; but now the Nautolan also held one, and he barely inched backwards as he pivoted his own staff up to block his partner’s.

There was no sound of ringing wood or metal; they didn’t make contact, as promised.

- Gazes met instead, bright with challenge.

As one they whirled, the hybrid’s head tails flying while the Omwati’s feathers fluttered. Their weapons once again ‘met’ in a clash, crossed in between them, both in a forward lunge. They retreated in sync, stepped, jabbed, advanced. Foxen would turn, slitting his profile, while Flyndt twirled, a maneuver that would have had the sashes of his hyōbao robes a distracting mirage. Again and again they parted and came together, a melding of respective techniques and shared practices. Sweat built and beaded, breath heavy, and it was too easy to suddenly be moving as they did, as if not sparring one another but united against another outside force, Flyndt leaping nimbly over and onto Foxen’s shoulders and then down to spear a foe while Foxen spun and cleaved to cover their backs. They faced no enemies, they were not in the trappings of their gym, but it mattered little; they were two parts as one.

Eventually the couple ceased, momentum making feathers and fabric and tentacles shudder, sunset to crimson, their guests forgotten in the moment aside from awareness of what not to hit. And not once did their weapons actually touch, nor skin meet. They faced one another, scarlet to sunset.

Smiled.

“Hao daofa!”

Flyndt stumbled out of his post spar-dance and gay little heartbeats trance as if struck in the back or given a heavy shoulder clap. Meihua’s voice reminded him that they were not in the familiar gym at home and presently guests themselves to masters of all people! He gripped onto Foxen’s arm discretely with one hand and the glaive in the other, shoulders turned away as he spent a second dying internally inside for such an exorbitant display. Composing himself, Flyndt turned and bowed lightly in respect to Grandpa Jin. “Thank you, it was an honor to use. Lovely weapon.”

There was indeed a pause before the Omwati relinquished the glaive, a final appreciative gaze. But the tour must go on! And went on it did. Each new sword and saber were examined and appreciated over the details both fine and simple. Flyndt particularly loved the Hudiedao and the Liujiaodao pairs. The chunky short blades of the butterfly dao did indeed remind of the creature’s wings and fluttered in the air as he brandished them in a brief test of their hand-feel with the skill of someone who has dabbled plenty with dual-wielding short swords – even if he tends to arm with two-handed polearms.

With testing the deer horn dao, Flyndt seemed more inquisitive and studious. He tried to figure out in both head and hand how these disarmed qiang, which were spears if he recalled correctly. He attempted a few blocks, upper and lower with a bit of momentum mimicking knocking a weapon away. After a few attempts, Flyndt pushed it farther and added a step in with a leveling slow slash in the air that would have aligned with a jugular.

Content with his play yet still unsure he has stumbled on the technique, Flyndt turned back to the others, positively buzzing. “Hoo, these are…cool, er, interesting. Disarm qiang and, uh, the Guandao you said, yes? Mm. Use the blades to block and get close, is that right or?”

“Oh, twist, very cool.”

Cool.

Twice.

He loved this man so fraking much it consumed him.

Cool.

(Goddammit, Minnie.)

Well he’d just have to buy at least three of those. And one of everything else. Perhaps see if they could be instructed on forging Flyndt’s favorites. He personally liked the “wind fire wheels” quite a lot and was already envisioning accessorizing the jianzi.

He commented as much on his purchasing hopes, politely inquiring about if they would prefer to sell the items currently on display or make new ones.

Foxen gave a hum of appreciation and nodded firmly. They should be. There was a reason when he’d given Flyndt the last of his beskar it had been doubly appropriate for the Omwati to reforge it into his halberd; the spear was not sized for him, and it was better his, that way.

Confirm. Would be happy to commission you. But then he paused, practicality catching up with his excitement and endearments. Much like some of his envisioned house renovations, projects, and plantings, it would not make sense to ask for something that would take too long to make. Something months or a year out or more. Not when–

He could be gone tomorrow.

Earlier maintenance: failing.

Foxen’s hands stuttered, and he hoped the tremble to them could be assumed as strain around his missing finger. The sudden lump in his throat made breathing hurt.

Perhaps we can discuss an appropriate catalogue at length in the week to come, if M-E-I-H-U-A does not mind relaying my letters.

Yes.

One of everything, Foxen clarified, indeed. Sometimes it made life harder that that was a meme. And to be forged for us…

He indicated the two Flyndt seemed to have fallen for. If they were not ready by the time Flyndt was gone then, well. It would still be worthy commerce to these masters.

Flyndt had paused during interpreting for Foxen and the initial negotiations of purchase. An assessing glance given at ‘one of everything’, debating himself whether to question it himself, everything?

This whole trip so far he had been ecstatic to hunt out whatever item and produce caught Foxen’s eye, wanting to give or at least ensure they walked away with those fancies – much like he knew Foxen did for him. Seeing his partner light up in interest and express in these passions filled him with happiness. It’s why he would often volunteer to go grocery shopping or to the tailors of when he’d otherwise be bored going through the stalls or having no interest in new outfits himself. But a whole store? He rose a hand to reach out to check with him to be certain, but paused when another magenta whiff hit him with a whisper of heavy feeling. It echoed the earlier vibes before Foxen had excused himself.

–the whole shop it is. Flyndt quickly settled to himself, leaving be and resuming interpreting.

Adding one or two things specifically that he himself was interested in, Flyndt made sure to affirm the set of Zaozi chisels and the couple Chuizi hammers to use with it he would purchase. A gift for Foxen with his own money from the couple jobs they’ve done together. The following scene that unfolded was a whirlwind to him. At one point the measuring tape was stretched along his arms and height, then the next there were several million different options to choose from. The experience was far more than he was ever accustomed to aside from, yes, Foxen working with Evelyn on clothes. Flyndt did narrow down some of the selection but at some point entrusted the task to the Nautolan-hybrid because his head was zoooom.

He moved a little too quickly when Grandpa Jin beckoned them to the forge. Absolutely vibrating again in eagerness to see them forge–

Moar weapons.

. Not that the blade-loving bird wasn’t curious though, it was just a sudden pivot from the plan. A pivot quickly forgiven as he literally fiddled with the Emeici, perfect weapon for the attention deficit and hyperactive individual. So much so that he only realized he hadn’t returned them yet until the Kai shan fu was brought out. Flyndt cleared his throat and places them back on the cart before moving on to the pole-ax. A sword splitting in two following that got a solid ‘hoo’ out of him, impressed and shocked.

The Emotional Whiplash was excessive.

For one moment of bittersweet sadness at the darkness in the distance of their time together, there was each moment of the here and now that was so wonderful. And oh boy, commerce. The Jins were becoming some of his favorite people, not even objects: people. They had given not only him but importantly Flyndt enough happiness and fidgeting toys and that perfect surprised hoot that he would have bought them out twenty times over and also razed the countryside in their names.

It was a beautiful thing, that such was not needed. That these people had a good life here and wonderful family and forge. He mentally portioned off a stipend to ensure that was possible for the remainder of his natural lifetime, whether or not he would see the whole of it.

Meanwhile, the showcase continued brilliantly. Upon the grandfather admitting even he had not seen the hu tou gou in use, Foxen offered through his Home to perform a demonstration for them. It was a crime, in his opinion, that they would not know what their work could accomplish. When the cart was clear, he bid Flyndt to pick any of the weapons and attack him again, this time specifying no holds barred. At least, after checking with the Jins. When both men only shrugged – especially since, Meihua translated with another laugh, the item would be his – and seemed interested in the spectacle, the lads proceeded.

Foxen tested the tiger headed blades in his hands. They were not well sized for him, but the last time he had used a pair of these had been on much worse conditions – another of That Would Be Dead Fraker’s unique acquisitions. He’d ended up getting them bent in a rancor’s jaws at one point. But they were a good weapon, especially fun against other blades. He’d yet to own a pair properly.

- When Flyndt lunged at him, dual wielding the impressive two swords as one, Foxen was quick to knock them aside, battering back each strike. With a twist of his wrist and a yank of the hook, he rapidly disarmed his bird. The sword didn’t even hit the ground, as a twirl of the other blade hooked it up and tossed it aside as efficiently as if he’d kicked it out of range of being grabbed again.

Flyndt hooted, but was not deterred, his brave, beautiful shriek hawk (though he did pause the stare a moment at the display, bleak clacking and feathers rising in interest over the move).

Foxen waited just because he liked to look at him, until Flyndt snapped out of it and charged him, both hands searching for purchase on the half-hilt of his newly widowed sword. The Nautolan raised both blades up to catch the other in a lock of hooks, preventing it from sliding forward to meet him, pointed at his sternum. He gave a soft, smitten sigh at this echo of the Pit, gaze adoring over challenging steel for the man that had nearly killed him in a single stroke, sword embedded through his chest where a tattoo and scar sat now under his cream top.

Then he jerked, and wrenched this sword too away. Flyndt, ever quick, dove for the cart and came up with the first thing he touched as Foxen followed him with a swipe to hook his ankle, swatting with one of the many dao – honestly Foxen didn’t register which one at this point. Grinning his shark grin, the hybrid elected for a final showing of capability, and threw one of the tiger heads with all his might and precision, hilt first, not only knocking the tasseled blade from Flyndt’s grip but shooting back info the wall and embedding there like a throwing dagger. The length of the blade wobbled with a metal keen.

Foxen lowered his arm, bowed to his partner, and then to the smiths.

Thank you, he replied politely once taking down and putting up the blades, a sign they could probably recognize on their own right now due to frequency of repetition with Flyndt’s translating it. He added, I am a strange weapon.

Perhaps Meihua would find it amusing, but Flyndt would likely know Foxen meant it in very many senses.

Flyndt dutifully heated the metal with no hesitation, easily moving it along and off when needed. It was clear he knew how to handle a torch to metal. Perhaps some guestimating on the heat length due to a different metal than he’s used to or his much more novice skill than the master smith in the room showing through. But instructions were easy to follow enough. With the first whole done and the reins handed over to them after Grandpa Jin marked the bar, Flyndt was content in letting Foxen have the first few goes, the desire to watch him do it just beating out his urge to do so himself.

“You punch? I can heat,” he gestured to the tools.

Ensuring his silver tail feathers were clear over his shoulders away from flames, he took the bar and shifted it clear of the anvil as he had seen. The orange light of the torch reflected on his cheeks while he swept the flame over the metal, rotating it as he went toll once again that orange-yellow glow, well, glowed.

Foxen, even high on his heartstrings, was not oblivious to anything around them, and that included the look the eldest Jin gave him. The Nautolan hybrid was still in that moment as he processed it, recognizing that it was a kindness, filing it away to appreciate as such– to feel, as Flyndt would term it, Known. Known, seen, and allowed to be.

A weapon, yes.

But not a thing.

(Jax’s voice echoes, echoing his mothers, “we are not things, Thol–”)

…

They go to the forge, and it is not an escape, but it is a grace. It is time to bury away feelings and hopes that cannot see daylight, to fold them gently into the graven earth rather than frantically digging. The heat is quickly overmuch. Being too close creates echoes in the mind that are not kind. However, he is grounded, with good produce and good company and his Home right beside him, and the Bad Things do not reach here. He sees them, outside the perimeter, itching at his skin that could be dry and burned, but refuses them entry. They are O.K.

His shirt comes off; less the heat, more an unwillingness to have the article smoked by a stray ember. Ruined trousers are a – barely – more forgivable a fashion faux pas. He debates his necklace for a moment, fearing for the feathers catching flame, then resolves it a silliness; he cooks and grills with it out all the time.

While they work, the sweat builds. He finds admiration for both the Jins and his partner in his more layers. Back and forth the bar goes, heated by Flyndt’s brilliance, and they altogether work the holes. When it comes time to hammer, and the Omwati offered him a role in punching, Foxen nodded acceptance, though he’d expected his bird to wish to do it ✨All✨. There was something nice, about creating together.

(The thought he shuts down is so fast it does not deserve narration).

Round and round it goes, flame and steel, feathers and head tails secured back. Over the rippling in the air, red eyes constantly returned to their True North.

Burying metal in hot coals, now that was familiar even if he was used to doing so literally on the ground. The jig was a new experience. Flyndt watched from beside the workbench with a foot propped up on a block, leaning against an unused portion of it.

Foxen nodded in indication of readiness, following the elder’s instructions to put his muscles to work – though he would busily appreciate Flyndt’s stocky build doing as much too. (He certainly hoped to).

In the meantime, the jig, bench, and application of force pounds/pressure did their job, as did the heat Flyndt controlled.

“hoo…”

Enough said right there, as Flyndt cleared his throat and tried not to think of the peach flush on his cheeks. His gaze still wandered to bare muscles briefly before he fully thrusted his attention back into awaiting the next task.

Oh look ring sizing it really is a honeym–

DENY SELF DENY MINNIE DENY. FOCUS.

…

Foxen nodded to Uncle, the physical labor, heat, and precision adequate distractions from feelings. Plus, Flyndt was looking at him in a way that felt nice. Any other gaze would be either nothing or disgusting. But to have such attention from his Home was, well.

He preened slightly.

But then a power hammer, and a pedal, and faster? He could only grin, thinking of how they had modified their ship, and of the first time showing Flyndt how to drive the speeder bike.

Pretty sure he’d left another half of a headtail behind there.

But this– definitely has to be Flyndt.

Go on, he gestured to the Omwati, markedly stepping back and watching.

Flyndt gave Foxen a small glance, a simple ‘are you sure?’ when the way he leaned indicated he was more than keen to give it a go. Without further delay, he stepped up to the machine and took the needle. He stared at the contraption, reaching out with one hand and briefly touching some of the manual gears – resisting the strong urge to fiddle with the levers and groves, find out how they tick and what they change. It was more complex than what they tensed to jerryrig back home, and it got an excited hoo out of him. He moved on to secure the needle in place, aligning it till Uncle confirmed it correct. Onward then to the pounding.

Don’t full throttle it, don’t full throttle it, don’t…

The Omwati willed himself not to slam on the pedal. Instead, he envisioned a light press with the ball of his foot and managed to do so, bringing the hammer down lightly. Once comfortable and certain, he pressed a bit harder and brought the hammer up to speed a bit until eventually a decent hole in the emeici needle.

While Flyndt was doing that, Foxen signalled to Meihua behind the Omwati, showing her his datapad and miming a finger to his lips in a surely universal gesture of silence.

Would your family be willing to either make one of these or give us some base schematics? Paid of course as well. That is the look on his face he gets/sound he makes when he’s curious and that means something being dismantled, but unlike our own property, it would not do to leave it to be reconfigured 70 times.

Flyndt gave Uncle Jin a nod and took the hammer. He saddled up to the bent bar and swapped with Grandpa Jin. He mirrored the elder’s technique best to his ability, the angle he held the bar may have been off a degree or two. Striking the bar a few times, he looked up to Foxen and offered the task over.

“Your turn?”

Foxen’s face configured into a natural smile as easily as breathing the moment Flyndt’s eyes acknowledged him. He nodded back, then followed the same instruction and began hammering. It was good, the two of them making this together.

‘Fǔ chū, dāo luò.’ ‘Axe is sunrise, knife is sunset.’ Two half of whole… ‘

Purple and orange flecked eyes looked up away from the demonstration and conversation to meet the hybrid’s crimson. Flyndt’s inked lips twitched into a smile, a faint silent hum of content. If his smile has softened and feathers lowered gently from stable their twenty five degree angle indicating prolonged interest in knowledge pursuits, it was clearly because said activities or an interruption of such – not at all some fondness and endearment. Nor a thought finding something related to two chunks of metal, excellently and expertly forged metal with their additional hands…

And there goes the avian, strolling after and halting with the Jin family as they tempered the metal and moved on to sharpening. An ease flowed through him, gesturing at the machinery catching his eyes, inquiring on them, their purpose and capabilities, even sharing small bits of insight about his home and their forging practices. His hoo at the lathe and then a hand folding the chisel into Foxen’s, the other gesturing to sit, try, experience. A stifled sound of a chuff at the rice bowl shard sander…

“ Le la. Fudao is done.”

Flyndt took the bànrì dāo at first. He turned it over and inspected, thumb tracing the bevel and fingers encircling the handle, admiring the way the crescent shape arced around his knuckles. With a small grin and approving nod, the Omwati turned to hand the knife over to Foxen to inspect, indicating a trade to handle the axe.

Fudao is done.

Sunrise.

Sunset~~eyes~~.

Two halves of whole…

-# no.

His hands move automatically, opening to his Home, who is moving, who is giving him something to take, who wants to hold what he is holding. The eyes are to inspect. Appreciation is to be given.

He’s lost in metaphor.

Because Flyndt cannot be

Because he can’t

have

this

can’t

Because because because

It’s poetry, oh it’s poetry, but the brilliant Mariren they will go to meet on honor and orbek-back are wrong. They are so very fraking ignorant. Their eyes and lips are useless. Limited, earthbound things. They don’t know, they don’t know.

Because it’s not a metaphor for them, it can’t be. He’s not a sunrise, or a sunset, he is a fraking ghoul, but that isn’t relevant. It’s nothing, nothing, he is.

No, it’s that he knows rapture, he knows sunrise and sunset as one, there are two, yes, there is a supernova and a star birth and it is all FlyndtFlyndtFlyndt.

Flyndt with his sunset eyes, who is a sunrise. Who is the rising sun, the flight of highest heights of hopes of wing and feather fur and soul he is he is a shadow a ghost and golden being he is everything–

Foxen stands in his sunlight and knows warmth. Knows it on his corpse bones and empty dirty blood soul. Flyndt is both dusk and dawn, is the night, is the sunlight. He stands in him and he Knows warm.

But he could be gone tomorrow.

…

…the metal is cool in his hands.

He hands over the axe. Did they give it to him first because he is larger? monstroustoobigyoubrokehimoncealready Because to them it’s a fraking perfect metaphor? The smaller knife and the axe, both deadly, both cold steel, inextricably linked, forged in fire together, made of one, onetwo whole, O.K? O.K.

- Maybe when the Omwatis leave, he will give the axe to Gaile. The older brother. The proper recipient. Maybe then the wrong metaphor matters, maybe then it’s right.

Not broken, not–

Flyndt’s smile, his feathers. Pleased. Happy. Almost. Almost as if–

Assume nothing.

Confirm, confirm.

CONFIRM.

Foxen, he takes the knife. It’s beautiful. And they made it together.

The bowl. Woodsmoke, oil. Temperature: many degrees. The Jins. Right, right.

Fit the weapon over the knuckles, confirm, yes, admire. It’s beautiful.

He’s so. Beautiful.

His fingers found home around the báilàshù wood, olive to ash. The weight of the axe settled in hand, balancing. The lauds to the knife’s vespers. Flyndt rolled the banri fu in his palm, rotating the head to inspect either side. There was a strong urge to test it, to slice a parchment or the satisfying slicing of kindling with a freshly sharpened blade. Yet his gaze wandered to his right, seeking for another’s approval and reaction. An uptick of a charcoal lip, softening around the sharpness of his edges. He got dimples when he smiled, Foxen.

Ah, puhta! Why am I?– it’s just nice… We made these(with the Jins) for us. Flyndt mused internally, a halfhearted chide swiftly consumed by indulgent want and reasons. His senses swelled and brushed against their surroundings, seeking one soul. What was he thinking? Did he like it? Was he imaging projects he could utilize it in? Recipes?

He was…

Purple.

Deep and heavy. A dark fuchsin wave washing over him and battering like the Niraya ocean against Apaec’s cliffs back home. It choked the breath from his throat, a hitch near audible. Desire. Weary. Longing. Mourning. Love. Sadness, resignation, grief…

Shock, his own magenta tide, like oil slick in Foxen’s pond. Unexpected and confused, Flyndt looked back down at the axe in hand, inhaled. It…the moments earlier, when Foxen excused himself, the feelings were clearer. The why? Exhale. His mind was still reeling from whiplash and concern as he pulled away. He will ask about it later. For now…

“It fits you.”

No duh, we forged it to be compatible–

“Suits you, looks…good…shall keel in the kitchen,” Bruh… Another breath, a smile that he hoped came off true and assuring. He did think the banri dao looked cool. He did wish to see him use it, to sit on the counter as meat and stock was rendered to fine, calculative bits. .

Flyndt reached out and brushed his hand against Foxen’s arm. He turned his attention to Meihua and her family, bowing slightly with the banri fu at his side. “Thank you, for opportunity to create with and learn, make.” He tapped two fingers twice to his left shoulder, a gesture of respect and remembrance. “Will honor experience greatly.”

“…shall keel in the kitchen…”

The laugh that emits is choked, garbled glass, garbage like his vocal cords, like him. But it is genuine, and to avian eyes, the stroke of fingers on arm is yellow, cutting through a purple ocean, their bodies diving from a cliff to part the waves. It’s not the correct green, yet, barely saturated, a little sour-shock, but it is better than the violet whirpools…

Foxen does not mirror Flyndt’s gesture, as it is not his place, an outsider. He does make his own, touching fingers to chin and offering them again, as he has frequently this day.

Even compromised to near the core by the fault of his programming code, the hybrid was quick to note Grandpa Jin’s returned stare. Contemplative and amused. Red eyes might have narrowed in mild offense.

What do you know? No one asked you, pal.

But the Jins have been amazing. They have shown kindness upon kindness. They have made Flyndt smile when Foxen’s frak ups in violation/metaphor/wanting too much have not given the Omwati pause for concern Foxen does not deserve. They have gifted them this experience together.

So he lets the look slide. This time.

Even if Meihua was incredibly wrong.

I could carry all that and I would not drop it. I only remove phalanges deliberately, he says when she speaks of fetching a motor vehicle. For once, Flyndt doesn’t immediately translate this, a small flinch indicating the last addition there might have been better left unsaid.

Think she means basket, not you incapable, Flyndt signs back, and then, with a shifty-eyed cleverness, also, how hold hands on way back, if full arms?

OKAY.

That settles that.

Foxen agrees to the motorbike.

When they go to bid the Jins goodbye, Foxen offered them a bow and another thank you. Their work was more than satisfactory. Hopefully they would be accepting of the offer he would be sending with Meihua after they returned to Selen.

Flyndt offered his own salute, mirroring the one he did earlier. “Likewise pleasure to meet you. Thank you.”

Flyndt perked at the mention of fishing, crimson crest twitching. He had nearly forgotten after how today’s journey transformed from a morning market trip to literally getting coals deep into blacksmithing. A sigh of a pleased hoo escaped him when he nodded in agreement and understanding. Foxen too acknowledged the plans and expressed thanks for the– ah, Flyndt had lost count how many times.

“We shall be ready and waiting,” he dipped his head, relaying both Foxen’s and his own sentiments. “Thank you for doing so and again, everything today.”

Shortly after, they bid Meihua goodnight, intent to not keep her long not with the early wake up call. He was happy to shed his overcoat, kick off his boots, and strip out of the gloves and vestcoat he wore always in public. An internal war waged on whether the first thing he should do was flop into comfort or take a shower, wash away the sweat and woodsmoke. Yet, naturally, his gaze turned to Foxen.

“Today was, enjoyable, cool–”

‘Are you hungry?–’

They both paused, catching their tongue and hands speaking at the same time. It was a rare happenstance, Foxen typically catching when the Omwati is about to say something but sometimes birb is quick and prone to missing cues. Easily remedied with a just of a black chin, indicating for him to go first. He repeated himself, agreeing to a small meal, a snack, to which Foxen nodded and nudged Flyndt to go shower before turning his attention to the produce.

Which…did need to be taken care of. Most was fruit and vegetables but there was a few portions of meats. At least, Foxen’s careful stacking kept any from being crushed by weight. .

Flyndt considered waiting, drumming up a question that had been lingering since they held the finished Fudao in hand. A shower did sound good. He thought about that mixed feeling of longing and grief while he washed, rubbing water off sleek down feathers and out of his eyes. He could ask it after he got out.

Then, post dried and in the one change of clothes he brought, a salad was presented with some ‘fish’ kew'maxi. It had a different name but he was amused and endeared at Foxen’s experimenting attempts that the name stuck in his head fondly. Suddenly ravenous, the conversation was farther pushed back until it was completely forgotten as the night gave way to sleepy yawns, musings about back home. How Jax would love learning the culture and language here, Bril too. Some of those dresses might catch Minnie’s eyes, other stuff of the like.

But their hands would twine, held together as they laid on the carpet near the space heater. His head heavy and tired resting on Foxen’s shoulder. And as he stirred awake briefly to being picked up and brought to bed. He thought…

He can ask tomorrow.