One Day, You'll Leave Me

[Laszlo]

Summer 77th, 512AV The aged oaken stairs whined beneath Laszlo's feet as he began to climb his way out of the cabin. One hand went to steadying his balance while the other held a bundle of blankets to his chest. Mornings at sea were always bitingly cold, and going above deck meant submitting himself to the mercy of winds unchecked by hills or city structures. The hatch to the main deck was flung open, sending the rusted iron hinges screeching, and the Ethaefal emerged into the open air. A thick fog had settled over the sea, embracing the vessel in a vast gray haze and shrouding much of it from his view. Laszlo was immediately assailed by a sharp gust of salty air, picking at his untied golden hair and threatening to unravel the parcel in his arm. After the hatch slammed shut again, he employed both arms to protect his wrapped blankets. Except for the continuous, creaking groans of a veteran ship, and the sound of water rhythmically breaking against the hull, the morning was relatively silent. Too far from land, there were no sea birds to keep the Ethaefal company. Even Syna was nowhere to be found, lost somewhere above in the deep fog even as her light penetrated to illuminate her son's world in shades of gray. Laszlo was quickly becoming accustomed to being alone. The isolation didn't seem to occur to him as he crossed the deck, heading toward a stack of trunks and crates bolted to the center of the deck, and further kept in place by a thick rope net. Seating himself on one of the crates, Laszlo lifted a corner of one blanket with the careful nudge of his hand, revealing a round little face. "Good morning," he greeted in a whisper, while the infant's large, violet eyes lifted to meet his unmatching golden stare. Her face looked painted by the fog, grayish and pale, and nearly translucent. Tiny, delicate veins traced wicked paths beneath her skin, noticeably faded since her birth, but would never become invisible. It was a trademark of the Symenestra. "I know it's bright," Laszlo apologized, turning to the side as he plucked a glass jar from the clutter of an open trunk. Inside was a viscous, reddish purple soup. He brought the item to his lap and began attempting to unseal the lid's wire clasps with one hand. "But the air below deck is fetid and stale. Better you suffer a small headache from the light than get sick." She likely wouldn't survive the voyage if she did. The deck creaked, out of rhythm from the rest of the ship's ambient groaning. Laszlo recognized the sound of a footstep upon the floorboards. He lifted up the jar with a defeated sigh. "Duvalyon, can you help me with this?" The Ethaefal looked up. A heavy thud startled the infant in Laszlo's arms as the jar fell to the deck, then rolled off to the side. He quickly nudged the blankets over her face again and rose sharply to his feet. Standing before the Ethaefal was a large, lanky-framed animal. It was not one of the livestock brought on board; it looked more to be a manner of oversized feline, beige-yellow with a busy array of black spots. Its almond-shaped eyes carried the cool apathy of a predator. "Get. Away," Laszlo snarled lowly, protecting his infant with both arms as he angled her away from the beast. Where was his sword? He should have brought it above deck with him. Hypnotism would be his only weapon then. If Lhex was merciful, the magic would be just as effective on an animal as an upright, sentient being. OOCLaz hasn't actually attempted to use Hypnotism yet (not sure it would work in a dream anyway). He's just thinking about it being his only option.

[Lucette]

Lucette paced as she always had, circling and circling the deck. The ship’s course never ended. It was easy to forget where she had begun, for the fog camouflaged the tiny, floating world upon the sea in shades of wispy gray. The endless lapping of the water became a lonesome song in her head. No one crossed her path; the way was empty. Lazily the Kelvic wondered at the lack of humans around her, but she was more than thankful for a respite from them, and the endless press of their harsh glances. They had not yet forgiven her for her attempt to eat the child, and she was unnerved by such cold regard. The old boards creaked forlornly, and the fog shrouded everything in its blanket. But Lucette did not mind, she did not need to see, so many times had she traveled this same circuitous path. Salt stuck to her nostrils, and washed all other scent away. She padded along, and came upon a man sitting. If the Kelvic was surprised, she did not show it. Though she thought, he rose to his feet too quickly, almost guiltily. Her eyes observed as the jar toppled from his hand, to roll onto the deck and away. Turning her magnificent head, the Cheetah sniffed the air, wondering if the container was worth pursuing. Padding forward a few steps, Lucette stopped to regard him. He was a strange man, not seen before. His manner made him seem out of place; she doubted he belonged on this ship with the rest of the refuges. The feline head swayed as her senses took him in, his scent, his markings, his… blankets. Within them something wriggled. What was it? Curiosity aroused, she tried to smell it, but it was muffled. Her eyes flicked back to him, as he spoke. “Get. Away.” She watched him, unmoving with feline patience. He thought blankets could hide his treasure? And again, the blankets moved… and make noise! Lucette’s ears perked upwards, black tips grey in the little light, as if she had caught him in a lie. He moved to the side with it, protectively. But the Cheetah moved with him, unrushed and graceful. Upon this silent ship, it seemed time was only measured by fog and eternity. Nothing could change. The jar rolled again, but this time towards her a large clawed paw. Her head snapped to hear it sloshing, her nostrils sniffed to smell the liquid. Head bowed, eyes focused upon it, the Cheetah looked very interested and very intent. Her whiskers twitched, a paw batted at the lid. It’s smell was familiar to her, yet she could not place it. She knew! But… the knowledge came slow to her mind. A rough tongue lapped at the sealed edge. Fruit? A mixture… perhaps a hint of blood? Again the jars contents sloshed, but she refused to let such an interesting thing roll away. “What is this you carry?” She asked with predatory interest, her voice seductively husky. Licking her lips, her large fangs became visible before they disappeared once more. Lucette did not wonder that human speech sounded from her Cheetah mouth. In this place it seemed a perfectly normal thing, as did the lessening of her timid self, into a feline bolder and more curious. “Is it for you to drink? Or is it for… another? Would you dare to drink it, human?” She wondered with a challange, circling him and the wriggling thing in his arms. And always her nose sniffed ahead of her, to place the hidden thing, to categorize it in her mind.

[Laszlo]

It speaks? Laszlo narrowed his eyes. Although this didn't make much sense, he was more concerned about the beast's lack of fear. It was a slight animal, but it seemed to be immune to intimidation. And, he noted inwardly with worry, it seemed mildly interested in his infant. He would have to change tactics. "I am not human," he corrected. Laszlo stared down at the feline, and then at the jar that had rolled to its feet. Or… paws. The strong tone in his voice was maintained. He wouldn't show fear, even as its terrible claws clutched at his heart. "I am Ethaefal. Syna sustains me; I have no need to drink that. It is for my daughter." Seemingly aware that someone was talking about her, the infant moved in her father's arm. She uttered a small noise of exertion as she pried one fleshy little arm loose from its soft, cotton prison. A small hand reached upward, little gray fingers grabbing at Laszlo's thin shirt. He tore his eyes away from the animal and looked down at the baby girl. Her pale skin barely contrasted against the off-white linen of his clothing. Standing out were her tiny fingernails, still soft and flexible. More brownish than black. I'm sorry, he thought at her, swallowing nervously. I will recover your breakfast soon. Be patient. "It's no concern of yours," Laszlo told the beast, looking down at the jar again. He then met the creature's amber eyes. The same color as his. "Beast, I told you to get away. That food is for her. For you to eat it would be dooming her to starve. I would sooner kill you. This is my warning."

[Lucette]

The Cheetah nodded, “I have seen your brothers… the Ethaefal.” She did not say where or how she had met them. But if he thought the animal looked a little more intent, as if to see his other hidden form, he would have been correct. The man’s voice was strong to her ears, confident. After all, she had been trained to hear such things. The particular tone caused her to listen, whether she wished it or not. A flickering of wonder flashed behind her eyes – did she owe him allegiance? He held himself as if she did. Uncertain, the Cheetah did not move, but held stillness close to her, so easily immobile. Lucette felt bold. And strong. And very, very patient. But the man’s inflection caused her to slink lower, though the unfailing, feline gaze never once wavered, even as the ship rocked, caught by a wave. When the jar rolled again, they both looked, and then at one another. It was a stalemate. One beat, then two and three. The Cheetah’s eyes shifted first; it was not in her nature to hold a challenge, even over such a simple thing as a jar of slush. With an arrogant flick of her head, she said simply, dismissively, “Feed the child.” Her body shifted to the side, and the movement held a lazy gracefulness. As she stepped away, her lean muscles rolled with feminine allure, a sexual awareness in each step. “You would kill me for this… liquid,” the Cheetah scoffed, at the notion. “You could not.” She was stronger in this world than her own; somehow she knew it. “It is odd food for a baby…” she said, watching as the little hand rose upwards. The color… little grey fingers! Lucette’s heart paused. “I would see it…” she said suddenly, her voice its own force, even as the little body wriggled. “Let me see it…” she breathed, voice lowered, softer in its delivery. Her mind repeated. Look at it. Look at it. Look! It was a primal urge, an instinctual need. Abruptly, she was before it, looking down upon it and into the man’s blankets. With a shaky paw, so large, yet gentle did she snag the thick fabric, lifting a fold away from the baby’s face. “Violet eyes…!” Lucette hissed, scrambling backward at the discovery. Its eyes, its skin! Such were the colors that Veldrys carried. Upwards the Cheetah head rose. The Kelvic held the man in shocked regard. For more than a moment, the beast could not think. Then the words came, strained, almost painfully whispered, “Where did you get this babe? Did you find it?” Her body trembled, as the deadly predator suddenly fearful looked away, and shook her head to clear it.