Kernoel77
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Chapter 228: Company
🕑 Added 2024-12-23 03:15:09 +0000 UTCChapter 228: Company
Mercury slept in a red room, under a red ocean. He dreamt of an open field under a patchwork sky and silver sun. He was so, so very tired.
Rain fell softly on the grass, pitter-pattering onto the long stalks of green, then sliding down. Bigger drops gathered at the bent tips, eventually dripping onto the soil beneath. Mercury got soaked, but he didn’t mind.
The sound of rain swallowed up all the noise. Not that it was loud, either way. Within Mercury’s dream, it was remarkably quiet. That night, though, it was especially so. Kim slept, their work on the garden momentarily done. Whisperstar stopped flitting about, and laid on the grass, too.
For a little while, just a few hours, there was serenity.
Nothing but the noise of rain falling onto soft grass. Nothing but breath being drawn in and out. Exhaustion fading away, drifting into the distance like a leaf floating on a river.
And, eventually, a knock.
It shattered the silence. A heavy, certain noise against a scene of silence. Mercury stirred, faintly at the first knock. His head rose at the second, and at the third one, he opened his eyes.
The dream was his; this world was his. It was woven from things he had seen and taken and dreamt up himself. And he had added a door, so people could knock. Still, he was a little grumpy about their timing, but he still looked at the door.
Not that there was a visible one. The door was an idea, and so when Mercury thought of it, it appeared in front of him. It was a simple thing, wood, without any windows, and a brassen knob. On the outside, there was a knocker, and from the inside, Mercury could peer through it.
In front of that closed door was grey static.
Mercury blinked. No, it was still there. He could not make out the shape of what was out there.
He tilted his head, then focussed more. Slowly, ever so slowly, tiny bits of black and white drew themselves together. They came together, shaping an outline. A wispy, two dimensional thing that looked nothing at all like a person and more like a smear of inconsistency.
Some kind of appendage moved again, grasping the knocked on the door. Mercury hesitated to call it an arm, since it had no hand, nor fingers and spawned directly from the chest of the creature. The knocker came down on the door, but this time there was no noise.
The wood refused to resonate, since Mercury was already at the door. Instead, all that was was the soft pitter-patter of rain. And the buzzing of static, apparently. White noise.
For a long moment, Mercury considered keeping the door closed. And then he sighed and opened it.
‘Come on in,’ he thought at the creature.
It hesitated. Another dozen long seconds passed, but eventually, it moved. With a buzzing sound, its edges smeared back into indiscernibility, and suddenly, the shape shifted. It remained by Mercury’s side.
How ironic, he thought for a moment, quietly enough that it wasn’t heard. It was funny, in a way. Humans often appeared in front of doors wet and cold, in the heavy rain, asking to be let inside. Yet, now, Mercury opened the door, and invited this thing out into the rain, into an open field. Maybe he ought to have a second door, one that led to a cabin with a fireplace.
Something to consider for the future. For now, Mercury walked into the middle of the garden Kim had made. It held tall trees and blossoming flowers, and he sat down on the ground next to just one such tree. The static, too, took a seat, in so far as it could. It warped and blurred and shifted, never making more noise than a faint buzzing, and wrapped around a trunk.
Slithering tendrils of black and white sprawled out on the floor, dissolving into blurry static as soon as he stopped fully looking at it.
[<Clarity> has levelled up! <Clarity lv. 6 -> 7>]
For a moment after the level, the edges became a little more defined, then slid apart again. It was funny. Looking at the static gave him a feeling of deja vu. Like he had seen it before, but he knew he hadn’t.
And he was also sure he hadn’t forgotten.
Oh, it would have been easy to forget. Already, his mind was sliding away, trying to ignore the existence of the blank spot in reality, trying to just overlook the buzzing static. Each smear of black and white resolved to mimic what was behind it - but Mercury didn’t let it.
He was rather good at perceiving, and so that is what he did. There was someone next to him, and that was the <Truth>.
As soon as the thought came, the existence of the creature became more solid, a dark outline appearing around its features. Mercury had locked it in place more clearly in his mind, and with one of his strongest Skills now aligned to affirm it, there was more solidity to rely on. Enough to provide choice.
‘Lionel, was it?’ Mercury thought, loudly enough to reach the blob of static.
It turned. The motion was both blindingly fast and lazy and slow. An incongruent little contradiction that spoke of both surprise and defeat.
There was no mouth on the static. No way to speak. And still, it replied. ‘Yes.’
Mercury could not describe the tone it communicated with. It buzzed, perhaps. It felt as though he was imagining a whisper on the wind, as though the pattern of the falling rain revealed a word. It was more of a chime than anything else.
‘You sought me out,’ Mercury stated.
‘Yes,’ came the buzzing reply.
Tilting his head, Mercury asked. ‘Why?’
This time, it took a while for the reply to come in. But eventually, it was less of a word and more of a wispy desire. ‘Companionship.’
Mercury nodded. ‘Yeah. I thought so.’ He didn’t mock, he didn’t laugh. There was some amount of irony in the fact that it was the ruler of Loneliness, in particular, who had sought him out for companionship.
But, frankly, he lacked the energy to care. So, he just sat. For a long, long while.
Now, that didn’t make it easy. Companionship did require he remember that Lionel was there at all. And that, in and of itself, was hard work. But he held on.
‘You know my sister,’ Lionel eventually said.
‘Yeah.’
‘How… is she?’
Mercury looked to the sky, listening to the words on the rain. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘She’s well. She enjoys her work. She tends to a graveyard. It’s quiet.’
Lionel shifted and blurred, and it took Mercury a moment to understand that the motion was that of a nod. The ruler of Loneliness sat, twisted and sprawled out. Another long while of nothing passed. ‘Can you take the emptiness away?’ Lionel asked.
‘Probably,’ Mercury nodded.
‘Do it. Please.’
Slowly, Mercury shook his head. ‘Not… right now. I’m tired.’
‘Ah. I… see. Sorry.’ Lionel looked a little disappointed, but that was fine. He was, by far, the most polite fae ruler Mercury had yet interacted with. In fact, the way he apologized was all too human. A fatal mistake in the fae realm and one that showed just how long the ruler had been spending in isolation.
‘It’s cool,’ Mercury said. ‘I’ll get around to it.’
And he would. Lionel was… fascinating. Like the world turned inside out. By definition, everything slid off him. The air, the world. He wasn’t even leaning against the tree of the grass. It parted where he was, as if repelled by him.
Yet, at the same time, while it all shied away from him, the world also didn’t seem broken. It didn’t fray at the edges, and it didn’t rip or tear. It wasn’t so much a hole or a blank spot as it was a strange twisting. There was nothing where Lionel was, nothing at all, and yet the world there was entirely intact. And yet, he sat there.
In a way, Mercury felt that Lionel’s Loneliness was rather similar to <Nothingness>. The dream curled around him almost in the same way the dreamweave curled around the nothingness in between. A series of mostly empty space that still made up reality. That was what Lionel was, in a lot of ways.
‘You’re staring,’ the fae ruler said.
Mercury shook his head, clearing it. ‘My bad. Force of habit.’
Lionel looked at Mercury. For the first time, the mopaaw felt it distinctly. An actual gaze laid itself onto his existence. A faint, unmistakable pressure.
For a moment, he considered laughing a little. Lionel was, in a lot of ways, lonely. Of course he was. But only then, Mercury realized that next to the supernatural loneliness, there was a rather plain one, too.
The fae ruler struggled to make eye contact.
His peers, the other rulers, tried to bring Mercury to his knees with their gazes. They were open and straightforward, whether it was the loathing Blood looked at him with or the faint admiration from Dust. Not Lionel. His gaze barely registered, like a skittish animal, afraid of getting hurt.
Mercury lingered, giving the fae a chance to speak. Eventually, the words came. ‘I didn’t think you’d see me.’
‘Hm?’ Mercury tilted his head. ‘Why?’
‘They usually don’t,’ Lionel replied. ‘Anyone, really. The other rulers. The ancient ones. The fae. Except…’ He paused, for a long moment. ‘A few. Alice. The mortals.’
Slowly, word by raspy, whispered word, Lionel found his voice again. He looked to the sky. ‘Oh. The mortals. They… they know me,’ he said, laughing bitterly. ‘A born immortal cannot know what it means to be alone, Mercury.’
‘Why not?’ Mercury asked
‘Because what is loneliness in the face of eternity?’ Lionel asked. ‘There will always be a reunion. There will always be another chance, another meeting. Relationships are so fickle. No one places their heart in it, because you might be betrayed a thousand years down the line. But no goodbye is ever… permanent. No loss.’
Lionel shifted and blurred in a motion Mercury interpreted as shaking his head. ‘No. There is no loneliness, because immortals don’t grieve, because immortals don’t die. And yet,’ he said, giving a wracking sob. ‘I must be alone. My only solace is that others grieve, too. That sometimes, mortals come by, and we are alone together.’
Mercury took it in with a long moment. ‘I see,’ he said.
‘Surprisingly you do,’ Lionel replied with a sad, crooked smile. And then it vanished, wiped away to where Mercury couldn’t see it anymore, replaced by white noise. ‘Most don’t get it, but you do.’
He let out a long, unending sigh. Heavy with age and responsibility and the desire to disappear already. With the grief of loss that he could never share. Because, somehow, Lionel had lost what he never had. What he never could have. He’d lost impermanence.
‘Your sister said the same thing,’ Mercury replied with a small sigh.
‘Yeah,’ Lionel said with a stretch. ‘She would.’
And then, they sat in silence for a long while, simply listening as the rain fell.
- - -
‘When the time comes, don’t hesitate,’ Lionel said, getting up. ‘When I lose myself again, do what you must. Break what you must. Kill what you must.’
‘Your sister said the same thing,’ Mercury told him again.
Lionel of Loneliness, fraying at the edges already, nodded. ‘She would.’ For another moment, he focussed. His borders grew sharp, stark lines of black against the world. ‘Listen to your heart, Mercury. Because it is good. But move fast, too. A bad choice is better than no choice at all.’
Mercury nodded. ‘I shall try.’
And as if dispelled, the static that was Lionel dissolved in front of Mercury’s eyes. He tried to focus on it, but there was no use. The world pushed back in around that deformity, and became normal, unaltered. Lioness of Loneliness had fizzled out, and there was no sign left that he had been there.
Except for Mercury. He held on tight to those memories, because they were worthwhile, and that was the <Truth>. So he held onto them like a drowning man to a rope and locked them in his mind.
He refused to forget. He refused to add another cruelty to Lionel’s burden.
Instead, he woke up.
- - -
Mercury felt warm as he opened his eyes. He was cradled in Zyl’s arms, and it was comfortable. He still felt sleepy, his minds worn, but they were recovering. After all, Mercury was nothing if not resilient.
For a few moments, he enjoyed that warmth. Zyl felt a little like the sun. His heartbeat loud enough for Mercury to hear, each pulse of that organ bringing more warmth and life. Each time Zyl breathed, it was like a warm wind, and each time his heart pulsed, it was like a ray of sunshine.
Then, within that red room, something else stirred. Orin, once envoy of Mellow, now of no court at all. A free fae. Cloaked in a puff of clouds, streaks of rain falling beneath faintly translucent, beige-orange fur.
Their eyes cracked open, slowly. Blearily, the fae looked around, confused. Mercury made a wistful noise as he embraced his cruel fate and separated himself from the arms of his boyfriend, and Orin’s gaze snapped onto him.
Strangely, he felt a hint of weight behind those eyes. It was faint, but it was the distinct pressure of willpower. Of existence. Did the world acknowledge Orin more for the choice they had made, for the desire to be free?
Mercury paused. They had desired to be free. He smiled. Of course the world would acknowledge that.
“How are you feeling, friend?” he asked.
Faintly, the world trembled at that word. They had forged a real bond, now, and it was accepted, too. Orin stirred, eventually raising their legs from the hammock, setting their paws down on the red wood silently.
A few more moments passed as they opened and closed their mouth silently. A small gust of wind coursed through the room, but no words accompanied it. Orin seemed confused, then tried again. A moment later, they hacked up a raspy cough.
The fae threw up.
Rotting leaves and cold twigs spilled out of their mouth in a waterfall of brown sludge.
A full minute passed, and by the end, the floor was once again covered in disgusting mud and residue. Hundreds of leaves had tumbled out of the fae’s throat, but already, the muck was dissolving into a thin mist.
Slowly, second by second, it evaporated from Orin’s fur, leaving it pristine at the end.
Zyl had stirred from the wet sloshing, and was giving the two of them a long look. He blinked. “Uh. Am I… interrupting something?”
Very quickly, both of them shook their heads. “No, no,” Mercury said. “Orin just woke up and…”
“... And threw up all over the floor?” the dragon asked with a mischievous smirk.
Orin promptly flushed red. “That’s- I apolo- I did not mean to,” They stammered, giving a quick bow.
Zyl smiled. “Huh? Didn’t mean to, they say… Well, what are you gonna do to make up for it? Surely at least a thousand years of service… no, a million years,” he teased.
A small expression of terror bloomed on Orin’s face. “No, I…” they turned to Mercury with a look that pleaded for help.
Unable to hold it back, Mercury laughed. A moment after, Zyl broke, too, laughing loudly. “Sasasa! No, no, nothing like that. Good morning. Your name is Orin?”
“Yes,” the fae replied, still somewhat stupefied.
“Nice to meet you, then. I’m Mercury’s boyfriend,” Zyl said, pointing at his lover. “So if you’re cool with him, you’re cool with me. For the most part.”
Orin blinked, then slowly nodded. “Right…” they said, still overwhelmed. They stared at the last vestiges of the sludge on the floor, and their insides turned a visible shade clearer.
Mercury smiled and explained. “Those were the last vestiges of Mellow,” he said. “They must’ve been washed out, but since they were inside you, they didn’t get a chance to properly be cleaned out. So, now they were. You’re free.”
Again, the fae blinked, almost in disbelief. “W-what?”
“You’re free,” Mercury repeated. “No attachment to Mellow. No envoying duty. Free.”
Orin looked at their own hands, at the brown, near opaque fur. “Right,” they eventually said, squeezing their fingers into fists. “Right! Hah. It… doesn’t feel real.”
“Maybe it isn’t fully done yet. I don’t know how the selection ceremony will work. Do you think you’ll be considered worthy enough to stay without faction?” Mercury asked.
To his surprise, Orin nodded. “Yes. Because we are friends, your name will be named alongside mine. And I doubt many rulers will want to stand up to me after that.”
“Oberon and Tor-Tern may,” Mercury said.
The fae shrugged. “I doubt either will still be around in time for next chapter’s vote.”
It was Mercury’s turn to snort. “Bold words,” he said.
“I suppose. But they’ve brought it on themselves, really. The fae realm is changing. Those who do not wish to change along with it… well, I believe you mortals have a saying for something like this. Sucks to suck,” Orin replied.
Mercury laughed. “Right, I see.”
“On a more serious note, though, I do feel like I can maintain my freedom. Do not worry for me,” Orin said, smiling faintly.
“Okay,” Mercury nodded. “I believe you. If you do need help, just ask.”
They smiled a little, the motion easier with their more corporeal face. “I shall keep it in mind, for if the need arises. But the next ceremony is a while away yet, so let us see what changes until then, shall we?”
Now that, Mercury could agree with.
- - -
More things had changed.
When Mercury stepped outside his room, the ocean outside started to take up a far larger part of his vision. He saw that the waves had grown more turbulent, the seas more restless. Heath, ruler of Rust, was conducting the currents as though an opera, and the sea churned.
The skies above provided new water, and the oxidants became seafoam and deposits, then eventually was subsumed into Salt as it washed onto desiccated shores and dripped down deep crevices. Rust was, for once, less static. It moved again, it thrived again, and it held together more tightly now.
Mercury looked at it… and felt a little sad. Since it was done, that meant he was leaving soon. Such was life, he supposed. One did things, then moved on from them.
“You look displeased,” Heath said. The fae of living metal had not turned to look at Mercury, but they knew anyway.
The mopaaw smirked a little, then nodded. “Seems so.”
“Why?”
“Because I did not get to see it all.”
Heath nodded. “You are leaving.”
“Soon,” Mercury said.
“That is reasonable. You have done what you came here for, after all,” Heath said. “But… is it in your nature to move on quickly?”
Mercury tilted his head a little. “In my… nature?”
The fae sounded amused, giving a huff of steam and grinding metal. “Yes. You showed me my nature. It is Rust. Decay, breaking, then changing. Slow and fast, cyclical and unending. Is it your nature, Rainfall, to move on quickly? Do the clouds in the sky dissipate when their duty is done, when the fields are watered?”
He blinked. “... Huh.”
“So,” Heath said, voice creaky with rust. “When do you move on? Is it your nature to be dutiful or to be indulgent?”
For a few moments, Mercury thought over his answer. But, in a way, he knew. “It is both. I know what I must do. I indulge when it is right. Still, I can spare some time,” he said. He smiled. “Then I shall rely on your hospitality for a little while longer.”
Heath’s face twisted into a smile of growing and rusting metal pieces. “You are welcome to stay for as long as you like.”
And so, for a few more calm days, Mercury stayed at the court of Rust.
He took the time to see a few more of the sights around the court. It was funny, really. Seeing ideas from his old world in this new one. Broken skyscrapers and beaches full of trash were invocations of Rust. But this time, in the process, it was change, it was decay. The processes of rusting were given enough time, or, well, accelerated enough, that things ended up clean.
Beaches turned from overflowed with trash into ones filled with irony, red sand. Fields of it, far as the eye could see. There were more things, too. Caves, covered in rust-red rock. Fae of all sizes. Tiny ones, and entire living mountains of melding metal.
By all human standards, Mercury found the court of Rust to be breathtaking. Nether often accompanied them on their journeys, their avatars riding in bulbous spheres of bark that broke off the main tree. It was fun. An adventure.
Mercury was glad for that. Going around and seeing places and things with the people he cared for? That… maybe just that was his nature.
Instead of a rushed goodbye, Mercury got his fill of the court of Rust before setting out. And he would forever be glad he took that time. Because, in all the small ways in which it brought him joy, those moments, more than anything, made life worthwhile.
Comments
Lump-93
That's such a cat thing to embody: clouds. Dumping rain on you one moment, lingering around all menacingly doing nothing at all the next and then lingering around all fluffy like for days afterwards.
