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 Posted: Sat Apr 01, 2017 7:41 pm
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❂ Push Me To The Moon ❂
[ Pt. I ]
Damissan felt good.
Better than he had in weeks, months—he frowned—years? He tipped his head skyward at the thought, hands folding behind his head as his eyes pondered the heavens. Perhaps it was true, though. He had had fun and excitement certainly, in his recent years, most recent months included. But he could not remember ever feeling quite like this. Lighter, almost. Of course, he was naturally disposed to positive moods, but this was different—a new, buoyant giddiness that filled his chest with each breath and seemed to undermine the importance of anything that might otherwise have bothered him and amplify his appreciation for everything else.
Xilarn had left. A few hours prior now, by Damissan’s best guess judging from the sun’s angle, a solitary mission to ‘attend to a few things.’ The whereabouts and well-being of his son included. He hadn’t pressed the topic any more than to know for certain what mattered most: Xilarn was coming back. They had traveled together by now in the realm of just over three months, over two months longer than Xilarn had initially planned for. At most. It seemed, at the very outset, he may have anticipated even less. A day, or two.
Damissan studied Tale’s sky. It was warm now with morning well underway. Xilarn had set out early as was his — their? — habit, and for the first time since departing from Sulburi with the man, Damissan was alone. In a foreign land, no less. Xilarn had not left, though, before giving Damissan more than enough to think about until such time as he returned.
Such as how it felt to have the man’s hands on him, and mouth against his and other portions of him, and to give himself away, for once, as opposed to always taking from whoever was charmed enough to let him. Damissan had decided very quickly he enjoyed the change. He took to being taken, and Xilarn was a very thorough lover. It was to be expected, Damissan supposed in retrospect, seeing as Xilarn seemed to take on any task set before him with serious dedication—if he saw fit to endeavor upon the task to begin with—and Damis had wholly enjoyed being the center of his focus.
He wondered where the man was now, how far he’d gotten on his way, how near to his goals, and how soon he might return. A week had been the stated goal, and it wasn’t that long at all. But somehow still it managed to feel like a more of a wait than he wanted, and like an underestimation of the time it would actually take. What was he supposed to do without Xilarn about?
What had he done before he’d ever met the man?
It was strange, Damissan thought as he took to walking out from the inn he and Xilarn had shared to the morning-lit streets of Yera, that so much of what he thought and cared about on a daily basis had changed in the short span of time since leaving home. Some things had not. He wasn’t so naive as to imagine that all the world had tilted on its axis and changed over the period of handful of months just because—
He paused, frowning, because he had been so naive, hadn’t he? Not about a man walking into his life, but about apparently his entire perception on the creation and design of the universe. And all because he hadn’t understood how to control his own life, or bring meaning of any useful variety to it.
Even given all the resources in the world to have done anything he pleased.
Damissan paused in the road. A dozen paces from him, a baker dusted the matt and flatrock in front of his shop, his windows open such that the smell of the goods inside wafted out with the morning breeze. Nearer to the middle of the street, two children chased barefoot through the dirt. On the opposite side, a woman stood with one child closer to infancy propped at her hip while she debated heatedly with the shop owner of the stall she’d approached.
Damis glanced back, to the inn behind him. The room at the inn, the food he and Xilarn had purchased, and the wine—all of these were coin-bought comforts, and thoroughly enjoyed at that. But in the weeks and months prior, there had been many days where they had managed without anything at all that necessitated coin. He hadn’t thought about it then. Since he had never thought especially much about spending money, he hadn’t thought much of not spending it, other than to notice pointedly all the luxuries that weren’t available.
Some of it had not been so bad. And all of it had been survivable. Though not, he knew now with absolute certainty, if he had been on his own all the while. Xilarn — with his familiarity with the land and its edible parts, terrain, and creatures, his skill for hunting, and his persistence in keeping Damissan reasonably close at hand — had made it survivable.
He didn’t suppose in retrospect that he ever thought he had ‘cared’ much about wealth growing up, but only because he had never wanted for anything and thus had the luxury of not thinking at all on it if he pleased. The only reason he had the freedom to leave home at moments notice to begin with was because his parents had provided for all his starting resources, resources not available to anyone, and the only reason he had made it as far as he had after was because Xilarn had made it possible.
He wondered, not for the first time, more about the man’s family and upbringing. From what Damissan had initially guessed, Xilarn struck him as having a well-off birth, if not of noble class, but much of what he learned that followed seemed more than might be expected of a strictly-raised Oban child. A half-alkidike hybrid lover at a young age being perhaps the strangest, but not without ‘experience with surviving in Jauhar’ coming in as a close second.
And not far behind that, the fact that he had a son near to Damis’ own age.
He didn’t even think of it so often as perhaps he should have — though the thought was more pertinent on his mind now, while Xilarn was off for that very reason — but the fact of it, combined with everything else the man had said lead to several unavoidable conclusions. Xilarn had been—was—a young, single father for many years, and it had not been his intent. He had fallen in love early and quickly to someone who at the time must not have been who he would have imagined himself with otherwise. And then he had lost that man, very shortly after whatever they had together had begun, and life had left him with a child to rear on his own. He could not have been much—if at all?—older when he took on the child than Damis was now. A child he had intended to raise with an alkidike hybrid, during a time when Oba was at war, and the social class from which he assumed Xilarn came from would have been the primary tier for high ranking soldiers and officers.
Damissan wondered if any of the Attlee family of Sulburi beyond Xilarn himself had taken well to the coupling or the child at the time. If they had not, perhaps it was no wonder Xilarn had not been pleased by any mention of them.
Damissan pursed his lips.
At sixteen, the boy must only just have been beginning to truly stretch the wings of his independence, and Damis got the suspicion, now that he thought on it, that that may have been precisely what was or had just occurred around the time Xilarn took on the ‘temporary’ task of looking after him on his breach of independence from his own parents.
He flushed, frowning and letting his attention wander back down the street as he began to walk again, aimless, but restless enough to prefer movement over idleness. Perhaps it was no wonder Xilarn seemed intent on seeing a child in him. Even if his behavior had been better than what it had for his parents, it was still childish in principle purpose: the entire reason he had left was to run away.
It had simply been a more dramatic and determined variety than most ‘children’ and he had been eager to move away from that label as well. What to hadn’t been as clear and at the time it felt incredibly high minded. Having been dependant upon Xilarn for his life for three months, a man who had spent the last eleven years raising a child only three years younger than himself, seven of those completely devoid of even attempts at finding a partner for the process—it felt, suddenly, wildly and unfairly selfish to have expected or wanted half of the things he did from the man. Or anything at all.
His parents had paid for his services, not him, and even then, it had been with the intention of hiring him for at most far less than he had already provided.
But Xilarn had taken the job, and it was not Damissan’s fault, surely, that he had more stubborn drive than his parents had given him credit for. Not Xilarn’s fault either, though, just as surely. He couldn’t have been expected, as he himself had said, to have taken Damissan’s blind and untested optimism and determination over the experienced opinions of his parents.
He wondered, not for the first time, what the man saw in him beyond his a**. Clearly, he wanted for some variety of affection, and could likely use support in his own life as opposed to being depended upon for it as he must have been by his son—and then Damissan for his short period in his own way. He breathed out, running a hand back over his head and the dusting of hair that had begun to grow there. He wanted to have something to offer, he realized, but wasn’t sure from where he was standing what that could be.
But Xilarn must have seen something that he wanted, more than just to bed him, since he had insisted on specifying that he was not interested in fleeting affairs before agreeing—and gone so far as to not trust even when Damis accepted those terms the first time. Looking on it now, it was some wonder he had trusted even after. Though he had the information, he had not thought, from Xilarn’s perspective, how treacherous the prospect of a passionate but uncertain relationship might seem.
Only that he had wanted, and Xilarn had seemed to have some overlapping desires.
It had seemed so easy, though, to kiss him. And better by a thousand than any he had kissed before if only due to how much he knew was woven behind them. It was no wonder at all that Xilarn didn’t trust him when he, Damis, had nothing to lose, and Xilarn…
For all that Damis may have felt lost at home and in ‘need’ of change, he had a gold cushioned net waiting for him if all else failed, the same net which had made his departure possible to begin with, and even if it went splendidly, there was very little risk for him aside from potential for rejection. But instead of parents, Xilarn had a child to worry about, obligations and concerns other than and more important than Damissan’s wants and whims.
Xilarn had gone through enough in the world to deserve better than a flighty noble boy who took a fancy to his c—k and how flattering his attentions were—and how exciting the journey, for however long it lasted. If he was going to pursue his interests, he had to be certain he was more than that. Or it wouldn’t be fair. He didn’t deserve as much as he knew Xilarn could give if he wasn’t prepared to give as much or more in return.
Damissan reached the end of the mainstreet, at which point, off to the left, there was a cleared section of dirt walled mostly off on three sides by the adjacent buildings, and within which, a cluster of six or so boys was chasing and kicking about a rubbered ball. He immediately classified them as ‘children’, though on second thought, it was perhaps an unfair judgement, given that they looked, at the youngest, to be fourteen, and ranged upwards from there to close to his own age. Middle range teenagers.
Xilarn’s son would be about that age.
He thought about where his mind had moved the morning of his ‘advances’ on Xilarn, after Xilarn had left him alone to find a lake—of what he would do, if Xilarn had left then. Continue hadn’t seemed like an option. Though Xilarn had paid lip service to the idea of ‘finding someone else’ to service him in Yera, and his ‘holy’ goal of traveling the continents ought not depend on the presence of one man, he had not wanted anyone else. And he felt near certain he would not have continued if Xilarn had insisted on parting ways. His first thought had been to return home to his mother, and seek to begin courting.
He felt now that that was still exactly what he would do if, after all he and Xilarn did together in their travels to come, the other man found himself wanting more than he thought Damissan could offer in the long term. After all, he knew he still wanted a family eventually, and if everything he chased now turned out to be nothing but an experience in adventure and heartbreak, then he probably deserved it at least once in his life.
But Xilarn had agreed to travel with him, he had said he wouldn’t leave him, and he was going to return. They had miles upon miles to go, and all the time in between to build upon what they had together. Xilarn was an intelligent, dedicated, caring, and honorable man, the likes of which Damissan had never before encountered. True, he had never taken his past pursuits seriously, but even in retrospect, he would not have wanted serious relationships with any of those he had engaged with during his most flagrantly rebellious years. He wouldn’t have trusted them. They were no more responsible or interesting than he had been, really.
All dolled up children of the upper crust milking what reckless enjoyment they could while the opportunities presented themselves.
If he wanted more than that, though—if he was ready to work for something more permanent, with the aim of finding a person to build a family with, then surely, he could not ask for better than someone of a more consistent, enduring persuasion. Admittedly, he had always imagined himself with a wife, and he had thought he would marry amidst the nobility, but it was not the only way to pursue homemaking, and Damissan had not made a habit of following all the social rules of his class before.
Though he had not given it much thought beforehand, he felt that continuing on with Xilarn as they were now, it was all but inevitable that time would find him falling in love with the man. Already, he was not so blind as to be unaware he felt more drawn to the man in meaningful ways than he had anyone before him—he had admitted as such and meant it, and the thought had only been further entrenched by their night together—and he had no reason to believe having more of everything that he had so far found appealing would make him less inclined to continue wanting from the man.
Which left Damissan to conclude that it would in the end be a matter of convincing Xilarn that he was worth trusting, and seeing if, along the way up through Tale, Sauti, Zena, and down again to the beaches of Matori, they couldn’t somewhere along the way come to an innate, mutual agreement as to what would make them happiest at the end of their journey.
A shape came rushing for his head, and without thinking, Damis’ hands moved, snapping to catch and divert the—ball. He stared at his catch, blinking, and then looked in the direction it had come from. One leafling boy was coming jogging towards him, but slowed as he saw he was looking.
“Oi…Oban,” he greeted. “Toss it, eh?”
Damissan tapped his fingers to the ball, hefting it once experimentally. Buoyant as it was, he was tempted to experiment, and did so, tossing it first at the earth by his boot. It didn’t disappoint, springing back upwards towards his hand in rebound, and he grinned as he caught it, tossing it from hand to hand.
“What are the rules?” he asked.
“Ehrr…” The leafling boy slowed to a stop, casting an uncertain glance over his shoulder towards his fellows.
“Come on,” Damissan said, softening his tone just a touch and opening his hands. “I’ll give you your ball back regardless, but if you’ve room for another player I could use an excuse to stretch my legs, and I’ve never seen this before. It looks fun.”
One of those from the rest of the cluster who had been close enough to be paying attention, apparently, piped up from the back. “Your legs are too long!” And that was enough to rouse words from more.
“Aye—he’ll win whoever’s team he’s on, that ain’t fair-”
“He’s Oban-”
Damissan shook his head, teeth flashing broader with amusement. “If you tell me the rules, you can all team up against me if you like. I don’t mind. Besides, I have never played, I cannot be that difficult to manage. Unless…you’re afraid to be bested by the fire nation competing single handedly at your own game.” He tossed the ball back into the arms of the boy who’d approached him, now staring openly.
Moments later, though, there came what seemed to be a near unanimous rallying cry of solidarity. They could beat the Oban, surely, among themselves, and he probably wasn’t that good anyway. After their team of seven (as it turned out once he counted properly) had trounced him thoroughly several times at their game—enough to decide that he wasn’t, in fact, invincible and that playing against him alone was too easy to be exciting for long—they conceded to splitting into teams again with him among them. After some experimentation and team balancing, it was decided that so long as he and the eldest among them — a boy of eighteen summers some inch or two shorter than him, but nearly as fast — the odds were relatively fair split.
He lost track of how long he spent there, engaged until after the sun hit and passed its peak. By the time the game had dispersed with all of its various players heading off for late lunch, Damis knew their names, and felt fully sure he had made up for missing his morning run. Picking up enough food for himself for the afternoon, he made his way back to the inn, ate, and washed to clean the sweat from him. When he emerged, cleaned and dried, he dropped to the bed he’d shared with Xilarn and mused that it smelled like both of them before drifting into an unplanned for afternoon nap.
He woke to mid-evening sunlight pouring in on him from the window, and stretched, rolling onto his back to contemplate the ceiling. “I miss you,” he admitted to the empty space, “and you haven’t even been gone a day. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Xilarn had said ‘a week.’ Something, though, caused Damis to be suspicious it might take significantly longer, depending on exactly what the man encountered along the way, and how long it took to accomplish what he was out to do in practice, as opposed to theory.
Yera, at least, was Tale’s largest settlement, larger too than anything they would find in Sauti once they got there. Surely, in the time between, he could manage at least not to be bored. He pushed upward and slid his legs from the bed, standing and setting to the process of re-dressing. Before he began anything else, it was high time he visited the post building, and found out how much it would cost to send his parents another letter.
When he left the inn this time, it was with a set direction and far distant ‘home’ on his mind.
Word Count: 3,515 |
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Posted: Wed Apr 12, 2017 4:50 pm
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● Push Me To The Moon
[ Pt. II ] ●
“Damissan Mataou.”
The man behind the counter — a heavily bearded leaf gentleman who looked to be getting on in years — squinted over the edge of his perch, eyeing him up and down before sparing a glance over his shoulder to one of the younger associates shuffling behind the desk. He muttered something, which Damis did not catch, before turning a scrutinizing gaze back on him. The vivid green of their eyes never ceased to be slightly alarming, even less pleasant when it appeared to be critical.
“Are you…here alone, mister…Mataou?”
“Lord heir,” Damissan said. “It’s a noble title, and I came with a Mister Xilarn Attlee, though he isn’t with me currently, we are traveling together. I was hoping this post would connect through to Sulburi, as I’m looking to send word to my parents, Lord Ra’amand and Lady Baharti Mataou of my whereabouts and well-being. Am I at the right place?”
Whatever suspicion there was in the man seemed to ease, and he called to the boy he’d spoken with earlier, issuing a quick command. A moment later, the boy appeared with a letter and a package. “We have instructions to present this to you personally, or with the accompaniment of your guard. We are grateful to do business with you and your family, young lord. Should you wish to return with a missive of your own to return them you have come to the right place and for the right coin it will be delivered safely, we assure you.”
Damissan hadn’t been expecting word from his parents, and an accompanying package made him dually suspicious of the contents of both it and the letter. He took both, however, thanking the clerk and making his way back. There was no reason to wait, but he did, leaving the package and letter in their room and locking it before spending most of the evening’s remainder exploring the city on foot. Only evening waned into sunset and near-dark did he return and set himself to each in turn.
He opened the letter first.
It did not take long to discern the intent. Xilarn, to whatever extent he had an employment contract with them, was being ‘relieved’ of his duties, with instructions to return their son as immediately as safety permitted. Included and packaged separately was a portion of his salary, the rest to be paid in full upon Damissan’s safe return. If they did not hear word of raven or some other sign of brisk response, they would consider pressing charges of abduction, on the grounds that their journey had already exceeded the agreed upon time frame of the endeavor.
Damissan fiddled with the edge of the letter, his eyes skimming the text several times over before he set it aside. Xilarn had seemed very aware already that they had overstepped the period within which his parents had expected him to have returned—though Damissan had not known, at first, the serious extent to which all other parties besides himself had thought that to be the inevitable case. Regardless, at about the time Xilarn chose to bed him, Damis suspected the other man’s regard for Ra’amand and Bahati’s wishes had been superseded by his and Damissan’s own preferences.
He was fairly certain it wasn’t inside the bounds of what his parents would have considered to be in the man’s job description. So, it followed so far as Damissan could see that Xilarn likely already considered that agreement over and his promise to continue forward with him would hold notwithstanding prior arrangements with his parents. Nonetheless, he did not want Xilarn being charged with abduction, nor did he want Xilarn feeling pressured by their rank or be deprived of his due pay. He had performed the task they’d hired him for marvelously, after all, but Damis somehow suspected that if he didn’t return Damis in what they considered a ‘timely’ manner, they would be less inclined to provide him the remainder.
Knowing now the contents of the package, Damis set it away, out of sight and locked that it wouldn’t be touched into by any casual cleaning crew. After, he took out paper and ink, and set to write.
Mother and Father,
I write having safely arrived in Yera and having attained your letter to myself and Mister Attlee. As I informed you from the outset, my intention was and remains to continue our journey up through the remainder of Tale, into the crags of Sauti and further north, to Zena’s capitol, after which we’ll return south.
Though he is not with me at present to give his opinion on the matter, I may say that from my own understanding of the situation, your service contract with him has ended, spanning an agreement which initially had him accompanying me for the better part of a month at most, which he fulfilled and which has now passed. I am of age to make traveling choices, and to seek and acquire aid in such endeavors if I see fit. Since his contract with you has ended, upon his return I will be requesting his continued accompaniment by our own terms through the remainder of our journey.
Please rest assured knowing that the continuation of these travels is entirely of my own volition and Mister Attlee’s mislead expectation that I would be aborting my course early did in fact lead to some conflict between us wherein he would have preferred I return home. That aside, we have come to an agreement and understanding, and I retract any complaints I may have made in regard to suggestion that I be accompanied. His service has been, and I trust will continue to be, invaluable. Thank you for your efforts in procuring his aid.
[There are several paragraphs here dedicated to a recounting of his travels to date since his last letter. All notably dangerous events are downplayed or not explained fully enough to incite worry, and though his disagreement with Xilarn is mentioned, it is framed as a difference of opinion on travel plans due to misunderstanding. He then talks about Tale, makes inquiries into his parents’ well being, and finishes with a final thanks in regard to hiring on his guard in the first place.]
ȿincereℓy and Ӻorever Your ȿon,
Damissan Mataou
Damissan sent the letter the following day.
In the first week, he explored Yera like a tourist, returning often in the mid morning hours to play ball on the days that the group there gathered. He the buildings of public office, the library, the taverns, and the square where it seemed, if anything of particular excite was going to occur, to be the first place to check. There were on occasion events of open theatre. It might have been especially lively, he thought, due to the recent passing through of the Grand Market event. Many of the largest acts had no doubt made their way to gather along the borders of Tale and Sauti then, and were now trickling back out.
Though he was not necessarily expecting word from Xilarn prior to his return — given that it was planned to be a relatively brief departure — he did keep touch with the fowler and post office, providing his temporary stay residence within the city should anything urgent arrive. Thus, to be fair, when he received raven from Xilarn, he feared for an instant all the worst that could have happened, and was initially immediately relieved to see what he did. Delayed.
He could cope with delay.
It had been anticipated, even, and really, he oughtn’t be surprised. Still, he managed to be disappointed. Not so much because he had expected the man’s return sooner, but because he had hoped it would be so despite more reasonable expectations, and now his suspicions were confirmed. He would have to wait near two more weeks. At least.
He dropped with a frustrated sigh to their mattress. It wasn’t that long. He had no choice but to wait besides, so he might as well make the most of the circumstance. All that remained to be decided was how to wait.
He spent the second week much like his first, though near the middle of it, he was invited by his ball playing ‘team’ to attend a larger, weekly event at which a number of more experienced — if no less hodge-podged, from the looks of things — players gathered to compete on a more officially done-up field, and families and fans came about to watch, exchange food in pot-luck fashion, and (so far as Damissan could tell) make revelry in whatever way they saw fit as the evening wore on. Damissan had not the experience or rapport to compete in the ‘official’ game, but did toss a ball about with the younger portion of the crowd before allowing himself to be introduced to some of the older generation there. Parents, friends, sibling.
Some among the crowd were leery of the stranger from the desert, but for some, animated recounts of some of his best plays, retold by his friends to their connections, was enough to earn smiles and tentative welcome. For others, less so, but those not interested in his company were polite enough to simply avoid it and allow the night to progress smoothly on all sides.
It was sometime in late evening, after the main game had concluded, eating had been had, and most gathered were engaged in clusters of conversation, music making, or dice games. He had just finished a conversation, and was turning to seek out Galelith — the eighteen year old amongst his semi-daily crowd — when someone called his name.
“Damissan!”
He looked. She was pretty. A semi-familiar face, though he couldn’t pinpoint from where immediately, with freckled tanned skin, red-gold curls and long ears the tips of which peeked from the barely-restrained hair. Especially pale green eyes. If he had been told her name, he couldn’t recall it.
“Is that how you say it?” she asked upon making her way before him, and he blinked.
“Hm?”
“Your-”
“Oh,” he realized. “Yes, it is. Damissan Mataou.” He held out a hand. “If we’ve been introduced I do apologize, but I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Oh, no.” She was quick to shake her head, taking his hand. “We haven’t been, but I’ve watched you.” When his eyebrows rose the barest fraction, she flushed and released the handshake. “Play. That is, I’ve watched you—I’m Gale’s sister, Winlynn.”
“Galelith’s…” Damissan guessed, “…younger sister.”
“Two years,” she agreed with a nod. “Have you really come from the jungle? You look more like a city boy.”
He blinked, and then laughed. “I have,” he said, “but you’re not wrong, either…” And so their conversation began and continued for quite some time, with Damissan relating much of his recent adventure and learning in turn about her, her brother, and family. He realized as they spoke that as quickly and as constantly as it had all happened, there had not been any real opportunity yet to relate his journey — except through periodic letter to his parents — and it was enjoyable to have a chance to share in person.
When he left that evening, he felt less restless, though his thoughts were still tied up in his missing companion by the time he fell asleep that night.
Winlynn came to watch more often than he’d realized. It was some days later, late morning after several rounds of play when he had taken to sit, hydrate, and catch his breath, when Galelith came to stand before him. At the cast of his shadow, Damis glanced up. Before he could greet him, though, the boy asked:
“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”
It wasn’t quite what he’d expected, but Damissan shrugged, nodding and re-capping his water flask. “Fairly,” he said. “Whenever the man I am with returns, I assume…why?”
Initially, Gale shrugged, but his eyes wandered, and Damis’ followed to where his sister was mingling with several others of their crowd while activity was at a lull. “You’re alright,” he said at length. “For an Oban.”
The corner of Damis’ lip twitched up.
“But you don’t need to spend too much time looking at Win.”
In an instant, Damis’ gaze focussed back on Gale’s, and he blinked. Had he…? All but simultaneously, several things occurred to him: she was pretty, and in their several limited encounters had seemed eager to give him much of her focus, but above and beyond that, a more important revelation—he wasn’t interested. More than that, even, the suggestion that it looked as though he was gave rise to uncertainty: did he act confusingly friendly with everyone? Or was Galelith particularly positioned to be wary on account of being her brother.
Damis didn’t want to be giving the impression that he was after everything under the sun now. It felt like a poor start to ‘exclusive’, no doubt, but the impression would be inaccurate besides. He leaned back. “She’s cute,” he admitted, smiling. “But, you don’t need to worry. I’m accounted for, and not here to cause trouble.” Damis dusted his hands over his pants, and stood. “What you should be worried about…” He looped an arm over the leafling boy’s shoulders, ignoring the immediate startled stiffness in them, “…is Marcyl-”
Galelith’s laugh was unexpected, but served to ease any tension just the same. He shook his head. “Everyone knows Marcyl’s been pining since he learned girls existed. He’s too shy.”
Damissan’s grin was lopsided and amused as he leaned to emphasize. “Too shy so far…”
Galelith was less amused, and snorted, cheeks heating as he reached to remove Damis’ arm from about him. “I’ll worry about that. You keep your hands to yourself.”
Damis chuckled, cooperating and lifting his arms over his head to grip one at the wrist and stretch. “Before I leave,” he said, “you should race me. You’re not too slow…for a leafling.”
For a moment, Galelith eyed him—but it didn’t take long for him to accept the subject shift, and any remaining tension eased. “If that’s how you want to go out,” he said with a shrug. “As a loser.”
Damis’ grin was sharp and bright. “We’ll see.”
Word Count: 2,423 |
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Posted: Fri Apr 21, 2017 12:04 pm
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Posted: Sun May 07, 2017 11:59 am
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Posted: Sun May 07, 2017 12:00 pm
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Posted: Sun May 07, 2017 2:45 pm
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❂ A Crisis of Faith ❂
Damissan had been raised in like fashion with the other young children of nobility to believe in Oba’s traditional pantheon of gods. While neither were especially devout, both of his parents held the faith of the culture and believed in at least ceremonial attendance to religious tradition when a situation was important enough to merit it. But it had played a minimal and backdrop role in the scene of his life and theirs.
When he had come to his ‘awakening,’ of sorts, he couldn’t have said why his mind turned to attributing his panic and need for a drastic life change to powers beyond men, but that at the time, it had felt like perhaps the only explanation he could give in an instant’s notice which no one could argue with. Faith couldn’t be reasoned with. No one could positively say besides him what went on in his mind, and if he said that the One God of Men had sent him on a holy mission to spread word of a new unifying faith, then so far as the rest of the world was concerned, he had.
There was no obligation to believe him, but there could be no proof made that he was lying at least so far as his own convictions were concerned. Admittedly, at the time, he had felt significantly more passionate about it all and while he still felt a driving faith in something, he found that the further he traveled from the sands of his homeland, the less sure he was of what, precisely, he was chasing—and the less he cared to define it. He was happy again, which he hadn’t been so often as he liked to think at home, and though there had been some struggles initially on the whole he had been predominantly pleased with the entire trip.
After the very brief span of several hours in which he’d regretted pushing Xilarn at all, of course, everything had gotten even far better than before. As his satisfaction with and focus on their personal relationship had increased, however, his interest in spending much of any time on the practice or spreading of his faith, the entire ‘reason’ for his departure in the first place, had drastically diminished. Other things were simply more interesting. There was no shortage of things to do or learn, particularly after Xilarn brought home nestling kinfas, and Damissan’s attention simply had better things to do than concern himself overly much even with his own god.
But if anyone had asked, he thought he generally would have answered the same as he had before and professed his continuing belief in the one God. And, if he were very earnest with himself, he still felt privately that it was an appealing concept which didn’t necessarily ring false with him. To whatever extent that he did believe in a divine, he had never been particularly attached to the names given the Oban pantheon and if anything, traveling outside of Oba’s borders had only further reinforced the thought: there seemed to be no incorrect way to interpret faith.
All of their cultures shared a faith in something, but who or what varied as drastically as their landscapes, appearances, and personal thought. Religion was not consistent except in that it was pervasive in some form, and at its core, innately personal: a given individual’s manner of identifying and understanding their relationship with powers beyond their control and the dictates of their moral conscience, in many instances. In that vein, after having spoken in cities through Oba and Jauhar, and having mingled with and participated in the culture of Tale, Damissan found it difficult to label any interpretation of faith ‘wrong.’ It was by definition a personal understanding of things beyond understanding.
It was whatever the individual made of it, and Damissan had come to feel that his own god, personally, easily encompassed all the faiths he’d encountered. Though he had professed his in conflict initially, it seemed better after travel to understand all the religions of the land as being differing versions of the same thing and his god would not be offended at being worshipped through lanterns and prayer to the likeness of a moon goddess, or at being understood as a committee of gods, or a mother earth. God was beyond being confined to the mental limits of men, and thus any earnest attempt at establishing an acceptance of and faith in matters beyond one’s control, and to tailoring one’s life to being appreciative of what was given, would suffice.
He no longer felt the need to profess his beliefs to the public, and was content to keep his god largely personal.
But this new decision came, of course, after having spent months being quite vocal at most opportunities to do so, and though at first, he had been ready to take on ‘followers’ if they so came and chose to align themselves with him then, things had changed. Since it had never come up once in his numerous occasions to speak and in fact most persons inclined to give him any opinion at all hadn’t been favorable, he hadn’t admittedly recently considered the consequences of anyone actually taking him seriously.
By the time he reached Vers with Xilarn, the thought was probably the furthest thing from his mind.
“Prophet! Stop, wait, sir please—”
Damissan had been out just to look, predominantly. He and Xilarn were here for the birds and really, there was little other reason to have gone this way but for them, but since they were here and Xilarn had issued a more or less explicit challenge as it regarded their training—if they continued to keep them alive, the likelihood of which seemed to be steadily rising by the day.
He wasn’t about to be the one to back out of it, and there was plenty relating to kinfa to see in Vers. Instead, he paused at the hand clasping his wrist, and glanced back with no undue puzzlement at the—Oban?
“Oh, praise God that I found you it is you…” The man—clearly Oban and older, but haggard enough that Damissan suspected he might be younger than he looked—spoke quickly, his words seeming almost to trip into one another, and his grip did not release as he moved around before Damissan. And knelt before him. When he drew his hand forward to kiss his knuckles, it was startling even to Damissan the sharpness with which his instinct was to immediately withdraw, a potent discomfort lacing through his gut as the stranger’s lips touched skin, his first-instant reaction being that this man man must surely be insane—
But following immediately on the tail of that thought was that he had invited this behavior surely at some point, hadn’t he—? All of it passed through his mind then in a rush, the uncertainty roiling in his gut warring with the guilt of responsibility and curiosity, did he owe this man or anyone else who had heard him the benefit of the doubt? His time or his company, even though he had now abandoned dedication to spreading his beliefs?
Perhaps it would be simpler if it could simply be diffused, as opposed to managed directly.
“Ah…” Damis stared at the man, and pushed his lips towards a smile, attempting to look as comfortable with the situation as he could manage. “I apologize, I think you have found the wrong person? I don’t-”
“No.” Immediately the man shook his head, gaze snapping up, though he held fast and remained kneeling. “No, no, no, I remember—I remember…” His eyes were a milky pale red, blown wide with intent though though he seemed at first to look almost through Damissan, as if pinned on some distant moment. Damissan swallowed, clearing his throat a moment after in spite of himself. “I remember like it was yesterday…I’ve been—” His focus, previously distant, locked with jarring immediacy onto Damissan’s. “I’ve been searching for many turns of the moon for you. I heard you speak in Sulburi, and saw how you persisted until you were torn down by stones…I learned that you had left the city, and tried to track your progress but have been always behind. When you were lost to the jungle…”
Damissan stared. “You’ve been…following me…?”
“Yes!” If Damissan’s question had been more openly hesitant and put off than he’d intended it to sound, the man appeared to take no notice of his discomfort—which only furthered it. Damis certainly felt that perhaps he ought to have been paying attention, but instead, as the man began to ramble off a detailed and fervent retelling of how he had come to hear Damis’ word, taken it in, and then trekked various places inquiring on his heels to locals in efforts to discover where prophet of the One God had last spoken, Damis found himself wondering what he could possibly say to buy himself just a little time, to—what?
‘Escape the man’s company and see if Xilarn had any brilliant ideas’ seemed to be the most promising course of action his brain could come up with, though how wasn’t yet clear.
“—and from there, I-”
“Clearly, your devotion the pursuit of God’s truth knows no bounds.” Or certainly not enough limits, and Damissan thought that in retrospect perhaps he could see what he meant when Xilarn said he sounded out of his mind. It simply felt better coming out of his own mouth than when being regurgitated back to him by an obsessively intent stranger. “I…”
What to say, though, in the face of professed faith staring up at him—while passersby glanced with puzzled stares towards the undoubtedly strange display?
He flushed, and in absence of any brilliant ideas immediately, he ventured that perhaps the truth would have to suffice. “I am…surprised, at this point, to have inspired anyone to come after me, and very sorry for your struggles in locating me because I…am actually no longer giving speeches on the faith…but I encourage you to pursue it in whatever manner you please without my participation-”
“You prophesied that—”
“I said a lot of things,” Damis said, pulling his hand back carefully. “Please stand up, we’re in the middle of the street.” If the man now looked miffed, Damis reasoned there was nothing to be done about it—he couldn’t have the man following him, not now after the development of things as they were. But surely he owed him at least an explanation. “I am sorry that you have expended great effort in tracking me down, and I am…impressed…” Perhaps ‘unsettled’ was more accurate, but this would do, “…by your persistence, but though I still believe…” ‘ …most of…’ “…what I’ve said I don’t…see myself as being bid any longer to preach it publicly. I think God has lead me to a more private path forward. And I am not a priest…but if you feel compelled to do so I welcome you to preach in my stead. I simply don’t have any lessons for you. I have too much to figure out myself to be preaching to anyone. I apologize if it was…misleading, for me to seem so certain of myself, but I was confused and it…seemed appropriate at the time.”
It was difficult to say then what was going on in the man’s mind. He couldn’t know, but that he silenced after that, standing and staring wordlessly. In the long moment that he regarded him though, his gaze unblinking and fixed, Damissan felt a distinct, cool sense of unfounded dread. Then, with nothing more than the shadow of a grimace, the man turned, spitting at the street before giving him his back, and meandering off into the crowd, the muttering of indecipherable words beneath his breath following like a train in his wake until he was out of earshot—and finally, eventually, out of sight.
Damissan breathed out, frowning still in the direction he had retreated, and it occurred to him in retrospect, as he rubbed over the hand the man had taken and then — pursing his lips — pressed the backs of his knuckles over the sash at his waistbelt to wipe them: he hadn’t so much as learned the man’s name.
He might have said it, he supposed, in his recantation of the path he’d taken to get here, since at that point Damis’ attention had been far more focused on trying to get out. But perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps it was over, and he would stay gone. It was probably fine.
He would still need to tell Xilarn, likely.
Or, perhaps not? If it would only worry him needlessly?
The insistent, needling notion that either the man could return or that there might be others who had taken him more seriously than he’d thought lingered at the back of his mind, attempting to push themselves enough upon him to be addressed. But he did not know what could be done about it, even if it was the case. There likely was nothing to do but be aware and alert.
But more likely, nothing more would come of it.
That was certainly the hope he went forward with, at least. He had made it this far and the man hadn’t insisted on causing trouble, and beyond that, the trip was going marvelously. Surely there wouldn’t be any harm in focusing on enjoying it and seeing where the more important, immediately developing relationships in his life took him on the way forward.
Word Count: 2,329
Quote: Summary/Growth: Damissan left Oba with a ‘mission’ to spread the word of his One God to the many peoples of Tendaji, but in doing so he fled from other, more acute personal issues at home and with his life as it had developed to date at the time. In his last growth, he dealt with the fact that even with great spirit and enthusiasm, the peoples of different nations had serious, fundamental beliefs of their own that were not so susceptible to persuasion as he might have thought. Since then, he has continued to hold onto the concept that he experienced something of meaning when he woke up near-dead in Orrod and had his ‘religious awakening,’ but he has been progressively less focused on examining or spreading that faith and instead — in particular through the development and exploration of his relationship with Xilarn — has turned his sights to the minutiae of his personal life, and what he actually wanted from himself, and his future, on an individual level going forward.
This growth solo is meant to challenge Damissan with the results of his past actions and force him to acknowledge his shifting perspective—even when it means turning away someone apparently inspired in exactly the way, initially, he thought he wanted. At the end of this solo, Damissan’s religious journey (or certainly the public portion of it) is over, and he is acknowledging that, for better or for worse, his reasons for going forward are focused now not on changing the minds of anyone around him, but on learning as much as he can from the journey and building upon things more important to him, hopefully improving on ‘the boy who woke up in Orrod’ so that by the time he does eventually make it back to his homeland, he’ll have something to show for himself. |
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Posted: Thu Nov 23, 2017 5:18 pm
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Posted: Thu Nov 23, 2017 5:24 pm
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❂ Into The True North ❂
Before Zena, Damissan had never actually encountered snow. He knew of it, but even when provided only with theory — ‘white’ ‘beautiful’ ‘majestic’ — he didn’t suspect he would like it so much as tolerate it in practice. He knew he had a low tolerance for cold.
Still, though he no longer bothered even to pretend that his mission was the same as it once was, he had no intention of retreating now. It seemed, looking back, as though he had left behind the world and family he had known and stepped blind into whatever else might lie beyond, not aware of exactly what he sought but impressed with the notion that something had to change. And, whereas his journey had begun with confusion and followed from there a path of no small amount of strife, somehow it had brought him, if not where he thought he’d been headed, to something else unanticipated and better entirely.
Damissan was on the whole an optimistic spirit, but though things had not been bad previously, as compared to where they were now—the two were almost incomparable. Though he had maintained a general positivity through the trip, in the last weeks as things had become truly complicated, he had come to the point of being uncertain he wanted to continue at all—and second guessing his persistence thus far.
Now, he was happy every day.
He was aware it wasn’t all maintainable. He couldn’t travel the world forever, never to return, migrating indefinitely with the man beside him and casting away permanently any ties to his roots. He would need to make his way home eventually. ‘Soon’ was a relative term, and not one he was particularly taken with either. For the moment, he was content that he had no interest in returning there now, and nothing about his immediate present could have been better. Except, perhaps, the cold.
But even the snow was more than tolerable in exchange for the experience that came with it. They spent long enough in Sauti to settle the business Xilarn felt he needed to there, and eventually moved on. Being that they were in no particular hurry, however, there had been opportunity on the way north to see more of the Sautian landscape, appreciate the apparent existence of hot springs, work his bird to a miraculous state of functioning health, and, in time, there came snow. Though he made certain to voice his offense at its temperature at the time, since then there had been little to complain about. Birds proved to be difficult students, but Xilarn — and even Gadot, who truly did seem to rejoice in his home environment — made reliably good company in exchange.
It was so easy to wake up next to the man. And a different sort of easy entirely from anything Damissan had experienced before. Never had he dedicated much of his attention to any given individual for long in the past and yet, he had thought he’d known what he ‘liked.’ Quick, easy, cooperative with his demands—new, and ‘exciting.’ But, over the half dozen months since he had been on Oban sand, it now seemed evident to him that all he’d ever sought previously was entertainment value. And perhaps it had been entertaining, then.
But, there were other aspects of life that could contain newness and bring excitement, and Damissan was coming to find that the combination of a true and growing intimate familiarity with someone on the one hand and ‘excitement’ on other, to be experienced together, was among the most thrilling to be had. In the in between, though, in the quiet periods of morning or night when there was no pressing need to do anything but lay in one another’s arms, Damissan could not help but think that perhaps the journey was impermanent by necessity—but there was no reason his time with Xilarn had to be.
At the lake in Kesris, he had anticipated more or less the exact reaction he got in answer to his ‘proposal.’ He had been mostly teasing, looking to get some rouse out of Xilarn after having been propelled off a precipice. He would have been—surprised to have received anything but dismissal in some form. But he would have been lying to himself if he denied the growing thread of sincerity in the concept.
Neither of them could have known along the way exactly how things would develop. His perspective had been different when he took his first steps out of Sulburi with his guard. So drastically so that the juxtaposition was almost unrecognizable. But not entirely.
He could not have said where, exactly, but somewhere along the course of his travels it became clear to Damissan that entertainment was no longer the critical element to his happiness. He didn’t particularly want to stop seeing what of the world he could while he had the chance, but more than the end of his journey itself, he feared the finality of a stopping point for other reasons, as though whatever accomplishment was deemed ‘completion’ would thereby become a deadline by which permanent choices would have to be made.
Once he arrived home, Xilarn would have no reason to remain in Oba but for him. But then by that token, Xilarn was only in Zena because of him now—it couldn’t even be put on his parents as of their letter. And his parents would not approve if he announced the status of their relationship on arrival, he was near certain. It was difficult to believe they didn’t already bear some animosity towards Xilarn simply for not obeying some obligation to them and instead leaving him to make his own choices. So, if he did intend any permanency, he would need to arrive with that decision in hand.
At the outset he had announced a determination to be done with his prior habits, but at some point that inclination had become a reality, where he truly didn’t want a return to what he’d left behind, at least in the realm of his own behavior. But, although a ‘future’ had been mentioned vaguely in conversation between himself and Xilarn where he had admitted at one point he had planned to settle eventually with a wife and children, with each passing day that separated him from the ones before it became more difficult to imagine any future he wanted which didn’t involve Xilarn himself.
Though the sights had been beautiful, enlightening, and terrifying in turn, Damissan didn’t feel a particular need for ever-changing scenery, as enjoyable as it could be. The thought of losing the patterns he and Xilarn had developed with one another, however, and the prospect of improving upon those patterns and building from what they had, and instead starting from nothing with anyone else, was enough to make his chest tight with aversion.
So, it mattered steadily less to Damissan exactly where they were and when, so long as the days to come continued to be something they intended to experience together, and for however long that was not in danger of changing in the foreseeable future, he was happy. The thought, though, that he ought to at some point communicate his feelings to Xilarn with more permanency, was adrift and in motion, stirring to the forefront of his mind with increasing frequency such that he really ought.
Eventually.
Soon.
Though perhaps his fears were not grounded, given what had been said, Damissan couldn’t help the uncharacteristic knot of anxiety that came with the possibility of further rejection. It didn’t seem, given Xilarn’s statements and character to date, that his feelings were not mutual in a number of respects. But Damissan had guessed wrong before.
Or, it had certainly come to feel ‘wrong’ at the time, even if the aftermath made it questionable as to whether or not the upset to follow had been an unavoidable necessity, with everything else never to have been explored if he hadn’t pursued more than Xilarn had been willing to give at that point. It was an unanswerable question, perhaps. But regardless, even in the conversations to follow, his attempts at communicating his feelings had been initially disastrous and not taken seriously…
Though of course, that had been only temporary.
Still, because they had time and Xilarn seemed to be in no more of a rush than he, it didn’t seem wrong to allow the fabric of it all to settle and to savor the experience of exactly what they had in the given moment.
Kaluura might be a slow study, but he couldn’t claim to be the most masterful of fowlers either; she was growing by the day, and that she had learned anything seemed to be a success on both their parts. After crossing Sauti’s border into Zena, they had hit Coeld and Etine, and were on the long trek up to the ‘true north’ of Zena’s capitol, Zidel. Though it wasn’t necessary to visit everywhere—or anywhere, for that matter—it seemed to him that having made it all the way to Zena, the ability to say he had spent time in the iceling capitol was worth the effort of the distance left to make the trip.
It also gave both of them the time to decide what they wanted to do once they reached it—and Damissan the chance to discern when and how he would like to communicate his feelings to the man he had fallen in love with along the way.
Word Count: 1,617 |
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Posted: Sat Nov 25, 2017 6:40 pm
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Posted: Sat Nov 25, 2017 6:41 pm
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Posted: Sat Nov 25, 2017 6:42 pm
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Posted: Sat Nov 25, 2017 7:42 pm
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Posted: Mon Dec 11, 2017 9:16 am
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Posted: Tue Jan 02, 2018 9:52 am
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Posted: Wed Jan 17, 2018 12:05 pm
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