kanni & sinensys

[kanni]

────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐮𝐧
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

████████████████████████████████████████████████████

[sinensys]

────
████
████
████
████
████
████
● ● ●

████
████
████
████
████
████
████

𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮'𝑺 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑰𝑻'𝑺 𝑮𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮

─── ──
𝑷𝑬𝑶𝑷𝑳𝑬
h𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻-
MM𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑺!
M

001. conrad abernathy. 002 .
he / him. 003. 154 years old.
004. kelpie fae, seelie court.
005. gae. 006. 5'8, lean buil
d. he has heightened reflexes
as a fae, but he wouldn't win
in hand-to-hand combat. at l
east, not fairly. 007. also can
── ─ ──────
( 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒! )
────── ─ ──
shift into what appears to be
a small clydesdale-like horse,
except the hair in the mane ,
tail, and around the feet is m
ade of kelp. he needs to be t
ouching water to shift into it.
008. it took a while to gain e
nough power to do so, but he

h


















h

made it happen. 009 . got tricked by a human a decade
ago into giving his word that he would never physically
harm a human for as long as he was alive . 010 . snarky

and sarcastic. 011. doesn't shut up; almost always has s
omething to say despite being bound to only speaking in
truths. 012. imagine actually addressing your issues inst

h

ead of blaming others around
you. 013 . witty banter is his
love language. not that he ' ll
admit it tho . 014 . posing as
a human doctor. 015. his wel
l got destroyed. :( 016. sore
loser, for the most part. it ta
kes a lot for him to feel alrig
ht with being bested. 017 . s
ecretly really likes hearing s
pecifically coyotes howling .
018. goes barefoot every cha
nce he can w/o being seen. x
────── ─ ──
( 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 MMMM
MMMMM𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇! )
── ─ ──────
████████

𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑶 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑵 𝑩𝑼𝑻 𝑾𝑬 𝑫𝑶𝑵'𝑻 𝑲𝑵𝑶𝑾 𝑯𝑶𝑾 𝑻𝑶 𝑮𝑬𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬!

[kanni]

______________________________________________________________________________________
──────────(The box would be empty, except for the memory, of how they were answered by you)────────────
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
+// an end of day cigar, hot food paired with cold drinks, the quiet, an empty jail cell behind his desk, fireflies,
sleeping in, his horse - unironically named "horse", winning at cards, those little china figurines his grandmammy
used to collect, a long steaming hot bath, long trail rides, prairie winds
-// heights, deep water he can't see to the bottom of, rambunctious crowds, warm beer, fae and all related fae
creatures (is not convinced they're real), inconveniences, paperwork, decaf coffee
--// fears wildfire, losing his home, horse - sort of
______________________________________________________________________________________
miracle of all miracles, the only real scents that stubbornly stick to arlow's skin and hair are those of prairie winds,
animal musk, cigar smoke, and old leather.

𝐀𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐲
____________________________________
──────(if i had a box just for wishes)───────
───────────────────────────
arlow emmett cassidy . fc: pedro pascal . 35
he/him . the sheriff . human . pansexual . 5'11''
dark brown hair/eyes . grandmammy <3 . x
───────────────────────────
───(and dreams that had never come true)────
____________________________________
arlow is the personification of an over-salted strip of
jerkey left to sit in the sun for too long. he's tough,
leaves a bad taste in your mouth & is truly enjoyed
only by the old farts perpetually sat in dusty rockers
on their front porches. his first impression is similar
to the jerkey, and so too the man's complexion. the
sun's rays have weathered arlow's skin far beyond
his age, and tucked intelligent eyes behind a near
perpetual squint. he values work over fashion; the
only staple in his closet - besides the hat & badge
combo - is his scruff of a beardstache. tall, broad,
equipped with hands and arms ladies swoon over
from afar, arlow would be handsome if he bothered
showering more often. the man owns little clothing
and this "uniform" follows a set pattern on any given
day: ratty old kerchief with more holes than fabric,
faded button down stained by a number of sources,
worn leather-of-some-kind jacket for cold days and
colder nights, and dirt-crusted pants that may stand
up on their own if positioned just so. its not entirely
his fault arlow's so scruffy - there's a perpetual lack
of water in his town after all.

[sinensys]

randolph morrison.

that was the name of the man who vanquished the soothing depth conrad kept dear to his heart for a century and a half. the spring from which magick flowed once dominated the entire region, a crocodile's maw open to the plover to pick at leisurely. that spring retreated to the water basin below, seeking respite from the long arm of the sun, but the fae --- conrad's predecessors --- managed to coax it into a well. and that well remained out in the prairie for centuries, first seemingly abandoned, only known by wildlife and fae folk alike. only later would most humans come in contact with it. the first would, sensibly, leave it alone out of respect, but those who came later disregarded customs, gasping beneath the thrall of outward expansion. and so a town found the well and, enamored only by its water-containing qualities, settled around it. the water from that well was multipurpose, and while that irked conrad, there wasn't much he could do about it. he had access to the well --- or rather, the pool beneath --- and that was enough.

had access was right --- when the kelpie came back from the seelie court, conrad came to learn several vile truths about the apparent seventy years he had been absent.

like the name randolph morrison. that was the name of the man whose softly snoring form conrad loomed over, bone knife shakily clenched in both hands, grappling with some unseen barrier. conrad's full weight pressed down, leaning on that hilt, yet the blade remained hovering half a foot above that sleeping man, that crooked monster who wrongfully stole from the fae. he could feel his hands and throat burn as he fought the governing magic within his very self, the past's treachery coming back to haunt him: for as long as he lived and breathed, he could not harm humans. and so the blade trembled in the air, its vapid mockery silent, only interrupted by randolph's intermitten snores and conrad's desperation, rage slowly stifled now by anguish. his bones itched, a cosmic warning from that primordial energy --- conrad knew the barbed wire fence could not be unwound. he had spent the last decade drumming up loopholes for that stunting clause, seeking ways to slip through the links in the fence, but he had not yet found one. and so he stood over randolph's unsuspecting, sleeping figure, silent, attempting to control the breath within him that threatened to gasp. he thinks it takes him half a human hour to lose the fight to the word he gave away --- no, the word that was taken from him. he's not sure how much more time he spends when he sits in one of the chairs in the room that night, just watching that vile creature rest easily. the sun doesn't begin its hazy shift for another hour when conrad finally returns to his room at the inn above the saloon.

the next night --- the third night of his return from his seelie court affairs --- conrad hexed the schoolyard. of course, with the well gone and his ancestral link smeared, it wasn't much of a hex. all conrad managed was to make it such that anyone on the school grounds who spoke would only be heard speaking backwards. the fae rationalized to himself that it still held some use. after all, now the humans' progeny would be set up for failure, would they not? how does one learn at school if they cannot be understood? he knew it wouldn't be enough, but between the exhaustion from last night's strain and the energy expenditure for the schoolyard hex, it was all he could do for one night. and so conrad's evening ended much earlier that the previous night's.

but on the fourth day, conrad finally woke up closer to the early evening and not in the dead of night, as he had before. the human realm's time cycle was finally catching up to him, he found, which disgusted him but admittedly would make things easier. if he were to convince them to leave as one of them, then he had to seem to be, well, one of them. it seemed simple to conrad: he could heal, which was true, and he hadn't been here in a long time, which was also true. so the fae could help convince the humans to leave while he searched for any other available water source to satisfy his kelpie needs in the meantime. then he'd rebuild the well and find a way to safeguard it from future humans. it was simple really.

conrad left his room, hoping to finally get something to eat and --- more importantly --- find someone important enough to start asking questions about the town. he needed answers if he was to pull this off. armed with attire he deemed appropriate for the town (a simple button down shirt and some clean jeans procured from the general store on his first night back) and a plan, conrad descended from the second floor of the saloon. he spotted a few people in groups, but he headed towards the lone man sat at a bar. on the way there, he realized he couldn't remember what exactly it was humans would order here, food- or drink-wise, but decided he'd figure it out. he'd figure it out! they didn't know who conrad was, why would they try to trip him up?

he sat with one seat between himself and the lone man to avoid invading his personal space, waited a few moments, then looked over at him, as if for the first time. he gave him a once-over and a curt nod before speaking up: "long day?"

[kanni]

dead prairie dogs were not meant to litter the streets in the ways of wadded-up paper wrappers or long-dried clumps of chewing tobacco. there should be guidelines for proper prairie dog burial, if there were to be this many of them. and yet, arlow wasn't quite sure what to do with them all. he had been raised with a deep respect for those that played a part in the natural cycle of things, so ideally, when there was a situation of one or two, there was no waste involved. it was hard to avoid waste when there were nearly two dozen scattered throughout the dust-crusted town of dunhaven, and barely as many families.
x
arlow had never been great at math, or really school in general, and thus it made sense for him to quit and instead take up a place on his father's farm. there, the only figures he'd had to track were buckets of grain to fill--one per steer--and bales of hay to distribute among the fields in the winter. distributing road kill was a new issue, and unfortunately, a growing one. arlow wasn't new to this way of life, to droughts in the dry seasons and flooding in the rainy. what he was new to was a dry spell that had lasted nearly ten years. his grandpappy had been a proud man, and yet spent his final weeks in the realm of the living using every resource he could to convince arlow to come to the town's aid. arlow wasn't sure how he was meant to do that, even now. a single man could not bring back water that had been all but gone from the reserves longer than he from this land. they were lucky enough the next town over was only a few days travel, and the folk and their meager farms could survive on weekly water wagon deliveries. but arlow's deep respect for nature extended beyond those prairie dogs, and he would have never denied a dying man his final wish. especially not after everything hugh cassidy had done for him.
x
following this rigid moral code had gotten arlow into many a situation he'd have rather avoided, but critters that kicked the bucket out in the streets and people sticking their tongues out under hardly leaking faucets was a new one. and the worst one. the days-long migraine it had given the man was made tolerable only by the never-melting ice the saloon had found itself in possession of in recent weeks. an odd, vaguely glowing "fae" product that arlow would have beat the mayor to outlawing himself if it wasn't so useful. rather than sit in the baking oven that was his sheriff's office mauling over this dilemma, the town's only real form of enforcement spent the majority of his days--and often too, nights--avoiding the absolute lack of crime perched upon a swivel throne of chipped wood in front of a glass of the stuff.
x
all things considered, it was a decent enough escape from the heat and an easy way to monitor the townsfolk that chose to do the same. not that much surveillance was happening when there was glowering into space to be done. and would have continued to be done were it not for the sudden presence of an unfamiliar face to arlow's immediate left. he'd been aware of the man's presence in town, the barkeep an older woman called Gertie with an arthritic grip that led to many a dropped glass and very loose lips also presiding as the above-bar innkeeper. but it was one thing to hear about a stranger on arlow's turf and another to face them.
x
dark eyes cut to the side, the rest of arlow's face turning away from his glass hardly enough to get a proper look. he did not believe in wasting energy where it wasn't needed. an all too serious face and eyes that were almost oddly bright in the dim of the saloon greeted him. the man wasn't all too hard on the eyes, and while wearing nearly the same outfit as every other cowpoke in the town, seemed close to out of place in his cleanliness. arlow could appreciate that. once he knew why the man was there.
x
"what's it to you?" his grumble was rougher than anticipated, and arlow cleared his throat. a man of few words must deal with the reprecussions of an under-used voice.

[sinensys]

in the dim light and the vaguely familiar settled dust, conrad rested his elbows on the fading wooden surface before him, clasped hands very nearly propping up his left cheek. a closer look at the man he'd addressed mere seconds ago revealed several insights. the first detail was the broad stature and rugged expression --- this human, had he been fae, would never be found in the higher levels of court, seelie or otherwise, the kelpie decided. he was far too coarse and disheveled for the quaint intricacies of seelie social exchanges, which the kelpie also decided made sense considering the environment. although, one of the fainter voices in the back of conrad's skull did have to begrudgingly agree that a break from that constant hypervigilance was quite nice --- he supposed somewhere further along his lineage someone thought the same before establishing a link to the demolished well and its harbored groundwater. the coyotes aimed to euchre no one, and when conrad ousted the humans, it would go back to that ancestral vision: a quiet space for the kelpie to seek brief refuge.

the second insight revealed to conrad was the magicked ice. while he was aware of the agreements weaker fae had with humans in urban spaces, it disinterested him: he wanted space from the humans, not to intertwine his life with theirs. and yet here this magick was, albeit clearly imported. the kelpie --- a seething, sulking discreet mass haunting the late evenings --- had found that he was not the only surreptitious fae slinking among the human residents. but these pixies, hobgoblins, and gnomes could not have coaxed water into this shape and convinced it to stay as such; they used what little they could do to perform their other tasks, like ripping apart an ancient power source. when he had revealed himself to the worker he identified as the most powerful, knocking on her door with the most polite of seelie pleasantries overlaying the unashamed, bristling power surge, the dryad had given him the name randolph morrison. granted, it took a glance at an unassuming bur oak seedling in an unnaturally large pot and a casual comment about having a daughter himself one day to reduce even the gruff and sturdy woman into wavering and whispering compliance. with the mayor's name and winnie's despairing apology and plea for mercy, the kelpie made plans for his second night back.

the ice was imported, but here, of all places, and conrad found that exceptionally strange. he had been under the impression that the fae were not welcome here, judging by winnie's rambling explanations for the well's devastation. and yet...

"what's it to you?"

conrad briefly allowed the fantasy of his kelpie form dragging the human beneath its own wake, bubbling slowly coming to a halt before his hoofed shape clambered onto that rippled surface as though it were a shallow puddle and not the mirrored lid of a murky depth.

to the rest of the saloon, the stranger just leaned back ever so slightly, unclasping his hands in a vague but mild display of annoyance. his face fell flat in an instant, dropping the polite calm expression instinctively held in seelie courts, unamused. "making conversation," the fae huffed and looked away. he couldn't append just to the phrase considering he had ulterior motives to the conversation, but luckily gertie had come around. "i'll have what he's having," was conrad's response to her drawled "what can i get you?"

the fae quickly paid her in conjured currency --- he thinks its appearance is appropriate, basing it off what he remembered and what he saw in the general store --- and watched gertie nearly drop the glass before pouring something unknown to conrad over ice. she seemed ready to strike up conversation and, thankfully, was interrupted by another patron calling out in greeting. the name andrew was fleeting at this time, not relevant enough to be bound to some chamber in conrad's mind. instead, he focused on his newly-acquired beverage.

lifting it up and giving it a swirl, the glass was pretty with its faintly glowing ice, suspended in... whatever it was he'd just ordered. the kelpie still didn't know what it was called, but it was no matter, he supposed. it would all be for nothing once the humans were rid of. drawing the glass closer to his lips brought the recognizable smell of alcohol, albeit not one familiar to him. it wasn't ale or cider, and it definitely wasn't a summer wine. it smelled... unappetizing. he hesitantly took a sip and was as disappointed as he thought he would be. humans drank this for fun? what miserable creatures. the glass gently went down after one last swirl, fingers idly touching the rim.

after a few moments he loftily tried again with the man to his right, looking more at his own glass than the human: "i haven't been back here in a long time, but i heard what happened and couldn't not come back, y'know?" a pause, seeking the next, correct words. he toned down his righteousness, reminding himself of the plan. "time really has a way of getting away from you," his voice softened ever so slightly, the change almost indiscernible. "how are things here?"

conrad chanced a glance at the other man, aiming for a passive disinterested expression.

[kanni]

it was almost unsettling how quickly the stranger's expressions changed. politely intrigued, slightly disgruntled, annoyance masked as disinterest. all in the span of a minute, if not less. it could be that arlow was just used to the effort most townfolk undertook to shift from discouraged to the same emotion a shade lighter, but he gave himself mental pats on the back for still being plenty capable of reading faces regardless of speed. what he had lacked in book smarts in school, arlow had always made up for in street smarts. as his youth slowly fled him that easy appeal was replaced with a gruff kind of charm, but it was charisma all the same. he knew how to read a room, the people in it, as easy as an archivist could read the old tongue off a tattered scroll. this stranger was speaking to him with intention, arlow just didn't have the intention down yet.
x
"depressin' conversation to be makin'." arlow took a slow sip of what gertie had dubbed "cactus juice", brow furrowed as he watched his neighbor's own interaction with the barkeep. his drink of choice was an aquired taste at best, hoppy dishwater at worst. the sad little lime slice mushed beneath the enchanted ice would be sure to agree with him, if ever capable. the small, dark part of him that despised change cheered at the thought of the beverage potentially chasing the other man away from the bar. arlow would hope for him leaving the town all together, but that was pushing it.
x
"odd to be askin' how things are if you know what's been goin' on." he took another slower, longer sip his spirits, drawing out the silence between the two men. the rest of the saloon wasn't much louder, but that wasn't to say it was empty. there weren't many of-age citizens left in dunhaven, only those with a stubborn streak or a legacy to uphold refusing to give in, but there were enough for the tables that scattered the floor to be partially full at this hour. arlow watched as a hand of poker went in the opposite direction wren weaver clearly wanted it to go, the redhead's wild curls all but whipping the men and women to either side of her in the face as she accused each of them of cheating.
x
"not sure what exactly you've been told, but it's the same." he shoved the now empty glass away with two fingers, the chipped rim catching slightly on his skin and sending the cup skittering to a stop at the edge of the bar. arlow leaned further back in his seat, hooking an arm over the low back of the bar seat and stretching his legs to their full length in front of him. each facet joint in the man's back clicked in time as he did, an almost mechanical methodology to their realignment. he'd spent too much time hunched over like an old crone, and his ma would have scolded him something feirce if she'd seen him.
x
"so who are you, then?"

[sinensys]

conrad followed the other man's line of sight to a small but mildly raucous gathering for a brief moment, scanning more for useful information than out of interest. it looked like a card game --- at least the humans were capable of some form of decent entertainment; the mystery drink remained silent, either out of shame or indignation. although the games played in seelie courts were much different, players classed by strength in charm before skill, some of his fae peers had described their foolish games to him. if he was to be among them for what was hopefully --- no, what would be ---- a short time, then he would have liked to at least tried to play a game, fair or not. as one more victory over the ambling creatures that stumbled through such apparently short lives with little regard for others outside their realm of capabilities. as one more victory over those who stole from him --- well, and his lineage, too.

may your bones twist into boot laces, came the easy not-curse. the past's long arm wrapped casually around conrad's shoulders, a reminder and a warning.

a slight exhale, a wry deadpan: "how can it be the same as what i've heard if you don't know what i've been told? unless you're implying you're omnipresent or something. does the all-knowing eye of the cosmos speak to you often?" the kelpie paused, looking back down at his still full and ever-chilled glass. a scab on the side of his thumb had made itself known; a gently closed fist and a deep breath quietly erased the offending mark. "conrad abernathy," he continued, ignoring the primordial howling of his fae nature. "i have some experience with healing and i was urged to come back. i think i could put that to good use out here if it would help."

if i heal your sick to remind them of how much better they can feel at full capacity, then maybe you animals will leave. the only reason i came back was because i felt the door shutting when you decimated my portal. i want you gone so i can rebuild my damn well without you getting in my way. so that i won't dry out and so i can go home.

while only his horse form needed to be in direct contact with water to avoid debilitating pain, that didn't mean conrad was comfortable being cut off entirely. in the faerie realm, he could languish in the sprawling lakes available to him and race across the surfaces as he pleased, but it was truly the connection with the water that the kelpie needed. the ancient spring once-contained by the well had been ideal, but really any water would do. he knew he had time, how much was a mystery, caught between his uncertainty in estimating human time still and by simply never being in a situation where access to his life source was cut off.

so that your lack of respect won't kill me because one human a decade ago stole from me too. all you've ever done is take advantage of me.

"although, i've been made aware of the water situation, and that certainly complicates things," the half-truths continued to flow as the glass raised, its contents swirling. conrad wasn't foolish enough to attempt to drink it though.

[kanni]

arlow couldn't help the half-strangled sound that clawed its way out of his throat. not quite a snort, not quite a chuckle, and certainly not a proper laugh, it was bemused all the same. leave it to a more-than-likely city slicker to use flowery words hiding thorny meanings rather than say what he meant. eyes narrowed by mere millimeters, the sheriff took a second, closer look at this supposed healer.
x
"you a bit of a smart ass, conrad." it wasn't a question. unfortunately for arlow, he'd had his fair share of interactions with men and women visiting from the larger towns and small cities on this side of the continent. though the shades of their skin and texture of their hair varied, their vapid personalities and overly-starched suits did not. many a business meeting conducting trade, and more recently all but begging for resources, had begun in a similar way to this conversation. while conrad may be dressed to better fit in with the citizens of a borderline dustbowl, the moment the man opened his mouth he still stuck out like a sore thumb. the only other person that spoke this posh here was probably the banker. arlow couldn't think of many people he hated more than tess mcgraw and the overbearing perfume that clung to her like a desperate ex lover.
x
"can't say we don't need a doc. old creed's halfway to the retirement home himself." at the stranger's final words, arlow didn't change his posture, but all tension that had been leeching out of his body during his bar brood was swiftly making its way back to his shoulders and eyes. mayor randy was a blabber mouth, arlow couldn't deny that. the man was young, younger than himself, and foolish with his expenses and projects. but he didn't spread the town's suffering like gossip. even randy knew better than that. the mental list of people that possibly would despite deep ties of town loyalty was short, and the majority of them were too old to do much more than haunt porch rockers and faded couches at tea time. if there was someone finding out information around here that wasn't meant to be found, arlow might actually have to do his job. and as good as he was at it, he loathed having to do it.
x
"curious who told you bout' the water, though," arlow's stool scratched lightly at the worn wooden boards beneath them as he dragged it closer to conrad with his boot heel, swiveling to face him proper.
x
"we don't make it our business to share our burdens with outsiders." his words were clipped and to the point, avoiding the ornate speech conrad seemed to prefer. no doctor worth their salt should be making passes at gossip, and arlow was not afraid to make it known this so-called healer wasn't welcome if he meant to mock instead of help. complications? bah. just an incapable man, clearly.

[sinensys]

conrad was pleased to find he amused the human, even briefly. maybe this would be easier than he thought; maybe even the most vile of creatures could be tolerated for the time he had to be among them. the seelie abandoned his drink, turning on the stool to fully face the other man, canting his head as if it would help him see the inner workings of the beast before him. suspicion and tension hung over him, twin serpents resting upon his shoulders, waiting for ripples in their otherwise-blind monocular vision. the silent, unseen motion of the rattle was only known to the two of them, ignored by the rest of the patrons; the provocation or strike would be seen by all.

conrad's pride fell back into mild annoyance.

the drink ascended once more, conrad's cant changing direction as he looked to it. "and yet you buy glowing ice for a town out in the prairie. how often does that happen? unless it's house made, and i'd be very surprised if you told me it was," conrad set the glass back down on the bar before looking back at his conversation partner, shifting slightly. "but anyways. believe it or not, i have heritage here. and i..."

conrad genuinely stopped to look for the right words. he didn't think the settlers would be so proud as to hide their lack of water. after all, it wasn't as if they could be killed for existing as they were out here in the quiet countryside where few fae resided. it wasn't as if other humans would belittle them or leave them to perish, would they? the kelpie had heard from other far who managed fae unions and companies in the cities, cooperating closely with the crooked fiends, that humans had the uncanny notion of banding together where fae readily left one another to perish. there were very few instances where the fae folk also performed actions vaguely resembling 'banding together', but it was firstly reserved for more social fae and secondly more as a defense mechanism to avoid mutual destruction and not one-sided. the latter always had to benefit both parties beyond the 'feel good' of performing a good deed, or whatever other positive moral benchmarks humans subscribed to that wasn't a profitable exchange. and even then, the latter often failed, resulting in the killing of one another. conrad was quite familiar, both in surviving and instigating.

but the few ways that fae truly, truly expressed loyalty could be in a severe bond, often pious and avenging. as it was now. if only he hadn't been defanged with respect to human beings, so to speak.

"...i won't disrespect that. even if a long time has passed since then. it's not right to forget those you promised to remember," he finally finished. one leg crossed over the other. he found the side of his left thumb to have a slight sting again and, with quickly clench and release, it vanished.

"you never mentioned your name, by the way," he threw out casually, looking back to the human.