Chapter Text
It never used to be like this. The bustle. The tightness that grasped and clawed as each building appeared to grow more menacing; expanding with discontent. The night was colder, softer. A blanket of comfort falling across the seemingly panting monoliths. A coolness would wash over the streets and bathe hot stones, moonlight weeping in the sky. Within that nightscape billions of dead stars blinked and roared, flashing with gorgeous pearlescence and glittering within deep blues and mystic purples.
He would stand there, in the centre of these breathing roads - wondrous eyes glossed over, heart pounding with apprehension. Statuesque marble glaring down with a judgmental gaze. He could feel them rake and explore his form, the eyes unmoving but the cerebral violation present and real. Squirming in place, he did eventually break eye contact, glancing upon the stone pews that circled the effigy, and eventually, sitting upon them.
There was no breeze. No strong gusts of wind or dancing mist that painted the landscape, just a stagnant serenity that modeled the crisp lagoons that lay within cathedral halls. His hulking form found comfort in this chill, knowing that every time his fingers twitched or ears burnt it was the truth of his existence, permanence in place of anonymity. The strange male blended into the endless sky, a misplaced star that was dislodged on route, standing alongside humanity rather than alongside the ineffables.
Once when he was a child he’d readily informed the hall mother that he would live amongst the stars, unaware of the lack of realism and possibility that idea possessed.
Due to the stagnant winds his robes lay upon the frozen pews with picturesque perfection, lacking both crease and stain. He was admonished in whites and golds, stark against his dusky purple flesh, littered with aggressive white lightning. He was alone in that hustling town, streets that used to be full of argumentative widows and bastardized preachers now slept, the only mortal comfort that lay awake with him now would be the weeping fowl that hid amongst dense foliage. At first glance you would believe a thick, dense cloud surrounded his scalp and descended his form - however it was in fact serpentine hair, off-white smoke billowing and whirling in immovable winds. Factually implausible but visually effable. In nature the most dangerous colours to exist are vibrant reds and electric yellows; His eyes retained the former, glinting rubies surrounded by snow lashes.
The waxing crescent that hung in the sky, luminous and beaming lit many rooftops and highlighted hidden streets. Street lanterns long muted rendered useless against the moonglow. The leatherbound tome in his hand was no different, pages brought to life under soft light, just over half read. It's a worn thing, nothing of impressive nature apart from its thick hide. Other than that it was rather dusty, fingerprint marks that disrupted the coating lay as the only indicator it was commonly read, just not cared for enough to wipe fully.
A crack.
The tome slammed shut, a low timbre echoing in the former silence whilst he considerately settled it in his former lounging spot. He was standing now, hulking and broad, an aggressive contrast to his effeminate robes. Predatory eyes traveled the townscape, scanning for friend or foe; what was found instead was a small pink tiefling, rare for these parts. He took a cautionary step, he dwarfed the unknown in both stature and build, not exactly caring to lower themselves to reach eye level. Our starboy seemed to carry a prominent staring problem, eyes unblinking and body unmoving as he just watched the smaller.
The pink tiefling didn't seem to notice this at first, their own gaze settled upon the marble statue fixed in the town square, imposing and audacious. Their eyes however did eventually snap towards our robe clad worshipper, trailing his form with an unreadable graze, nose scrunched with seeming discontent.
“I know I'm brilliant to look at but no need to stare”, they exclaimed, voice dripping with a hint of laughter and layered in confidence. He remained silent, eyes becoming downcast and avoidant, face flushed with embarrassment. The honeyblonde almost spoke again until a thick accent broke the fresh silence.
“I apologise, I have never gazed upon someone of your kind here in many moons, let alone in the break of night.” A questioning brow raised at this, mildly aghast yet curious.
“‘Your kind’ Oh you really do flatter me.” they respond sarcastically, stepping closer until they are merely an armwidth away.
“I did not mean to cause offence-”
“Oh but you did” they spit out, expression unreadable and goading. “I am merely a traveller and you come at me with hostitlity…”
“Forgive me for my impertinence but, I do not believe I have been expressing any hostile behaviours towards you-”
“Ignorance then” they interrupt.
Our lightning clad male huffs and stepped ever closer, the pink tiefling standing ground. “Then forgive my accidental ignorance.” He says softly but with a firm tone, “May we begin this conversation again?”
“...you may” They say obtusely, face mere inches away from his chest, looking up with a blasé expression.
Without express warning he drops to one knee, robes laying in stone and mosses an arm resting across his dense thigh.
“I am Cineáltas, Worshiper of Éadaoin, Disciple of the Church of Meiteamorfóis. Many moons have passed and I have served faithfully.” He bows his head down, awaiting either thanks or acknowledgment, he received neither. Instead he looked up and saw the elusive pink tiefling host a flash of surprise, merging into resolution.
“Well. Cineáltas” The name sounded comfortable on their tongue. “You question my nightly presence yet have not expressed your purpose for late wanderings.”
“You did not request them” Cineáltas bites back, finding familiarity in this tieflings game.
“I suppose I didn't". They smile lightly, “yet I'm ever so intrigued…humour me?”
A stiff tension hung in the air, Cineáltas rises up from his kneeling position and sighs out, looking away with abashment.
“The moon, it comforts me within the night, I find the constant change of the waxing crescents and waning gibs…comfortable, familiar." He settles uncomfortably, body shifting with tension at the outward confession, too honest for his own good.
“That is something you enjoy?” They question, “Change?”
“it comforts me” He answers instead.
“Larkspur”
“Hm?” Cineáltas questions, looking down with wonderment.
“My name you oaf, you may call me Larkspur” They say almost haughtily, yet a small smile still lay in undertones.
Cineáltas breathed out lightly, unaware that this closeness did not seem to be socially acceptable by any prying eyes.
“...Larkspur” He rumbles out, tone deep and melodic, “Thank you for giving me a name to the face”
Larkspur waves a hand dismissively, stepping back. “I gave you nothing, I simply informed” they argue, “Thought if I saw you again I might as well be known”
"So I'll be seeing you again?” Cineáltas questioned, not sounding hopeful but intrigued. “If I want to” Larkspur says softly, tail flicking in the stagnant air, it seems as if everything must be done on their terms.
Cineáltas’ gaze shifts to see the moon begin to lower in the sky, a contemplative look rests upon his face.
“I’m afraid I'm going to have to retire for the evening, Larkspur” he says apologetically, “I do not know how I feel about you.” He admits blatantly, awkward and unabashed.
The taller of the two says his goodbyes and leaves, walking the dusty cobbles deeper into the winding village.
Larkspur is left alone now, surrounded by that stagnant cool air, the village felt so much emptier now. They glance to the pews surrounding the effigy, where a tome lay with dusty prints.
‘What an amusing man…’