Chapter Text
There have been rumors going around the town of a newcomer, a traveler.
Their town isn't that small anymore, but rumors still spread just as fast as they did when Kristin was a younger girl. When she goes out to the market square, she hears whispers of a young man, with long hair like the stalks of wheat, and a strange striped hat that is the talk of the fabric stall when Kristin approaches to buy some more thread for her mending. Some people, including the butcher Kristin buys her pork from, even claim he has an elytra strapped to his back, though two different patrons step up to contest that claim.
An elytra is no small feat, if it's true, then it speaks wonders to the man's travels, as he must have gone all the way to an End City and back. Kristin's only ever seen pictures of those places in the library's limited books on geography, and she catches herself wondering back to those images, what it might be like to make the adventure out to one of those End ships. She wonders what it might feel like to be lifted into the air by a Shulker, or even procure an elytra for herself.
Of course, it's then that she steps into the shadow of the Temple, and her heart sinks, just a little bit.
End Cities are too far away, anyways. A foolish dream, almost as foolish as believing a stranger well-traveled enough to have an elytra would be staying in Vincularé for very long at all.
Kristin tightens her grip on her basket, and hurries up the side steps to her parents' house, which is built off to the side of the Temple that towers over much of the center streets, though most market stalls do well to stay out of its shadow.
Her fingers swipe in the dish of ash as she crosses the threshold, tracing the quick outline of a heart at the base of her throat. She'll wash it off before she goes out, but old habits die hard, and whatever difference it might make to Death, Kristin isn't planning to risk anything.
She tries to get through the afternoon by mending some clothes she's been ignoring for way too long, and after getting frustrated by that, she sticks to baking, using up some of the fresh butter she purchased this morning to make the sweetbread she's been craving. That, at least, passes enough time until it's sundown, and she's able to wash the ash from her skin and make her way to the tavern to spend the rest of her evening.
She honestly goes to the tavern more for drinks than the friends who tend to invite her out, and she thinks her friends are on a similar path of thinking. They've already started to look at her with those strained smiles, an expression that's already looking far to the future when they won't have to think about Kristin's fleeting presence in the world for much longer.
Kristin does her best not to resent them for it. She takes a long sip of her drink, hoping the continued burn of the alcohol will chase away the envy that sits heavy in her throat as she watches those who are her age flirt and dance, kissing in the shadowed corners of the tavern where they think everyone else somehow can't see them.
She really is happy for many of them. A few of her oldest friends are even getting married soon, and Kristin both loves and hates them for it that they decided on the wedding being this fall. They both told Kristin they wanted her to be there, and Kristin had thanked them while privately wishing she could just skip the whole thing. It isn't something she'll have to mourn if she never gets the chance to know what she's missing out on. No weddings, no shadowed corners, no slow, intimate dances with someone who looks at her with love for her, beyond her purpose.
Kristin takes another drink, wrinkling her nose when she finds it less than she was hoping for. Another drink is in order, and it's only when she stands does she notice how muted the tavern has become. The room hums with whispers, people cupping hands around the ears of their neighbors. For a second, a flash of familiar worry hits Kristin. That this is about her, somehow, only because the whispers so often are.
But then she sees a flash of green to her right, and as the tavern begins to relax again, Kristin turns to look upon who can only be the rumored traveler.
His cloak is falling off his shoulder, revealing a green tunic with so many patches in it it's a miracle the thing is still holding up. True to the rumors, there is indeed an impressively ugly striped hat resting at the back of his head, green and white, of all the colors. Straw-blond hair falls down his back, tied back with a thin cord, though it's clear he hasn't redone the tie in a bit. Strands of hair have fallen down around his face, bouncing against his jaw as he leans up against the bar. She can just make out his dark blue eyes from beyond the hair, staring with intensity up at the scribbled drink selection the tavern offers. He orders a cider, and Kristin pushes her glass back across the bar to get another drink, too.
"Better watch your tab there, Miss Kristin," the bartender, Rose, says with a wink as she picks up the glass.
Kristin laughs. Both of them know full well this tab will never be paid. "So. New guy."
The young man visibly starts, drink sloshing up against his mouth before he sets the glass down and wipes his mouth. Kristin's smile grows at his bewildered expression, like he's just now seeing her for the first time. "How's it feel to be the subject of all the whispering around here? The rumor mill has been going non stop all day for you."
He looks perplexed at that. "Is this the first time this place has ever had visitors, or something?" the traveler says. "Because that's what it's feeling like, I feel like I haven't had eyes off of me all day."
Kristin thinks back, trying to remember the last time anyone aside from wandering traders had shown up here. "I don't know," she says. "But I think the hat probably has a lot to do with it, it's kind of hard to look away from."
The man pouts, reaching up to tug either side of the hat down around his ears. "Wait, what's wrong with my hat?"
He sounds so genuinely crushed, Kristin actually finds she doesn't have the heart to lay it on him. "I- well, in any case, I have to say I'm grateful for it. At least today I knew they were talking about you behind your back, instead of me."
"Oh, yeah?" His eyebrows raise, uncurling his hands from his hat and settling them back around his drink again. "And what do they whisper about you for?"
Kristin opens her mouth to respond, but the words catch in her throat. For the first time, ever, there's a guy who doesn't know what her deal is. And, sure, he might find out soon enough from literally anyone else in town, but if he's a traveler, he'll probably move on soon, right? No sense in burdening the evening with a story she's had to tell a hundred times. All that would get her are those awkward, pitying stares, and frankly that would just ruin another night out.
"So, what's your name?" she asks instead, turning a little in her seat to face him better. "I mean, all these stupid rumors going around, but no one seems to actually know your name, or anything."
It's a graceless transition, but Kristin is grateful for how he takes it in stride, smiling kindly at Kristin. "It's Phil. Philza Minecraft, but I don't much use my full name."
Kristin wonders why he gave it to her, then. "Good to meet you, Philza. Phil," she says cheerfully, raising her glass to him. "I'm Kristin."
"Honestly, you're the first person who's asked me that," Phil says after they've clinked their glasses together. "My name, I mean. It's nice to meet you, too, Kristin."
"Ah, just give 'em a day," she dismisses. "If you're sticking around, then they'll settle down too, eventually." There's an unspoken question here, and one Kristin is surprised she even asked. Her cheeks have started to feel like they're burning, and she briefly wonders if Rose put something stronger into her drink than usual.
"I'll be here for a few days more," Phil assures. "Bit low on supplies, and need a rest besides."
Kristin nods. She'd heard from Ozzie over at the bakery that the traveler was staying in the inn next door, that he'd gotten confused at the rates there and tried to overpay double what was owed. She's a little grateful to hear that it's only a few days— the more she looks at this stranger, the prettier she finds him. Whatever protection he thinks he's getting from that hat, it's not doing much except helping his freckles stand out from his sunburned cheeks. "So where were you before this?" she asks. "Where'd you come from, Philza?"
He chuckles breathily, cheeks slightly pink before he takes another drink. "Ah, well, that's pretty long story, seeing as how I come from all over. Place I was at before this was pretty boring, if I'm honest." His fingers tap, soft but erratic, on the half-empty glass of cider. "Hoping it'll be a little less boring out here, though."
"Well, I've never been outside of this place, so basically anywhere sounds exciting to me," Kristin says flippantly, trying to ignore how damn depressing that sounds.
Thankfully, Phil doesn't comment too much on it, instead launching into a story of the last time he had been in a tavern, in a much different city, that had ended in a giant brawl that Phil only managed to escape from by breaking a window.
"Holy shit." By now, Kristin is practically leaning across the bar toward him. Her drink is gone, but she hasn't even thought to ask for another one yet. "So, wait, you just broke a window and ran? You didn't get in trouble or anything?"
Phil laughs, swirling the last bit of cider he has left at the bottom of his glass. "Hiding on top of a building until the guards stopped looking for me might have had something to do with it, but I did manage to escape from it without getting in trouble, yes."
Kristin's laugh is twice as loud, only tampering down when it catches the attention of a few patrons several seats down. "Oh, so you're a troublemaker, then. I see what's going on," she says teasingly,
"I mean, listen!" Phil makes an affronted noise, but his eyes are sparkling with humor. "They started it, I just... also started it, maybe, a little."
"Uh-huh," Kristin says warmly, hair slipping over her shoulder as she tilts her head to watch Phil sputter and laugh.
Behind them both, the little band on stage picks up the tempo for a faster song. The fiddle and guitar harmonize perfectly, a rhythm that has half the tavern tapping their feet before Kristin realizes she's tapping along. It's the start of a common song played here, one with the traditional purpose of forging new connections. Anyone who wasn't dancing before is certainly out there now, all pairing up. Some with familiar partners, many with acquaintances or otherwise strangers, all opposite one another as the whirlwind of a dance starts to kick off.
The last time Kristin took an active part in this dance must have been when her mother was still alive, she thinks. Since then, it's been rare occasions when she joins an odd-numbered group of friends, and otherwise she expects that it's played in the hours after she tends to leave the tavern.
It's past those hours, now. She's been here for longer than she realized.
Phil finishes his drink, head tipped out toward the music before he looks back at Kristin with a vibrant smile. "Oh, been ages since I've heard this one," he says brightly. He slides down from the stool, holding out his hand to Kristin with surprising forwardness. "Care to dance with me?"
All the laughter in Kristin's throat suddenly vanishes. In just the brief time they had been talking, Kristin had already forgotten that there's so much Phil still doesn't know about her. "I..."
Phil's expression flickers, hesitant, but still hopeful. "I mean, this is meant to be a dance between strangers, right? I didn't mean to imply something else."
"Close enough," Kristin says softly, surprising herself with how fast she finds her voice. "Sorry, it's just been a long time since I've danced. I don't think I'm going to be very good at it, actually." One last-ditch attempt, though by the time she finishes speaking, Phil's already stepped forward to take her hand.
"Oh, good, then I don't have to warn you about how little I remember of this." Phil shrugs, sporting a boyish smile. "Let's just find a spot where we won't step on anybody else's toes, then."
Like with the hat earlier, Kristin finds that she can't bring herself to crush that hopeful expression of his again. "Alright. one dance," she agrees, stepping down from the bar stool, clutching her skirts in her other hand as Phil leads her across the floor. True to his word, they wind up in a corner rather close to the shadows, where the others are still near, but far enough that Kristin thinks she won't accidentally hit anyone in the side with her skirts.
By the time they start to dance, the fiddle has already picked up in speed. The two of them do some frantic searching, and once they actually manage to fall in step the two of them are already laughing breathlessly.
"Alright, maybe I'm a little more out of practice with this than I thought," Phil wheezes, hand gently squeezing Kristin's bicep as they hurry through the steps. Between Kristin's stumbling and the skirts she's barely holding up with one hand, she considers it a second miracle that she hasn't fallen flat on her face already.
"You and me both, buddy," she huffs, right as her body remembers the amount of drinks she's had tonight. One misstep and she's tilting to the side, hand flying out to brace herself before she makes a real fool of herself. It lands against Phil's side, just enough leverage for her to right herself again as the tempo increases again, a joyous warble from the fiddle paired with the trills of a flute. Two unusual instruments, brought together in an unconventional partnership, if only for a short time.
Belatedly, she realizes she's left her hand on Phil's waist since catching herself. He's warm, even through the patchwork tunic. Kristin's eyes dart to him as she adjusts her hand there, looking for any reaction at all, but his face hasn't changed. He's still smiling with that silly kind of brightness, and also still messing up the fourth beat every few measures.
Frankly, it's endearing. Kristin's cheeks feel so much warmer than they did a few minutes ago, and that's not something she can just put down to the alcohol anymore. She'd blame it on the dancing, but as the song enters its final chorus, Phil slides his hand up so it's settled behind her shoulder. It pulls them in a little closer, and pulls an unsteady laugh from Kristin as she looks upon Phil's equally-red cheeks.
"You definitely remember this a lot better than I do," Phil says, and even though the music isn't slowing down, his pace certainly is. Kristin finds herself slowing with him, though she keeps the energy of the rhythm in the tapping of her fingers instead of her feet. There is something exhilarating is rushing through her, a current of energy that's she's never felt before. It makes every small movement feel like lightning, bouncing from fingertip to fingertip as she sways in half-time to the final chords of the song.
She can't find a word for this feeling, and trying to chase it down is pointless when her brain is this scrambled by music and drink. So Kristin decides to give up and to bask in it, the warmth of Phil's hand on her back, his side pressed against her palm.
Phil is looking at her with a smile that might be described as drunken, but Kristin knows he's hardly had anything to drink. "Thank you for that dance," he says politely, as the song ends and the dancers who managed to stick it out until the end break into cheers and applause for the musicians. "I don't think we did a half-bad job at it."
Kristin can't help but giggle. "Are you kidding me?" Then she snorts. "I almost fell, and we didn't even make it to the end!"
"Well, if we were getting scored, we definitely wouldn't be getting too many points," Phil agrees with a chuckle. "Maybe next time we'll get a little better at it."
"Next time, huh?" Kristin hums. Something in her heart flutters at that thought, that another night the two of them might meet back here to dance together.
And then, in the dark corners of her mind, two and two are put together and Kristin finds the words she was lacking just moments prior. Her heart sinks in her chest at the realization, and with it, her smile starts to fade.
Phil's expression falls with hers. "Shit." He laughs, softly, a bit sadder now. His head dips to look at the ground, then back up at Kristin. "Did I say something dumb?"
"No." Kristin wants to hasten to reassure him, but she realizes she has no idea how to do so, not without explaining everything in a way that would destroy the way he has looked at her all night. "No, you didn't say anything wrong, Phil."
Her hand falls from his side and, taking the cue, Phil lowers his own outstretched arm. "Kinda feels like I did, though," he mutters. "Didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable or nothin', really."
Kristin folds her hands in front of her, hating how the air between them has suddenly become to stifled. "I know. You didn't, it- it wasn't you," she says, then takes a short breath. "I- I have to go. But, thank you, this was- this really was lovely. I haven't danced like that in a long time."
Phil still looks nonplussed, but he eventually nods. "Yeah, I haven't, either."
"Well." Kristin doesn't know how much longer she can stay here before she starts talking about everything to Phil. The words sit on the tip of her tongue, but she battles them back, desperate not to ruin this night any more than she already has. "Goodnight."
With an unsteady smile, Phil reaches up, and tips his hat to her. "Yeah. Goodnight, Kristin."
Before her heart can change her mind, Kristin turn and heads for the exit, ignoring all the stares that follow her out. She stumbles through the lantern-lit streets in a daze, only recognizing home when she pushes open the front door, ash on her fingertips.
Standing in the dark, away from the music and the chatter and Phil's kind eyes, Kristin feels her heart weighing heavier than ever in her chest. So much so that she very nearly collapses in her bed, kicking her boots across the room as she wraps her arms around herself to stare up at the wooden beams of her ceiling.
Her thoughts are too aimless to make sense of again, flickers of sorrow and guilt that Kristin doesn't want to try and untangle. She doesn't want to linger on the evening now that she's left it, the confused expression on Phil's face as she fled and the adoration with which they had been looking at each other minutes prior.
Kristin closes her eyes tight, and doesn't open them until the sunlight forces her to.