Chapter Text
That which felt dreamy and hazy becomes a world that sways and bucks. Disoriented, the knight stumbles against an arch at the base of the stairwell, and there, he clings for solid support after his flight. He's made it to the ground floor courtyard at least. The stable earth beneath his bare feet feels more like the rolling deck of a ship, and he rests his bare forehead on the cool stone until everything steadies. Breath comes shallowly at first, then falls in line with his ebb and flow. The knot in his guts still weighs heavy and perplexing. His heart threatens to sprint off again in a panic when his breathing exercise summons visions of its usual Gerran conductor. He leans back against the wall and slides down to sit.
I wanted Ghirahim, he admits. The statement swirls through his brain and makes him dizzy all over again. I still want Ghirahim. And I was already ok with that, yet now, I suddenly feel so scared and empty. Why?
The answer is painfully obvious: it’s because of the way Ghirahim had said his name after so long.
Nothing about the name feels very real anymore, but the way the demon lord spoke it? That made it real, and that made him feel real. It's still too raw, and it's shaken him from this dream. In the waking world, he is Link: the same sky child, the same irksome gadfly. And his companion is the same demon who threatened him, who nearly destroyed his friends and his entire world, the one who tried to choke the very life out of him only two weeks ago.
Yet it is also the demon who just straddled him, who just kissed him like an overeager crush.
Unconsciously, Link covers his mouth as if to prevent it from acting of its own accord.
It’s not that he forgot about the former Ghirahim unintentionally; that version has just been easier to ignore lately. It isn't anymore.
If he hadn't chosen that moment to say my name, then maybe he wouldn't have ruined the mood! Maybe we would have continued pretending that both of us were new and different, and it would have been nice.
He thinks about it resentfully. Then he heel-turns and counters himself with the same anger.
I'm the one who wanted him to keep calling me that in the first place though, wasn't I? I don't have much excuse to even be upset! What’s wrong with me?
It’s just the same as the last time he had run, and he traps himself in a venomous cycle until he suffocates beneath old graves. It keeps his head planted firmly against the wall. The panicked workers in his mind keep passing him more unasked-for notes, further things that are easier to ignore until they’re not anymore. The loudest reminds him of what he already has come to understand: he has no right to judge the demon lord for past transgressions. After all, if he considers Ghirahim too horrible to get involved with, then what did that make him? The demon lord is supposed to be the one who can hurt people without a second thought, and maybe that’s still true. But since Link set foot in Orq’oten, there’s been that nagging guilt, too overwhelming to face or even acknowledge, that he too can hurt people without a second thought, and that he did. He just never thought of the people he hurt as people before now.
Slumped against the courtyard wall, the lost demon knight wants to dream comfortable, false dreams; he wants to wake up and become real.
Yet he barely knows which is which.
Those thoughts scatter as a curious, new sight brushes across his skin. Link clumsily drops his mask in trying to don it.
"Shit, don't look, don't look, sorry!" he says. He’s unsure of who it is looking at him, but it doesn't feel like Ghirahim at least. "I'm, uh, I'm not dressed, don't look, hold on."
"Whoa…Ghost, you good?"
The voice belongs to Shenbar. She pauses as she descends the stairs. "I didn't mean to stare, just didn't realize it was you at first."
Her golden eyes retreat from Link's exposed face. Instead, she grabs the dropped mask and places it back in pale hands. He hurriedly wraps his sailcloth over his head and brings the mask to his face, but he realizes too late that something is off. The wood feels different. The grain is wrong and there's no muzzle or long ears. In the dark, he recognizes his unfinished Gerudo Mask instead of his Mogma.
"Shit...I grabbed the wrong one," Link grumbles. He puts it on anyway. "Sorry, tonight's been kind of weird for me."
"I was gonna say, I haven't seen that one before. Trying to steal my style, huh?" Shenbar accuses playfully. She assesses the half-clothed knight, carrying the discernment of an experienced older sister. "Hmmm…you smell like wine. I was on my way out, do you need a hand getting back to your room?"
"No!" Link yelps. He claps a hand over the mask’s mouth, embarrassed. "Sorry! I mean, uh, I didn't mean to yell. But no, I got it, i-it’s cool, thank you though!"
Shenbar raises an eyebrow.
"You sure everything is alright?" she asks.
"Yeah, I'm fine! I just, um, I got up too fast and the wine went to my head," he lies. With his mask secured, he slowly steadies himself. He strokes one of his braids anxiously. Shenbar's friendly company inspires another, similar starved craving inside of him. "Where are you going so late? Can I join you?"
Shenbar appears caught off-guard.
"Oh! Uh…sure!"
"That's ok right? Sorry, I just–"
"Oh my Kings, you apologize too much!" she says, waving it off. "It's ok, just, I know you don't usually go out for socializing, is all. But I'm headed to this place in East Inwall, I know this Mogma who runs a shisha coffeehouse there. My riding troupe and I get together there every so often. I guess if you feel steady enough, you can tag along as my new Gerudo buddy?"
"Oh, right. Actually, this mask isn't finished," Link grumbles. "I can't shift forms in it yet."
"Hmm," Shenbar hums. "Well, what about your Mogma Mask?"
"It’s just up in the room. It's fine, I can stay here, I wasn’t thinking this through."
"What's the problem? If the stairs are troubling you, I can just go knock and ask Lord Stuck-Up for your things."
"No, no, really, don't do that. My boss is…I'm not sure what he's doing, but um, he doesn't want visitors."
"Oh," she nods. "Bad mood?"
"Y-yeah." There's no desire in Link to clarify further. "Sorry to bug you, Shen. Go do your thing, ok?"
"Ohhh boy." Shenbar gives him a sympathetic look. "Well, now that I know you're having a shit night because of your boss, I can't just ditch you here. Our shisha thing is a small one anyways, and Laz usually gives us a more private space on the roof. I don't think there'll be many other patrons who will gawk at you this time of night, if you still want to give it a shot … ?"
Link hesitates, still playing with a braid.
"Well …"
A door quietly creaks open upstairs. Even through his layers, pointed sight falls on the knight's head from above. He doesn't need to look up to know who it is this time - he recognizes its muffled touch enough for his heart to clamber back into his throat.
"Okay, yeah, I'll come anyway," he quickly whispers to Shenbar.
He scurries back into the stairwell, holding a hand to the wall to steady himself. He can't will himself to look up under the weight of his embarrassment. He feels Ghirahim watching him until the line of sight breaks.
"Whoa, you're in a hurry, I see," Shenbar says under her breath as she follows. She glances up, then, presumably sees no one on the third floor balcony. "I'll just grab some of my clothes for you. It wouldn't be good to go out half-dressed. Hang tight."
The stairwell alcove hides Link while he waits. He closes his eyes to listen. Another creak from the guest room door tells him when his watcher retreats, and he lets out a held breath.
I just need to clear my head, he assures himself. I'll be back later, and we'll talk this whole thing out.
Minutes later, Shenbar returns dressed in warmer clothes, her jeweled bandeau replaced with a thicker shawl and a quarter-sleeved tunic. She carries shoes and a loose wool coat for Link.
"Here!" she says as she tosses the coat. "Make sure I get it back though, it's lambswool and it's got secret pockets."
"...secret pockets…?" Link looks to the obvious, deep pockets plainly sewn to the outside. Shenbar directs his attention to a buttoned, small pouch within the inner lining instead.
"The outer ones are decoys, this is where you should put your wallet. Wandering hands and all. It's my go-to in chilly weather."
"Oh. I haven't encountered pick-pockets here. Plus, I don't even have a wallet right now, so it's fine, right?"
"Oh, pssh, then yeah, I guess," she shrugs. "Probably less of a problem for illusion demons, huh?"
"Probably..."
Link gratefully accepts the garments, and the two slip across the riad's threshold out into the city. The Gerudo assumes the lead while the ghostly knight slinks behind. His mind wanders and leaves a silent gap hanging in the air. After a few minutes of this, Shenbar offers conversation to fill it.
"You ever smoked shisha before?" she asks.
"I don't think so. Is it like… tobacco leaf?"
"Yeah, it's kinda like that."
"Oh, ok."
Link pauses, dropping the sentence in the awkward, fumbling sort of way caused by a lingering buzz.
Shenbar tries to pick it back up.
"...sooo, you smoke tobacco leaf, then?"
"Huh?" the knight startles. "Oh, no, I just know it 'cause some people in Skylo– err, in my hometown smoke it."
"Got it, got it. This is smoother anyways, you'll like it."
"Cool."
Shenbar seems to give up on small talk, for they continue in silence. Occasionally, Link bumps into her and mutters an apology, but she's a good sport at least. She shakes her head and tuts over babysitting duty. Besides, there are few other people out at this hour. It’s mainly guards who encounter them on their walk, yet those demons leave the lingering chill of icy glares on Link’s neck.
Once the two cross the plaza into the Timeshift, he pipes up from Shenbar’s shadow.
"You weren't gonna come out this late alone were you?" he asks. She sighs and lowers her voice.
"I know what you're thinking, but a few bullies won't keep me from doing what I want. I live here, I belong here," she asserts. "Still, I mean…well, it’s good to have company to walk with. I don't know, it feels like things are getting worse lately. But Kuri's applying to the guard soon, so I think it'll at least lighten up for me. I'm over that thing from the other day, don’t worry!"
"That's good. Kuri's good," he nods in agreement.
"Wow, you sure have a way with words, Ghost," she responds wryly. "How much wine did you even have?"
"It was only half a bottle. It was really sweet."
"Sweet wines will sneak up on you like that."
The Inwall Plaza is just as sparsely populated as usual, with its primary occupant standing as a lonely, glowing monolith. They head east, towards the seaside. Link sticks closely behind Shenbar. He's explored plenty already as Ghirahim’s errand-boy, but each additional detail is a landmark that he jots down for later. Buildings which Link recently learned are for governmental and religious purposes border the south end of the plaza, while some of pricier storefronts border the north - the latter of which lead to the road across the bridge to Outwall. Everything seems as it should be, save for a discrepancy that catches his eye. A normally perfect stucco wall has been splattered by a message in another language. His fickle memory labels the swirling cursive as Gerudic. A guard is there scrubbing the wall clean of it.
This new curiosity pulls his attention and his head swivels as they move past, but this time in his carelessness, he bumps into someone who isn't Shenbar. It's nothing beyond a slight collision, followed by the shuffling, dancing sidestep of two unsteady pedestrians.
" 'Scuse me," the cloaked Boko grumbles. They scowl apologetically as they brush too closely past.
"Sorry, sorry," Link says, startled. But the stranger has already continued, apparently off on their own business. He's not even sure where they came from.
"How did you manage that?" Shenbar snorts. "You're really easily distracted, you know that?"
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
Shenbar leads him onto a wider street, which at least gives the tipsy knight more margin for error. The incident is quickly forgotten as they arrive at their destination.
Link recognizes this area from his earlier treks to see the luthier. As they leave the bounds of the plaza's Timeshift, they enter a smaller anomaly which keeps the dock's water flowing. They head towards a colorful brick building just close enough to fall within its shift. On its front wall is the image of a Mogma with a silly-looking animal. Ikanan words frame the scene, stylized to look like smoke wafting from the pipe they smoke. Above this, the rooftop sports an open terrace, partially covered by tent cloth. Real tobacco smoke wafts out into the sky amidst the low murmur of patrons.
It doesn't seem very packed, but since running into that stranger, Link's hairs prickle at the back of his neck. Someone is staring at him. He casts a paranoid glance across the street, certain he'll catch that particular someone watching him from the shadows.
Yet, there's no one outside except he and Shenbar. It's unsettling.
I'm just still feeling thrown off from everything with Ghirahim earlier…and the wine, of course, he reasons. It's a perfectly reasonable excuse, after all, given his night. He shuts the tingling sensation out of mind and focuses on the coffeehouse. He taps his friend on the shoulder, then indicates the words on the painted wall.
"Hey Shen?" Link asks. "What is a 'Sealsha'?"
"That's just the name of the place," she replies. "You know, like…shisha…sand seal…put it together and you get 'The Sand Sealsha'. Fun, right?"
"Oh, ok, it's a pun! Wait, that's cool," Delighted, Link now examines the picture further while they approach the entrance. "Next question, what's a sand se–"
"OOAWRH!"
Shocked, he jumps backward. Beside the entrance lays a large animal similar to the venue's logo. It had remained motionless and thus blended into the beige clay, but it lurches up with its strange rumbling sounds.
"That's a sand seal," Shenbar explains casually. "She's like their little guard dog! Her name is Kukku, isn't she great?"
The Gerudo extends a dark hand to Kukku's whiskery muzzle for the seal to sniff.
"Aag-ag!" Kukku snorts in approval.
The knight scans this new beast over with a small, relieved chuckle. Perhaps this was the only thing staring at him and he was worrying needlessly again. Her shape is like those of the creatures Link had seen lugging boats across dunes. Up close, they're a much bigger sort of animal than he expected. Long tusks jut down from her fuzzy mouth, and a stiff mane runs along her back like coarse broom bristles. Kukku's flippers are hidden at first, tucked flat against her body in a pose that makes her look more like a big, wobbling worm, but then she props herself up on them and rears.
"Ouawrh!!" Kukku huffs impatiently towards Link.
"Let her sniff your hand, she takes her job very seriously." Shenbar nudges the knight forward.
"Oh, right," Link says dumbly. He tentatively sticks a claw out for the seal, only for her to shove her big nose into his stomach and sniff along his wool coat. At first, she's intently focused, but when she passes over his coat's dangling hemmed edge, she jerks back to bark in appalled offense.
"Ork-ork-ork-ork–!!"
"I don't think she likes me."
"--ork-ork-ork-ork–!!"
"What gave you that idea?"
Just then, a blue-maned Mogma lopes out of the coffeehouse.
"Ay, ay, ay! Kukku, yer makin' a racket, cool it!" she says, and she claps a few times to get the seal's attention. "Shush!"
"Owrh…" Kukku mutters. She bounces back to her spot, where she lays down and glares angrily at Link. The Mogma, likely Laz, gives the seal's tiny ears a scratch as she addresses the two.
"Hoy, Shen! Yer pals’ve been waitin' for ya, lucky our guest dancers dun start their thing 'til late," she says. Then, she squints at the masked person next to Shen, apparently noticing late that the horns are real and the face is fake. She stiffens quite suddenly. "O-oh, welcome Bēlī Igo-Kana. What brings thee ta my humble establishment?"
"It's cool Laz, Ghost's an old friend of my gran's," Shenbar interjects. "He doesn't like the whole 'sir' treatment."
"Hi, nice to meet you," Link offers shyly. He looks for a disarming topic he could reassure her with. "You uh, have a nice cafe. I like your art."
The Mogma visibly relaxes.
"Awh, thanks. Jus' a quiet thing, ain't ya? Righty, well if yer a friend o' Marm Goht and Shen, then yer good in my book. Name's Lazule." Laz flashes tiny, sharp teeth in a laugh before ushering them inside. "By Demise, I thought we were 'boutta be audited…gahaha! So sorry my bouncer gave ya hassle, she must've thought ya were trouble. We dun get many o' yer kind 'round 'ere. C'mon, in ya go, make yerselves comfy."
Hanging lanterns cast dim light through the inside of the coffeehouse. Tapestries and art decorate the walls, some of the latter being more depictions of demons chatting and smoking happily. Those exact sorts of demons sparsely occupy the first floor of the venue. For the most part, Link spies Boko relaxing at small tables together, but he spies the occasional horned Gerudo amongst them too. Beneath his mask, he wrinkles his nose. 'Your kind' must have meant Igo, then. Even amongst demons, he remains out of place.
They ascend a narrow staircase in the back and Lazule delivers them to the reserved roof terrace. There, Shenbar introduces him to her friends, a group of five other horned Gerudo. They sit on floor cushions and benches tucked into the wall's nook, sharing finger foods. A pipe with a hose stands in the center of the group.
Uanna, who wears longer sleeves and a scarf over her hair like Link, recognizes him from their drills.
"Sav'saaba, you're the Mask-Maker from the other day, yes?" she inquires curiously. "I saw you with Shen's Gran. Different mask tonight?"
A pretty voe with long hair and sharp features, whom Shenbar introduced earlier as Hurin, cuts in playfully.
"Yeah, you fit right in with that face. Can we see how it works, maybe? What kind of Gerudo do you turn into?" he prods.
"Oh, it's uh. It's not done yet," Link mutters.
"What do you have in mind then?" Hurin continues. He uses a pair of tongs to flip smoldering coals atop the communal pipe. Shenbar takes a seat, leaving Link to float. Hurin casts him a line by patting the open space next to him. "Come sit down if you'd like, friend. I don't bite."
With little else to do, Link joins. He offers a mumbled explanation about his mask design. It feels clumsy, more like a trailing ramble in his opinion. Shenbar's friends don't seem to mind as much as he does, and Hurin even calls it 'awesome'. It's a compliment which Link accepts with some sheepishness.
The others mostly chat around him after that about things that he has little context for. They include him when they pass the shisha pipe hose and share flatbread, though, and the exclusion doesn't seem to have rude intentions - Link is just a new plus-one whom they don't know how to talk to yet. Topics remain shallow and brief when directed towards him. But tonight, that's helpful. It's reassuring to just exist in a friendly group, one where he's welcome, yet under no obligation to perform. And there's a relaxing haze to the shisha that feels obscuring in the way that he prefers. And it does smell a bit like the tobacco smoke that wafts from Jakamar's porch every evening, or maybe like whatever herbs Cawlin and Strich once snuck behind the Training Hall to have a coughing fit over. This stuff is smoother, meditative in its ritual of inhaling, exhaling, and passing. A breathing exercise with extra people and extra memories, but calming all the same.
Link floats comfortably like this for a while. Shenbar keeps re-filling his cup with water when he's not paying attention, even though he swears he's emptied it twice already. It helps drain whatever tipsiness remains and replaces it with tired sobriety. Though the sensation of being watched still hovers over him, it's easier to wave off as the result of the troupe's presence.
After an hour, music begins downstairs. There's percussion and a stringed instrument, and it doesn't feel like anything with any particular power to it, so Link tilts his head at Shenbar in a silent question.
"Oh! Yeah, so, the dancers!" she explains through a mouthful of bread. Another friend elbows her in mock admonishment and Shenbar swallows her food before continuing. "Sorry, sorry, I know. Okay, so The Sealsha hosts a Gerran dancing troupe from Woodfall around this time of year, 'cause they come for our cultural festival. You know, the one we do the shooting for?"
"Want to go see with us?" Uanna offers.
The knight hesitates. He feels glued to the cushions in a lazy, exhausted way. Not only would he prefer some alone time, the mention of Gerrans and Woodfall has his interest piqued in a way he wants to resist. He’s seen few other Gerran people beyond Ghirahim. He imagines the demon lord would be the only thing on his mind through such a performance, given their recent…encounter.
“Nahhh, it’s ok, I’ll just watch the table,” he decides.
“Okay,” Shenbar shrugs. “We’ll be right back, sooo just don’t eat all the olives while we’re gone.”
“Come on, I’m not gonna do that…”
“Coulda fooled me, storing them in your cheeks like a pocket mouse or something over there.”
The others snicker lightheartedly and descend the steps with Shenbar. Link listens as their voices retreat and muffle behind the downstairs entertainment. He sneakily plucks a few more olives from a bowl on the table and chews on them thoughtfully.
There comes a silvery singing voice from downstairs, affirming Link’s decision - it reminds him a bit too much of Ghirahim’s Musicka lesson. The swirling, twirling notes occasionally reach his ears as coherent lyrics.
"【…Come let's do the folk dance
We welcome you to do the folk dance with us
Your beloved is feeling angry from within
Today my heart is very scared and restless
My heart is in love with my beloved and it desires for him…】"
Link groans.
“You're kidding. Of course it’s some kind of love song…”
He throws the sailcloth over his Gerudo Mask entirely, but it does little to block out his recognition of the words.
"【…I'll do the folk dance covering my head with the rainbow of love
Yes, I'll do the folk dance
I'll do the folk dance forgetting all the customs of the world
I'll dance on the beats of the drummer…】"
"【…The people are doing the folk dance
My entire body wants to become the shadow of my beloved
Whenever my heart dances it turns loneliness into a fair
I'll dance on the beats of the drummer
The people are doing the folk dance…】"
“Oh my Goddess, fine, okay, really on the nose here, you know,” he grumbles aloud to the night sky. “You’re playing a dirty trick on me, aren’t you? This is confusing enough, I’m just trying to get through this mess without losing my whole mind! Is this payback for lying to you? Do you like watching me dance like a…like a …”
The words 'court jester on a horrible stage' come to mind, and he pictures Ghirahim's grimace while saying it.
Yeah. Okay, yeah, that makes sense now, too.
Link stands and stalks over to the balcony, pouting fiercely. He heaves a sigh and looks over the sleeping city, and he idly scratches the rough clay bricks with a claw.
"【..I've coloured all the walls of my heart's palace with your color
After attaining your shade my entire body is shining
This dark night of mine has become full of stars
I'll dance on the beats of the drummer…】"
Maybe it’s time for me to head back, he thinks. Ghirahim might be worried. He doesn’t like being left alone for too long…I can’t keep running from everything forever, and that includes whatever the hell is going on with me and him.
He flicks a tiny piece of clay and it clatters into the street below. He rests his chin in his open palm.
This is hard. Life used to make more sense when someone just told me what I was supposed to be doing with it…
"That's probably the hundredth sigh you've heaved tonight," comes Shenbar’s voice. She’s reappeared beside him without the rest of her crew.
“Back already?” Link angles his covered face towards her with another sigh.
"One-hundred-and-one. And yeah. Figured you were either moping up here alone, or drowning your feelings in snacks while no one was looking.” She smiles and leans against the balcony, too. "You wanna talk about it?"
The knight is quiet for a little while longer, betraying nothing behind the coy wooden expression.
"You know what, yeah," he finally relents. "It's complicated though."
"Alright, hit me with it."
"Well…okay, have you ever gotten involved with someone you know you shouldn't? I mean like, involved in a physical way you didn't really intend, but you also kinda did, but it probably wasn't a good idea in hindsight? You know?"
That sounded really eloquent. Great work, Link.
He puffs out his cheeks in the one-hundred-and-second sigh, then clasps his hands beneath his chin. "So, how do you talk to that person afterwards?"
"Oh," Shenbar says. She purses her lips in amusement. "Ohhhh. Oh my Kings, I knew it."
Link tightens up defensively.
"Wait, knew what?"
She laughs and lightly punches his shoulder. It's a move that feels very much like Groose.
"You and your boss," she starts with a wiggled eyebrow, and she lowers her voice. "You two are aaaabsolutely fucking aren't you?"
Her blunt accusation brings Link careening back from wherever he'd been lost angsting.
"I–how–...ok, listen, we are not like that, i-it was just a kiss!" he hisses.
"So that's what happened! Oh, that's so juicy, Ghost, I didn't know you had such scandalous drama to hide!" It's a friendly tease, but it has Link blushing madly.
"Are you gonna answer or what?" the knight growls.
"Alright, alright, heheh, I'll be serious, I don't mean to upset you!" She offers him an apologetic smile. It lessens the sting of embarrassment, at least. "Okay, Serious Shen here to dispense some wisdom. Let's see…well, was it just for fun or do you really like him? I won't judge, I mean, I personally prefer to see people just for fun."
"Um…I dunno, actually." Link picks at the balcony's flaking clay. His chest clutches the words, reluctant to let them rise, but then they do anyway, floating like bubbles escaping a corked bottle. "I kinda like being around him. He makes me feel…safe? It's weird. I can't tell. I think I like him and he seems to like me. But I don't even really know who I am, so how am I supposed to be involved with someone? And oh, Shen, we have such a fucked up history, I can't even get into it all. We nearly killed each other a few times, like, it was a whole thing."
"Shit! You're kidding."
"No! That's fucked up, right? Why would I feel safe around someone who's like that?" Yet one more sigh for good measure. "I don't know what I'm doing, but I just…you know when you're into someone and your body feels like it's going to run away without your brain?"
"Tch, don't I ever. Ok, but let's start with the important stuff first.” She prods a finger into the balustrade to emphasize herself. “Does he treat you right now that you're square? Cause if he doesn't, you better tell my gran. I don't care what kind of lord he is, she probably still outranks him, and she cares about you enough to kick his ass."
The thought summons an image of G'otishmmar whacking at Ghirahim with her cane. No swordplay, no ceremony, just one angry old lady and a once-pompous, cowering lord. It's such an absurdly effective idea that Link laughs aloud.
"Hah! Yeah," he agrees. "She probably would, something tells me she doesn’t take any crap.”
“Not even for a second.”
“Heh, well, I think he could use a knock upside the head sometimes, honestly. But, I think he's…fine. Yeah, overall he's fine, don’t worry, I think we’re sort of past the worst of it? He’s just kind of…"
"A stuck-up prick?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Hah! Listen, I may not be able to see the guy, but I gathered all I need to know from how he talks." Shenbar pauses, mulling over what to say next for Link's problem. "So what do you want to do then? Would you kiss him again?"
"Oh…um. I think I'm afraid of that. I really want to. Oh man, he was–it was–...well, it got intense." Thinking too closely about that is distracting. Link physically shakes his head to rid himself of the thought and feeling. "Yeah, um, yes I would."
"Mhm, mhm, then here's how you talk to him," the Gerudo concludes. She turns around to lean back against the balcony nonchalantly. "You go back in when you're both awake and sobered up. And you go 'hey boss, how about that saucy kiss last night, wanna keep doing that?' Ta-da."
…That's it? It sounds both too easy and much too difficult. Link picks one out of the two, deciding it’s actually more of the latter.
"But what about the history thing?" Link starts skeptically. "It's so much, so I don't know if that's a thing we can just talk through–"
"Talk about it. Trust me. And then just ask straight out about what you wanna do with him, no bullshit. Nobles always dance around their feelings, they talk too much without really saying anything. So, get right to the point."
That did make a lot of sense to Link. Ghirahim tended towards dancing around things, playing tag with him. In fact, the most direct he had been was earlier that night…
"What if he says no?" Link warily counters once more.
"Then you have your answer, and you come smoke with me for a few more nights and whine about it.” Shenbar shrugs and winks at him. “Then maybe you rebound with another pretty demon and get a new job."
"Ughhh. You make it sound so simple."
"Oh, it's not simple at all. But you got this."
A few more seconds of silence stretch between them. Shenbar leans back against the balcony and looks up at the stars, and Link looks up at them, too. Their light feels farther away than ever before, but their presence is consistent as always. He wonders what they think of him now, if they're actually entertained with his plight or lamenting his foolishness.
He pulls his eyes away from the sky and they fall on Shenbar, whose friendship is free of any real judgment. It's genuine in spite of being so new, and a sense of gratitude fills his own emptiness.
"Hey, Shen?" he starts.
"Mhm?"
"Thanks for talking to me about my, uh…my weird problems. Seriously." He doesn't know how to make it sound as thankful as he feels.
"Anytime!" she exclaims. She wraps a strong arm around Link's shoulders and gives him a squeeze. "And thank-you for not being a stuck-up prick of a demon like your boyfriend!"
"He's not my–"
"Heheheh, I know, I know, just teasing," Shenbar snickers as she draws away. "Gonna say bye to the troupe and we'll head out soon, yeah?"
"Uh-huh…"
Link can't help but grind his teeth over the comment. It's not that he's mad, but the idea bounces around wildly in his skull, and he'd very much prefer for it to stay in a box for a second while he manages the Ghirahim problem one step at a time.
I mean, even if we do end up doing stuff, we don't have to be like that, we can just stay friends and that's fine. The newer, softer label slips past Link’s alarms unnoticed. Yeah, I think that works. I'll just ask him not to call me Link anymore and we can set some ground rules, like we did with the pact. We were drunk, we just caught each other by surprise tonight. We can always forget and pretend some more. I'll tell him that.
It's a direction to go at least, rather than his usual moping and waffling.
Link mulls this over further while he waits for Shenbar, who says her goodbyes in the lingering way one does after a fond gathering. The group of horned Gerudos has since trickled back upstairs, and the singing below has given way to low mumbling chatter while the dancers prepare their next song.
The knight still gazes across the city and picks at clay and mulls and wonders, but rather suddenly, he feels something like an eye again. Only it's not the same as before, and it's not an eye. No, this is different, another layer separate from the paranoid thrum he's been feeling half the night. Less like sight and more like…
A buzz, a blast of hot air from an open oven, the first warmth of the sun on his face after a cold winter, the fresh air of spring.
The pulse of a metallic chime…?
Link snaps his attention downwards, across the street in front of the coffeehouse. There, he sees a group of three. There’s a masked Massu shrouded in an illusion, and a man stands next to him, sporting a proudly coiffed pomp of red hair. A smaller, blonde woman with shimmery crystal hair wraps stands in-between the two.
She looks directly up at the demon knight. There's an all-too familiar sword in her hands, and its tip is angled towards him.
Link freezes.
"Uhh, Zel?"
He can hear Groose speak just a bit too loudly. He can't wrench himself from Zelda's gaze, nor from the Master Sword's.
"Zel, who's that? The sword is dowsing for Link, right?"
Zelda doesn't take her eyes off of the demon either. She lets the sword fall slightly. She mumbles something to her companions that Link can't make out from this distance.
It doesn't matter anyways, because he backs away from the balcony and out of sight.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, why couldn't they have shown up before my mask broke?? Fresh panic grabs him by the throat and squeezes. I can't let them see me like this! They can't know about this! I have to get back to Ghirahim, he'll know what to do…!
He nearly taps on his earring before he stops himself with a cautious reminder of Inwall guards. It’s not a reminder for himself, though ... it’s for Shenbar. He can’t just abandon her there to walk back alone. What if something happened? Maybe she would be fine, but maybe she wouldn’t be, and Link isn’t so selfish to force the gamble. And unfortunately, he’s never bothered to ask Ghirahim if his earrings can take multiple at once.
Abandoning that idea, he instead lurches forward and grabs Shenbar's shoulder tightly.
"Hey, we gotta go, now," he hisses out.
Surprised, Shenbar's face falls at the tone of Link's voice. Her friends give them both worried looks.
"Is everything ok, Ghost?" she whispers seriously.
"No time, is there a back exit to this place?"
"Well, yeah–"
"Please show me."
"Sure, sure, okay let's go," Shenbar hurries down the stairs with Link, tossing one last farewell over her shoulder. "Byyye lovelies, have a nice night, see ya, mwah~!"
They make it to the ground floor just as Kukku begins to bark, offended by new, unapproved guests. Lazule barely has a moment to register Link and Shenbar rushing behind the counter and into the back kitchens.
"Oi, that's employees only, Shen!!"
"Sorry!"
"--ork-ork-ork-ork–!!"
The two flutter past a few Mogmas preparing food and slip out of the kitchen's back door. They emerge into an alleyway between buildings, where an apron-clad Mogma smoking against the wall raises an eyebrow at them. Thankfully, she just exhales her cloud of smoke and disregards them, mumbling something about still being on break.
Shenbar stops just outside of the door.
"Hey bud, sorry,” she shoots towards the Mogma before whispering to Link. “Ok, wait a minute, so what is all this about?"
Link gestures in frantic worry.
"We can't talk just yet, we have to get farther away."
But before the knight can take off again, she grabs his arm to stop him. She plants her other hand on her hip with a stubborn expression.
"Uh-uh, nope, you're not taking me on a midnight sprint through the city without telling me why," she retorts. "Just gimme the quick version!"
"Okay, quick version, some people just showed up - they know me as someone very different and I can't let them find out I'm that person, but they're definitely about to, so can we please get going?"
"Oi, oi, ya can't bring weapons inta my venue, ma'am, yer upsettin' my seal."
"--ork-ork-ork-ork–!"
“And that’s employee’s only–!”
"Alright, fine,” she relents, hearing the commotion inside. “But you owe me a better explanation later!"
The smoking Mogma sighs, puts out her rolled tobacco under a footpaw, then makes her way back inside.
“Jus’ gunna lock this door, methinks,” she mutters, but she says it loud enough for the two to hear. “So’s dumbasses quit usin’ it like an exit…”
“Thank you!” Link whispers.
“I ain’t seen nothin’.” The Mogma disappears inside and the door latches audibly.
They take to the side streets. They keep to clandestine shadows and they avoid main thoroughfares where any guards could question their rush, yet the feeling of being watched never leaves him. It puts an urgent rush to his step. Inexplicably, each time he looks over his shoulder, he sees no sign of the trio from Skyloft.
Shenbar voices the obvious.
"I think we lost your buddies already, can we slow down now?" she huffs.
"I don't know, I don't feel like we're out of the woods until we're back at the riad."
Something's weird and wrong. What on earth is looking at me? It's not Fi anymore.
No more does he feel the warmth of the Goddess's aura, but indeed, the same sight from the entire evening still weighs on him from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It wasn’t Kukku, it wasn’t the troupe, and it couldn’t actually be the stars…he continues moving, but glances over his shoulder once more in paranoia.
A wooden staff catches his ankle mid-step and he trips forward. It sends him tumbling to the ground. Behind him, Shenbar yelps as a weight descends upon him within the same second. Hands shoot into his coat pockets and yank something free triumphantly while he can only flail in the confusion of it all.
"Get off of me–!" he shouts, but a large hand shoves itself behind his mask and clamps over his mouth. He's pulled to his feet by a strong, looming presence. Nearby, he sees Shenbar in the same predicament, held by the familiar shape of a Goron.
In front of him stands a person with no horns, obscured by a mask that bears a single, crying eye.
Link's breath catches in his throat.
The masked one holds a small blue stone out by its cords, which they deftly toss to another Goron. Crunch! It disappears into their massive fist, and instantly, the sight once everywhere and nowhere falls away from Link. The stone charm crumbles to the street as little more than bright gravel. Link stares at it in wide-eyed shock.
It…it was a rock that was watching me?? I don't even remember picking up a rock –
He checks his mental records. There was a cloaked demon in a narrow street, an innocuous bump, the distraction of a tipsy haze – … the Boko! Oh, no…
Bewildered, the knight stares at the masked stranger. He notes their tattered cloak, then their carved walking stick, and finally, his eyes fall upon their left leg. It ends just above the knee.
"You are very hard to get alone, my friend, but this will have to do," Mashda whispers from behind the crying mask. She gestures dismissively towards the destroyed stone. "We will find a place to chat without such nosy eavesdroppers as these."
She nods to the Goron holding Link. Black cloth shrouds his vision before he and Shenbar are whisked away into the night.