A Gift from Six and Eight (Seven, Victor)

[Asara Willow]

Late Evening, Summer 33rd, 511 AV

It had been too many nights now since she had met the half blood. They had agreed to meet again so many evenings before. The ninth, possibly? Unfortunately, Seven had forgotten her. But Asara could not begrudge him that. She was a small spider in the web of life, unnacustom to wandering with the giant insects that were humans, Akalak, and whatever else made this world their home. Being forgotten was low on her list of insults. She'd met more trying ones. Her arm was still painful after all.

Asara released a long sigh and brushed her white hair out of her dark gold eyes with the hand of her injured arm, pain flaring at the simple movement. Emotions raged in her, hidden by a calm reserve she always struggled to maintain. Today was the last day she'd seek Seven. She couldn't continue this charade of normalcy in the walls of a human citadel. Didn't her encounter with that human wench prove that Humans were always one step away from trying to smother out the small flame of her life? If she found Seven, she'd continue seeking his company, if not, she could not find another reason to keep venturing into the over-populated city.

Previously, her days had been spent roaming Syliras for any sight of the curious half blood. She allowed rumours to be spread about her, so he'd know she was seeking him... Or at least he could assume she was. She had no one else to seek, really. Dhalvasha had some charm that made her want to seek him, but she always held down that desire. She didn't want to get too close to someone who could quell her fears with a look...

Just the previous day she had very nearly gone and got herself killed. Where would that had left Seven's book? How would she have gotten it to him if she were dead? The thought of going rogue and succumbing to her disgusting hungers still lingered, but she feared for the book Seven had given her. His star charts had been so beautiful, and someone could sell them for many mizas. She could not entrust the wonderful book with anyone, she could not bare the fear that someone would sell the precious journal. How could she explain that to Seven if they ever met again? She just couldn't... But, she could maybe leave clues for him to find it?

The Symenestra tilted her pale face to Leth, her gold eyes flashing silver in his pure gaze. She loved the moon dearly, much more than she could ever have loved the sun. Her eyes were not meant for light humans found comforting. This place, where she had marked the wall, was a lovely place to view Leth whenever midnight struck. The Crown she had seen in the stars was always there, always ready.

With the thought of the Crown, Asara sighed again and unslung her bag from her narrow, uninjured, shoulder. She felt sore from lugging around the heavy bag, but it was worth it. As this was the last time she would seek Seven, she had gifts for him in her bag. Namely, a dozen apples and a chart of the stars with her constellations in it. It had taken her many evenings to draw the star chart, and she feared it was not as good as Seven's. All the same, if she never saw him again, he'd be able to remember her. She hoped.

Next was to find a place to hide such things... A place where human eyes would not see.

Asara flashed her gold eyes as she sought a suitable hiding place Seven could access. She'd have put them on a rooftop, but she suspected he was unable to scale walls. It was sad, really. The stars were beautiful higher up.

She spotted a good enough place to hide what she had for Seven. A little pile of crates from the nearby Bazaar crowding a juncture between houses. Quickly, silently, Asara stashed the fruit, the journal, and her hand drawn star chart under two of the crates. She then drew out one of her daggers and wrote Seven's name in the Symenos symbols onto both crates. With hope, he'd see them both and take interest.

Now, Asara turned her thoughts elsewhere. She planned to wait out the night, probably find another constellation to keep her company on a watchful night. Tonight she'd give up her vigil for Seven, but she'd try to remember him.

The Symenestra smiled sadly and shook her head, sending waves of long white-silver hair down her back and allowing some to drift into her eyes. She knew she couldn't trust her own memory. Hadn't it proved itself already? Hadn't it hidden itself behind Sitana's influence? She'd forget Seven, and she didn't want to...

Asara lifted a pale hand and traced a human-shaped pattern in the sky. What would she name it? She wasn't sure yet... Something would come to mind, and she'd have a new companion to. Her thoughts were consumed by this constellation, low on the sky's graceful arc.

Maybe your half blood will come and help? Maybe he would...

[Seven Xu]

It was an adventure.

At least, that’s what he’d told his counterpart before they’d left the charcoal-smelling confines of the Bittern District for the equally pungent and crowded main thoroughfare that filtered knights and citizens and rats from district to district not unlike cattle. And while the stone walls of the citadel were suffocating and oppressive and loomed over them, there was safety within them. A hand reached out in the darkness to grab hold of warm fabric of a sleeve at Victor’s wrist and he gave him a reassuring tug. Despite their level of familiarity gained by their past twenty-some days together, Seven still feared losing Victor to the suffocating crowd of the city never to see him again – perhaps more so now than if they had not been so close. If the human resisted, a few chimes would pass before Seven’s fingers unfailingly found a fold of cloth or a hand to latch onto once again.

Night after night he had gone out periodically, sometimes on his own, sometimes in the company of the Ravokian to search. He’d be naïve to think Victor wouldn’t ask what – or who – he was looking for, and each time he would explain the notebook, the exchange of language and the girl: wide-eyed and fragile. A Symenestra, something he was a mere shadow of; a reflection distorted by ripples in a pond. That was enough to grab and hold the interest of the dark-haired adventure seeker; something Seven had gotten rather good at.

They followed the tall imposing stone of the Dyres District towards the end of the thoroughfare that opened into the familiar night air and free standing buildings known by many of the locals as the ‘Gates’ – due in part to its proximity to the large main gates that allowed entry to the fortified city. The smell of burning torch light wafted back into Seven’s senses and he frowned, narrowing his eyes as he searched through the crowd – which was not an easy task for someone of his stature, anyway – an impossible number of people still roamed the streets. It seemed all too familiar to him; he had spent the majority of last season looking for a Symenestra woman in faceless crowds. And after that search had met its untimely end, he had met not one – but two of the creatures, as if the Gods were mocking his misfortune.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Seven murmured under his breath, unsure of whom exactly he was speaking to. If Victor picked it up, he may have questioned the ambiguous comment, and Seven would respond by squeezing the soft olive palm and pulling him away from the swarm of locals. Forlorn crimson eyes flickered skyward as his hands dropped to his sides; finally out of the way of a moving crowd where he could stop walking and let his leather-bound toes curl against the dusty ground. Seven leered at the glimmering stars and the oblong face of a waxing moon as if expecting an answer to fall from the sky itself. He wanted his notebook, and he wanted that disgusting, boiling guilt in his stomach to go away.

Taking a long step backward, Seven’s ass found a pair of wooden crates balanced one on top of the other. As he perched on the rough wooden corner of the top crate, swaying forward and back, he clasped his hands on his skinny thighs and eyed Victor with a thin smile and a shy admission: “I’m terrible at adventure.”

[Victor Lark]

“What?”

He barely felt the pressure on his fingers before the dwindling crowd spat the two into an alley. A sudden calm settled in the stillness, where his senses had once been filled with the bustle of movement. He glanced around at the faltering darkness.

Victor’s was not the wildest of imaginations. When Seven had first greeted him with the prospect of adventure, he was not excited by images of heroes or monsters or gods. He was himself, and they were the adventurers, the detectives, the hunters. It was the most thrilling thing he had done since he had had last scaled the rooftops of Ravok. Syliras seemed to shine in a new light even after dark, full of corners to be investigated and shadows to be explored. The adventure imparted on the human’s less-than-keen eyes a new awareness. Even when he was not out with the man who sought the slight, pale girl holding a tattered, used book, he searched idly for her where ever he went. The city was like a giant face for the learning; Victor needed only to discover that betraying twinkle of doubt or approval, and she would be his.

He bent over Seven where he sat, having never been able to forget the habit of stretching out his short frame even to a man that shared his height. He lifted a hand to touch his friend’s white face, offering a frown of mock frustration to the disappointment strewn there. “Maybe you are,” he replied, and his expression broke into a teasing smile, “But I’m not! Sometimes adventures don’t turn out the way you expect, but you cannot ever call them a failure.”

Recalling the half-blood’s glance at the moon, Victor dropped his arm and regarded the heavens as well. He saw nothing but stars and rooftops. Rooftops! Why had he not thought of it earlier!

Starting suddenly at the idea, he pulled his foot onto the crate where Seven sat, using the bony shoulder to hoist himself atop it. He meant to leap up and grab hold of the stone ledge above, but he misjudged the stability of the wooden pile. It swayed and toppled beneath him, leaving him to grope in vain against the smooth wall of the alley and fall the short distance to the dirty ground. He managed to twist himself into a hasty roll, but still he landed hard on his shoulder.

For a moment, he let his stunned face gather up the hard ground’s filth. When he finally realized the world around, he noticed something odd beneath the two bottom crates. Refusing Seven should he offer to help him to his feet, he reached for the mysterious thing and retrieved a large sack. Then he sat against the opposite wall, distracted from his growing bruise by the knotted twine that became untangled in his fingers. Inside, he discovered a bunch of bright red apples. Before he could investigate the bag’s contents any further, Victor laughed and grabbed a pair.

He handed one to Seven as he took a bite of another and said, mouth full, “See?”

[Asara Willow]

Asara went still at the sound of voices in the alley she had just vacated, her silent vigil inturrupted by the noises. Her gold eyes narrowed at the sky and she tuned her ears into the words of the loudest speaker. She hoped these humans didn't discover her stashed supplies for Seven. She had no knowledge of how she would get them back if they did, but she doubted it'd be easy. Humans tended not to flee at the sight of her. She wasn't as intimidating as most humans she had ever encountered. She wasn't disappointed by that, however. She had racial abilities a human should envy.

A sudden crash startled her and the Symenestra sat up, her lips curling back over her fangs in a silent hiss. Lately, her anger had been quick to rise when a human was the cause of her problems. Once, she would have tried to make them her friends, after getting used to their presence, but after that wench in the Bazaar, she felt cold towards them.

She heard an exhaltation and got on to all fours, making her way to the ledge of the roof and peering down below. There were two people, one lying on the ground and another sitting on a crate. The one on the ground had found the fruit set aside for Seven and was proffering an apple to his companion. This human had dark hair and eyes that were as deep as the longest well. He could have been attractive, if it weren't for his unfortunate condition. Aside from that, he was thin. At one point, he was probably emaciated, but he seemed to be getting stronger.

His companion was... well, he was Seven. Asara's heart jumped in surprise but she settled herself before calling out. She had to be sure this was Seven and not some human who looked just like him. The size and bearing of the mail was completely the way Asara had remembered him. The only other Symenestra she had encountered, the dark haired one and Dhalvasha, both were nothing alike to the half-blood.

She hadn't known that Seven had a human friend, but it should have been obvious. He was not Symenestra enough to suffer open racism; he could claim he was albino after all. Humans would open up to him, thinking he an unfortunate member of their race. She knew now, though, that the same could not be said if he lived in Kalinor. So, if he had a human friend, why should she curl her lip at him. Seven sought to fit in as much as she did, maybe.

Asara reached a long arm over to prepare to climb down, but she hesitated. Had the human seen her? If he had, would he be uneasy at seeing her creep down the wall with the spider grace of her race? Seven, she knew, would find it interesting. He had the last time. But she'd not climbed for human eyes, except when escaping the Knights.

Hissing with frustration, she settled for making a soft noise to get Seven's attention, a noise bordering on a word crossed between Symenos and Common. She wanted their attention, she knew, so calling to them both would be suitable. If that failed, she'd call Seven's name. There was no way she'd climb down this wall if a human were there to be disgusted by it.

[Seven Xu]

“Ah!”

Seven pushed himself away from the mass of toppling crates, letting out a startled yelp as he witnessed his friend’s ungraceful attempt to scale a smooth stone wall fail miserably. What exactly Victor thought he was going to accomplish by leaping from rickety boxes was beyond Seven’s realm of comprehension; and when he reached down to offer a hand and a mixed look of concern and amusement twisting his porcelain features, Victor would refuse in favor of something far more interesting. It would take a moment for Seven’s eyes to narrow and focus to recognize the satchel and the flash of red in Victor’s hands as a pair of shining apples. Before he could protest or fuss over the shoulder that absorbed the brunt of Victor’s impact, his companion already had a mouthful of the stray fruit garbling his speech and the other had been passed off to him.

“Victor, don’t eat that.” Seven rebuked, snatching up the mangled and bitten apple from the Ravokian’s darker fingers to look it over suspiciously. Juice and saliva glistened in the silvery moonlight, bleeding around thin and broken skin. “You have no idea where it came from.” And as soon as the words had shot from harsh lips, he saw the carved writing on the box, the familiar script, and his name. Seven’s stomach did a flip and he dropped to the ground in a crouch adjacent to Victor. The apple was absently handed back to human hands and Seven moved to snatch up the wooden crate and murmur the glib language in a breathless sigh.

There was little that distinguished Seven as more than human in his gestures; his simple and sometimes clumsy mannerisms – they were unmistakably the product of growing up in a human family. He hadn’t the grace required to traverse silken lines in a hanging city because he did not need it. His hands and willowy body were soft and delicate, yes, but it seemed it was more a side effect of a life lived away from the hardships of labor than of his mixed heritage. Dhalvasha had pinned him as ‘painted’, and that’s exactly what Seven was – a painted human.

An eloquent hiss of a word that was little more than gibberish to Seven caught his attention and forced his eyes away from the unnerving writing on the crate. “Did you hear that?” despite not turning his head to look at Victor - who sat casually against the wall and was likely content to eat his apple again without question of where the fruit came from – Seven’s voice remained low and he let the crate that once hid a dozen apples slip from between his hands. The feminine voice wafted through the air again, ringing in his ears. If Victor responded, the words would fail to register in his mind as more than background noise. This time, it was his name that was called. Seven’s eyes narrowed and his head snapped from left to right, trying to pinpoint the source of the call.

“Hello?” He called out into the night. A trembling hand reached out to grab and hold Victor’s shoulder, using his companion for support before rising to his feet again. “Hello? Who’s there?”

[Victor Lark]

Victor stole his apple back with a glare of playful contempt. He took another bite, loud enough to show what he thought of Seven’s chastisement. Embittered by the embarrassment of the fall, he thought of adding a jab or joke at Seven’s unintelligible murmurs, but he had not finished chewing. Instead, his unoccupied hand was content to wander into the bag that rested against his legs. The moment he leaned forward, the throbbing in his shoulder rose to the front of his mind. He winced wordlessly, hoping not to reveal the weakness.

At first, he found nothing but more apples as he continued to noisily devour his own. Then the feel of something entirely different brushed his fingertips, and with an extra stretch, he discovered it was paper. His eyes lit as he pulled it out, adding a short, fresh tear to the half-crumpled sheet. Still holding his snack with his first three fingers, he kicked the bag away and spread the chart over his knees. A pair of apples rolled out of their confinement and onto the dirty stone.

There were dots and lines strewn across the page, but if there were any letters between them, he could not recognize them. Nonetheless, a smile of accomplishment pulled at his lips as he glanced over his treasure. Without looking away from it, Victor swallowed the sweet fruit and said, “Look—” but was immediately interrupted by Seven’s sudden exclamation. He frowned.

He could not help a cry of surprise and pain when he felt the weight of a pale hand on his shoulder; even though it was not his injured side that helped Seven to his feet, the change in posture still angered his tender nerves. Rolling up the chart as best he could with his compromised grip, the look he gave his friend was less than lighthearted. “Who are you talking to?” He interjected, aggravated. “No one’s there. I didn’t hear anything. I think you’re tired. Help me up, and we’ll go home.”

But Victor did not give him the opportunity to oblige. Awkwardly, he pushed against the wall with the mostly-eaten apple in one hand and the roll of paper in the other, and stumbled to his feet on his own. Still, no matter how irritation tried to push it from his mind, he could not resist the pull of curiosity. He tried to hold the faltering look of exasperation on his countenance as he followed Seven’s gaze upward, peering uselessly at the darkness.

[Asara Willow]

Aren't they cute? Sitana's whisper floated through Asara's thoughts along with an accompanying flare of discomfort. She had to agree with Sitana for once, for Seven and his nameless companion were indeed such a cute couple. She wished she had started studying Auristics, for seeing how their auras responded to one another's was bound to be a great insight into the most complex human relationship of all.

The musings of the possibilities of the relationship were inturrupted when the human pulled out the star chart Asara had drawn and written out for Seven. There were words ethced in on the outlines of select star constellations, but they were Symenos and Asara highly doubted the man kneww Symenos. Still, Asara felt a flash of anger. That was a gift for Seven, not for some clumsy human to grope and tear with sticky hands covered in apple blood.

Asara let loose a Symenestra expletive and narrowed her gold eyes on to the man. She watched him like a large spider would watch the insect wandering just beyond its web. She had no instinctive urge to bite the poor, skinny human though, even if he looked good for one of his race. She figured doing so would alienate Seven, and she had no intention of losing one of the two Symenestra she had met since waking. His diluted blood did not matter in her perception of Seven, she just found it unfortunate that he wasn't able to climb like a Symenestra.

Then, Seven started calling out for whoever had spoken, and Asara's eyes gleamed with something like happiness. He'd heard her, but if he didn't tone it down a bit some human or other would come to investigate. Knowing this, Asara moved so more than just the eyes in her porcelain face were visible, and she looked down upon them. She figured they could see her now, seeing as her hair alone was bright enough to draw anyone's eyes under the moonlight.

"Seven..!" Asara hissed again, just to be sure Seven knew it was her. After all, Dhalvasha didn't have the... compassion, one would say, to call Seven by anything without the derogatory title slipped on. Asara found little use for such a tilte, and her logic behind that was simple. Why call a sentient being 'little' when they were taller and stronger than yourself? The poor Dra of the Symenestra were anything but little. They were only lacking certain abilities denied them by fathers without such talents. A male Dra like Seven could still create purebloods with careful breeding, but that would have no effect on his title. In all honesty, it was unfair.

And then, accompanied by a short burst of laughter, Asara saw the familial connection between Seven, his human, and Asara. If a human outsider would have seen them, it could be assumed that Asara and the human were possibly Seven's sire and dam. An incorrect assumption, but an interesting one nonetheless.

[Seven Xu]

Seven had half a mind to whirl around and hiss between his teeth in an attempt to quiet Victor but with time, it seemed he quieted himself and became just as interested in the contents of the darkness as Seven was. A rustling of paper tickled his nearest ear and he ripped his vigilant gaze from the rooftop to take note of whatever it was Victor was toying with. “What is that?” he offered the question but no time for Victor to respond as it was gingerly tugged at – as if asking for permission – before it slipped from between the Ravokian’s fingers and unfurled in Seven’s hands.

“Oh!”

Victor’s apparent distaste for Seven’s absentmindedness weighed little on his conscience as his back pressed against the cool stone wall and he held the chart open across his chest. If Victor were to respond with further malice, Seven would offer a comforting hand to his unharmed shoulder and explain the significance of the ink that bled through the crumpled paper. The Symenos was muddled and he could understand bits and pieces – enough to recognize the writing and the shapes and names of constellations thought up by a girl he had abandoned one night. Guilt swelled up in his throat and grew sour in his stomach as he mouthed the words on the page, one by one. “They’re all here,” he whispered, before his eyes lifted and were met with the striking gold and the breathless hiss of a bolder Symenestra. “Asara!” For the first time in a few chimes, Seven’s lips tightened into a genuine smile and he pushed himself off of the wall, grasping for Victor’s fingers as an afterthought as he approached the opposite wall and the rooftop where Asara was planted.

The smile didn’t last long, however, as he rolled up the star chart and held it beneath his arm at his side. “I’m so, so sorry that I never showed up, I –,” He trailed off, searching his mind for the right words before shaking his head in frustration. “I got distracted, is all. I apologize.”

Seven’s opposite hand – the one not preoccupied Asara’s star chart, was tangled in Victor’s waning grip, having pulled him carefully across the dirty cobblestone street with him, urging him to forget the dozen apples in the satchel for the disproportioned and pale-faced girl on the rooftop. Piercing crimson parted from the Symenestra to the exasperated human at his side and self-preservation held him back from leaning in to nip at the round jaw line in an attempt to abolish that twisted frown. “This is Asara Willow,” Seven explained, pressing his thumb against Victor’s warm palm and speaking clearly enough for the introduction to double as an indirect explanation to the pair, “she is the girl I’ve been searching for.”

An unfamiliar sound broke the crisp night air and it took a moment for Seven to distinguish it as laughter. If the grip on Victor’s hand hadn’t been forcibly broken, it dissolved now in favor of sliding both hands into his trouser pockets as his attention turned back to Asara. The map sat comfortably beneath Seven’s arm, pressed to his side firmly enough to distort the cylinder into an oval shape, but not so far as to bend the paper further. “What are you laughing at?” Seven’s question drifted towards the rooftop, followed by a suggestion, “You should come down here.”

[Victor Lark]

Even as frustration welled in his throat and threated to turn to anger, the sight of a white head peering over the roof’s edge broke the tension in his face. Seven’s words confirmed his suspicions and Victor squeezed his hand in return. She was the treasure, the object of the search, and there was little in the world that could keep him from enjoying the thrill of the finding. His eyes narrowed in a futile attempt to get a better look at her. His frown was only one of concentration.

Before Seven’s suggestion was complete, his friend had skipped to the mouth of the alley again. He rearranged the unbroken crates into a more durable ladder, kicking it to be sure. The ache in his shoulder was far from fading; a bruise was certainly imminent. But that hardly dissuaded him from the greater ache to put his head closer to the sky.

Three boxes on top of each other left the roof in reach. “No need for that!” He mentioned with a jovial grin, then grasped the first of them and pulled himself up. There was a little more care in this second ascent, though probably not enough. He would offer his hand to Seven at every step, but when he finally managed a glance at Asara, he did not look away. If any lingering bitterness fueled his distraction, he did not recognize it.

If she did not flee instantly, he would stretch out a hand to her. His skin was as dark as dirt compared to the complexions of the two creatures around him. He had thought Seven seemed fragile, but the man could hold his own against Victor’s less than gentle tendencies. This thing looked as if she would snap beneath his grasp, and Victor could not be certain that he would not test the boundaries of her strength. The old honey spilled from his smiling lips and enthralled eyes as he said, “My name is Victor Lark, Asara Willow. I believe you have something of ours.” Forgetting everything he had been told about the symenestra, his other hand reached tentatively at the too-sharp bend in her too-long arm, too see if it would be as soft as Seven’s.

[Asara Willow]

Seven had claimed the chart from the human... Asara's panic attack faded into the greater burn of curiosity. The dynamic of this unlikely duo was particularly shocking. She'd not known humans and half-Symenestra would get along so well. It almost made her wish to be a half-blood... Almost.

Her eyes flicked between them both before Seven began his rushed flow of words. She focused on him to catch them before they slipped away into nothingness. He seemed happy to see her, which surprised her, and then almost... sad. He had no reason to be sad and, with a dismissive flick of her wrist she showed this before she began to speak as well, her words flowing unhurriedly and unheatedly.

"You are not required to apologize for anything, Seven. You've come today, and so have I." She would not admit that his distraction had truly bothered her. He was, in all honesty, the first person she could count as a friend in this human mess. The fact that he'd let something distract him was bothersome, but could he be blamed? She'd missed meeting him for several days after encountering that woman human. Her injuries had required her to remain still so her bones could be relaxed and fixed. He could hardly be blamed for that.

She was about to come down, forgetting that the human was there and that he had probably never seen a Symenestra's style of scaling impossible surfaces before the human in question, with a great amount of noise and excited gusto, began the reconstruction of the crate ladder and climbed up to her. He was better at climbing this time than he'd been the last time, apparently... Clumsy little human.

As he neared her, Asara instinctively recoiled; that woman had scared some of her weaker instincts to the forefront of her psyche after all, and she didn't know this man enough to trust him not to pull her and let her fall. Even a fall of such little distance could have resulted in her death. She was in a perilous place, once could say.

The human introduced himself with the name of a bird and immediately demanded of something jointly owned between the half-blood and himself. A frown of confusion clouded her face before he reached for her and she hissed. He really was going to drag her down! She couldn't allow it!

She withdrew back from him, keeping to all fours on the roof, and focused her gold eyes on him. Somewhere in her mind she knew she shouldn't have reacted like that until she saw a weapon, but he could have his apple on him somewhere, and hadn't it already been proven apples were weapons on their own? Still, she kept back from him, before hissing her reply in the Symenos-accented whisper she spoke with.

"Seven's book was it...? You are standing on it, Victor Lark. It was under a crate." She said in her hiss of a voice, still startled and wary.