#cinn's angels and demons au

[feynites]

*flings out more Tiny Kel and Olwyn in @justanartsysideblog‘s Angels & Demons AU*

There’s a girl in Kel’s class, who Kel really likes. She’s pretty, with big, curly hair, and nice clothes, and multi-coloured notebooks. Her name is Olwyn. Olwyn likes stars and dogs and crafts time, and has the best pencils in the whole class, and shares them with people all the time.

So one recess, Kel shows Olwyn her Lucky Feather, from Papae. Olwyn admires it sufficiently, and then offers to share her fruit snacks. It turns out, Olwyn’s Papae and Nanae are angels. Angels with pretty feathers, like Kel’s own Papae’s got. Kel’s not sure how different angels are from demons, but they sound basically the same.

It’s really nice. Kel likes making friends, even though she’s not very good at it.

Olwyn is very good at it, though, and maybe good enough for two. Babae listens to Kel talk all about her when he picks her up after school, and agrees that she sounds like a very nice girl, and a good person to be friends with.

“You can invite her over sometime, as long as she gets permission from her parents,” he suggests. And then he considers. “Maybe I should meet them?”

Kel nods.

“Olwyn says they have wings,” she explains. “Like Papae.”

“Ah,” Babae replies. “Even more reason to make polite introductions, then. Does Olwyn have wings, too?”

She shakes her head.

“Nope. Olwyn’s human and she’s got no feathers,” she explains. “Do demons have human babies sometimes?”

“I don’t know,” Babae admits.

It’s probably a secret, Kel thinks. Demons have lots of secrets. Papae says it’s because knowledge is a valuable commodity, which always makes Kel think of fancy safes full of slips of paper, with special secrets written on all of them. Like Keeper Deshanna’s recipe for cured trout that everyone always wanted.

She means to ask Papae about it anyway, but Papae ends up being really busy with Special Work that week, so she forgets. Whenever Papae gets really busy, he always comes home looking sad and lonely, and sometimes like he thinks Kel or Babae are going to chase him away at the door. Then he needs lots of hugs, and sometimes Kel goes to stay with one of the neighbourhood babysitters while Babae gives Papae extra grown-up reassurance.

That involves kissing, Kel knows.

And S – E – X, which is naked kissing.

Kel knows a lot more stuff than her parents give her credit for, sometimes, but that’s okay. Most grown-ups are like that. Olwyn says she knows that her own parents do grown-up things, too, and that she’s not supposed to know about it either.

When the weekend comes, though, Babae stays after school when he picks her up, and they wait with Olwyn for her own parents to come. Olwyn’s Papae shows up, in the end. He’s a really pretty-looking elf, and Kel can’t see his wings, except that she kind of thinks she can, too. He reminds her of Papae, even though he looks very different. He’s wearing a tie-dye shirt and orange shorts, and he has more hair than even a Barbie doll.

Kel hides behind Babae, just a little.

But Olwyn’s Papae is really nice. He scoops his daughter up and says he missed her very much while she was at school, and then he says ‘hello’ to Kel.

“You must be Olwyn’s new friend,” he says, kneeling down a bit, and smiling at her.

Kel nods, and eases out from behind Babae some. Olwyn’s Papae talks with him, then, the two of them exchanging phone numbers and going on about the weekend, while Kel and Olwyn glance at one another, and then watch their parents, hopeful. After a while, the grown-ups agree that they can have a playdate on Sunday, and go and meet up at the park together. Kel grabs Olwyn’s hands and they bounce up and down for a bit.

“Can Kel come sleepover?” Olwyn wonders.

“If it’s alright with her Babae,” her Papae tells her.

Kel looks up at Babae, but he hesitates, just a little.

“We should talk to Papae about it, first,” he decides. “What about Olwyn? Could she come over first?”

It’s Olwyn’s Papae’s turn to hesitate, then.

“I think I will need to discuss it with her Nanae as well,” he admits.

Kel sighs, but Olwyn doesn’t look surprised.

“Well! We will have to do that, then,” Babae says, though, reaching down to pat both of their heads.

Olwyn’s Papae scoops her back up again, and gives Kel another smile, and pats her on the cheek. She waves goodbye to them, before holding Babae’s hand and heading for the parking lot with him. The weekend still seems exciting. Kel’s never had a ‘playdate’ before, and she’s never been to the park that Olwyn’s Papae said they should go to, either. She hopes it has lots of neat stuff in it, and isn’t just like the playground at school, which is mostly just monkey bars and then a lot of dirt. But even if it is, she thinks, she can bring her red soccer ball, and they can still have fun playing.

The park ends up being a really good one, with a duck pond and lots of big trees, and a tall lookout post for kids to climb up on and see all the tops of the trees from, and lots of trails. Babae has some unexpected work at the garage, so Papae ends up taking her for the playdate instead. And Olwyn’s Papae was busy, too, so she comes with her Nanae. Who looks very different from Olwyn’s Papae, and also doesn’t have wings that Kel can see – except kind of, when she squints. They’re really pretty too, though, and Olwyn’s Nanae smiles at Kel, before they see her Papae.

Then they go all stiff, and before Kel can blink, push her and Olwyn really firmly behind them.

Papae gets there in a hurry.

“Unhand the children!” he snaps. His eyes flash.

“What do you want with them?” Olwyn’s Nanae replies, not moving away at all.

“That’s my Papae,” Kel says, skirting around them, and going back over to him. Papae scoops her up and holds her too-tight, and glares at Olwyn’s Nanae.

Olwyn looks as confused as she feels. Her Nanae just looks really suspicious.

“Oh?” the spiky grown-up says. “And what is a prince doing with a little girl?”

“What are you doing with a little girl?” Papae counters, moving like he’s going to try and snatch Olwyn up, too. But her nanae moves in the way, and keeps one hand on her instead.

“This is my Nanae!” Olwyn declares, trying to get around the grip they have on her, so she can see past them.

Kel, for her own part, starts wriggling a bit in her Papae’s arms to get him to stop squishing her. She pats at his shoulder.

“Papae,” she says. “Stop bein’ weird, I want to show Olwyn the ball I brought.”

“Yeah, I wanna show Kel the path to the beach!” Olwyn insists, for her own part. “We can look for shells, and fishes in the tide pools!”

Kel starts wriggling even more, at that notion, practically vibrating with excitement. Papae still seems set on holding her, though, and he’s really strong, and mostly just glaring at Olwyn’s Nanae. Who’s glaring right back at him, and keeping their own grip on Olwyn. But finally Kel sucks in her breath, and just flops backwards over her Papae’s arm, instead, and lands on her feet. And Olwyn wriggles her way out of her sweater, and skips over in just her t-shirt, and the two of them leave their parents to glare at one another until seem to realize that they’ve both escaped.

Kel fetches her ball from over where Papae left it, and Olwyn points out the trail she wanted to show her.

They head off, while their parents follow after them, all glaring and bristling and saying weird stuff. Kel kicks her ball, and passes it to Olwyn, who tries spinning it for a while. But when they get to the beach they mostly put it aside in favour of hunting for interesting things along the water. The beach is rocky, not sandy, but there are still lots of little shallows where tiny creatures have gotten stuck, and there are some shells and even a few tiny crabs, and things. They rescue some starfish and find some neat rocks, and a lot of seaweed, and they wade into the ocean some, until Olwyn’s Nanae and Kel’s Papae start calling at them at the same time, telling them not to go too far.

“We won’t!” Kel calls back, and glances at Olwyn. “I don’t think Papae knows I can swim.”

Olwyn shrugs.

“Nanae told me one time that the undertow is dangerous anyways,” she says. “I’m not allowed to go swimming in the ocean unless they’re with me. Or Papae.”

“I haven’t been swimming in a long time. There’s no lake here,” Kel muses.

“We should go to the pool!” Olwyn suggests. “It’s not as cold, and there’s a nice one down near where the library is. Nanae took me a few times. They said I need to know how to swim in case I’m ever on a boat and the boat has an accident, or if I’m in a plane and the plane crashes in the water.”

That makes sense. Kel nods in understanding as they head away from the surf. They find some neat driftwood, then, and take it back towards their parents, to show off.

“Can we go to the pool next weekend, Serah Olwyn’s Nanae?” Kel asks, while Olwyn holds up the wood, and interrupts the Grown-Up Glaring Contest going on. Olwyn’s Nanae glances down at her, and then back up at Papae, before they incline their head.

“Certainly,” they say. “In fact, if you want to come over, Kel, you could stay the night, and we could all go to the pool in the morning.”

That sounds like a great idea! Kel turns to her Papae, but he has ‘no’ written all over his expression.

It softens a little when he glances at her, though.

“Maybe Olwyn should come over and stay with us instead,” he suggests, in a funny tone of voice. “And we could go to the museum.”

“I like museums!” Olwyn enthuses.

Her Nanae glares at Kel’s Papae, though.

“I’m not letting you make off with the children,” Olwyn’s Nanae says. “Prince.”

“Why?” Papae counters. “Would that interrupt your plans?”

“Would it interfere with yours?”

“And what plans do you imagine I have?”

“What plans do you imagine I have?”

Kel and Olwyn watch as this continues on for several minutes, before giving up again.

“I think your Papae and my Babae should probably handle this stuff,” Kel suggests, as they wander back off to go play again.

Olwyn nods in agreement.

“Yeah. They’re better at it,” she decides.

By the time they leave the park, Papae still doesn’t seem to be doing much better. Kel doesn’t know why, though. Olwyn’s nanae seems about as nice as anybody, and they even offer to buy everyone lunch, before Papae snaps at them to not offer anything to Kel. Both grown-ups look like they want to take Kel and Olwyn together with them when they leave. But nobody agrees on any sleepover arrangements, and so instead they say goodbye, and then they kinda have to tug their parents into actually going.

Papae straps Kel into the sidecar for the motorcycle, and makes her put her helmet on, and looks kinda upset as they head home.

Kel just gives him another reassuring pat, and then sighs.

Demons are weird sometimes.

[jc]

Das Beste aus Twitter, März-Edition

Im Mär­z­en der User die Tas­ten ein­spannt. Er twit­tert und too­tet den Inhalt ins Land. Er scher­zet, er men­tio­ned, er replied und rät, und regt sei­ne Maus­klicks gar früh und noch spät.

Aaaaal­ter, der hat nen Stock ! 😁😂 pic​.twit​ter​.com/​l​Y​r​W​I​1​Z​rOy

— Erzy (@erzy666) Febru­a­ry 8, 2019

„Horst?“ „Hmpf.“ „War­um konn­te denn die Enke­lin nicht schla­fen?“ „Hat über­all Fische gese­hen.“ „Fische? Und was hast Du gemacht?“ „Hab ihr ’ne Angel gebas­telt. Hat 10 Minu­ten gean­gelt und jetzt schläft sie.„ Ich weiß, war­um ich ihn gehei­ra­tet habe…

— Rose­ma­rie Wich­mann (@RoseWichmann) Febru­a­ry 7, 2019

Ich habe durch den Bauch mei­ner Frau gera­de ganz deut­lich die Kon­tu­ren eines klei­nen Fußes ertas­tet und OH MEIN GOTT, WIE KANN ES NORMAL SEIN, DASS SICH MENSCHEN IN MENSCHEN BEFINDEN?!

— Krieg und Frei­tag (@kriegundfreitag) Febru­a­ry 7, 2019

Wenn Ihr Euch fragt, wann die „Neu­en Medi­en“ end­lich nicht mehr „neu“ genannt wer­den, habe ich eine schlech­te Nach­richt für Euch. Ame­ri­ka wird nach über 500 Jah­ren immer noch „Neue Welt“ genannt.

— Sascha Lobo (@saschalobo) Febru­a­ry 7, 2019

Tar­ge­ting lieb gemein­te 0/10 Punk­ten. pic​.twit​ter​.com/​9​0​V​R​n​M​a​EYH

— Jen­ni (▽ ் ⚇ ்▽)♡ Kosche (@KuneCoco) Febru­a­ry 13, 2019

Ich lache mehr als ich soll­te. pic​.twit​ter​.com/​W​e​c​a​y​m​s​7ig

— Die Grü­ne Fee (@MeggSchicksi) Janu­a­ry 31, 2019

Ale­xa müss­te eigent­lich Clou­dia hei­ßen.

— Nils Bom­hoff (@boedefeld_) Febru­a­ry 14, 2019

Diens­tag­nach­mit­tag. Sohn fragt auf dem Heim­weg, wie alt Men­schen wer­den kön­nen. Ich: Maxi­mal 120 bis 125. Meis­tens um die 80. F. bleibt ste­hen. Trä­nen in den Augen: „So schnell ist alles vor­bei?“

— Miri­am Voll­mer (@miriam_vollmer) Janu­a­ry 19, 2019

„In über 50 deut­schen Städ­ten schwän­zen Kin­der und Jugend­li­che den Unter­richt, um für den Kli­ma­schutz zu demons­trie­ren.“ Framing delu­xe. Man hät­te auch schrei­ben kön­nen: „…kämp­fen Kin­der und Jugend­li­che für ihr über­le­ben in der Zukunft und gegen die Dumm­heit der Erwach­se­nen.“

— Herr-Hirn-Himmel (@Viel_Davon) Janu­a­ry 18, 2019

Die Frau neben mir in der Bahn ver­wahrt ihr #Han­dy in einer Tup­per­do­se auf. Aus­ge­schla­gen mit Küchen­krepp. Dazu pas­send lie­gen säu­ber­lich auf­ge­wi­ckelt Kopf­hö­rer drin. Die hat ihr #Han­dy lieb!!

— Saki (@Mauerblu) Febru­a­ry 15, 2019

Email vom Chef: „Wir müs­sen mor­gen noch­mal über Ihre Ver­hü­tung spre­chen.„ Ent­we­der war es ein Tipp­feh­ler und es geht um mein Gehalt oder mich erwar­tet mor­gen ein sehr, sehr selt­sa­mes Gespräch…

— Enno von Fried­land (@vonFriedland) Janu­a­ry 27, 2019

Ich den­ke, es ist ein­fa­cher, mei­ne Frau schlei­chend in „die Jana“ umzu­be­nen­nen als der Sprach­er­ken­nung doch noch ~Dia­na~ bei­zu­brin­gen

— Till Rae­ther (@TillRaether) Febru­a­ry 17, 2019

Das ist mal die prä­zi­ses­te Ant­wort zu die­ser Fra­ge. Ein­mal in 70 Jah­ren trifft Bild den Nagel aufn Kopf! pic​.twit​ter​.com/​r​X​n​Y​z​r​J​VsS

— Wolf Heil­mann (@wolfheilmann) Febru­a­ry 16, 2019

ich habe noch eine fla­sche sehr guten rot­wein in der küche. es ist also nicht so, als wür­de zuhau­se nie­mand auf mich war­ten.

— kat­ja­ber­lin (@katjaberlin) Febru­a­ry 18, 2019

„Mon Dieu, wer sind Sie denn?“ „Bit­te? Ich bin Gott! SIE ste­hen hier vor MEINER Him­mels­pfor­te!“ „Ach, pap­per­la­papp. Ich ken­ne Sie nicht. Clau­dia kennt Sie auch nicht. In Paris kennt Sie kei­ner!“ „Ich …“ „… und was haben Sie da über­haupt an?“#Karl­La­ger­feld

— Marie von den Ben­ken (@Regendelfin) Febru­a­ry 19, 2019

Ger­man words that con­tain all 5 vowels in alpha­be­ti­cal order, once only: Mager­milch­jo­ghurt, Frank­reich­tour, Waren­dis­count, Krank­heits­for­schung, Amts­ge­richts­voll­zug pic​.twit​ter​.com/​i​N​w​w​H​a​x​Bct

— Ger­man at Ports­mouth (@GermanAtPompey) Febru­a­ry 11, 2019

Sich im Bus nicht umset­zen, wenn ein bes­ser Platz frei­ge­wor­den ist, um die Gefüh­le des bis­he­ri­gen Sitz­nach­bars nicht zu ver­let­zen.

— Azi­za👩🏻‍🦱 (@atothezizzle) Febru­a­ry 20, 2019

ich ver­trau der bank mein gan­zes geld an und die bin­den ihren kugel­schrei­ber fest

— Nina #SPFU­gang (@NinaOderSoo) Febru­a­ry 17, 2019

Dass ich manch­mal vor einer Par­ty das Kind­le in die Tasche packe, macht mich nicht anti­so­zi­al, son­dern lösungs­ori­en­tiert.

— Quark­kro­kett­chen (@anneschuessler) Febru­a­ry 25, 2019

Unisex-Toiletten in Deutsch­land immer HÖCHST UMSTRITTEN außer halt in jedem ICE

— Quen­tin Licht­blau (@LichtblauQ) Febru­a­ry 24, 2019

„Was war das Mutigs­te, was du die­se Woche getan hast?“ „Ich habe das Küchen­hand­tuch aus der Büro­kü­che benutzt, um mei­ne Kaf­fee­tas­se abzu­trock­nen.“ [ehr­fürch­ti­ges Schwei­gen]

— Wohin For­rest läuft (@JaneDoeNrZwo) Janu­a­ry 30, 2019

Latein Humor vom Puber­tier: War­um sind 490 Römer so lus­tig? Weil XD

— S Tweet 69 (@STweet69) Febru­a­ry 18, 2019

In bureau­cra­tic Ger­ma­ny, Steu­er­erklä­rung pro­cras­ti­na­tes you. pic​.twit​ter​.com/​6​b​B​n​Q​9​3​PKF

— Felix Neu­mann (@fxneumann) March 1, 2019

Wan­dern ist nur spa­zie­ren gehen aber wüten­der

— E L H O T Z O (@elhotzo) Febru­a­ry 23, 2019

wann neh­men mir denn nun robo­ter end­lich mei­nen job weg? muss ich wis­sen wegen urlaubs­pla­nung. https://t.co/aiQRHWh6Xx

— kat­ja­ber­lin (@katjaberlin) March 5, 2019

Ich, wenn ich im Zug in der 2. Klas­se fah­re: Oh, schaut euch die­se wich­ti­gen Edel­leu­te in der 1. Klas­se an…halten sich für was ganz Beson­de­res! Ich, wenn mir mei­ne Fir­ma eine Fahrt in der 1. Klas­se bezahlt: ICH WÜNSCHTE, DER PÖBEL MÜSSTE IN EINEM SEPARATEN ZUG REISEN!!!

— Cinn­ab­ri­se (@Cinnabrise) March 5, 2019

An owl’s face when the hun­ting instinct kicks in pic​.twit​ter​.com/​Z​W​c​O​O​i​c​05m

— Eric Alper 🎧 (@ThatEricAlper) March 11, 2019

„Neue Hose, Frau Bru­ne?“ „Jawohl!“ „Find‘ ich geil, dass Sie drauf schei­ßen, was ande­re den­ken!“

— Kers­tin Bru­ne (@BruneKerstin) March 12, 2019

Spen­de hier und ich ver­dopp­le! Ich unter­stüt­ze mit dei­ner Spen­de einen guten Zweck. Jeder Euro hilft. Aktu­ell samm­le ich für das Tier­heim Bonn.

spen­den 

(Original unter: https://1ppm.de/2019/03/das-beste-aus-twitter-maerz-2019/)

[feynites]

Did some little Kel in @justanartsysideblog‘s Angels and Demons AU!

Kel doesn’t really remember her parents.

She knows that’s bad. Hahren Saheil and Keeper Deshanna and a lot of the other grown-ups in the clan are always saying they have to honour people after they’re gone, and they do that by remembering them. But Kel doesn’t remember. She has a photograph of her mother, old and grainy with coffee stains on it, and she tries. But the farthest back her memory goes is of sitting in Hahren Saheil’s kitchen, watching dragonflies through the screen door.

She’s five when Hahren Saheil dies from a stroke.

Hahren didn’t live with most of the other clan. She and Kel moved around a lot, while Kel had lessons, and they only really spent winter time with everyone else. Kel knew something was wrong when she woke up and it was later in the morning than usual, and the camp was quiet, and Hahren didn’t move even when Kel shook her sleeping bag really hard. Kel remembered about the emergency phone, though, so she went and she hit the button that she was supposed to, when something bad happened.

Keeper Deshanna talked to her, then. Stayed on the phone with her and asked her very nicely to check some things about Hahren, like her eyes and her breath, and to feel for a pulse. Kel couldn’t find it, though. But then Keeper said she should go into a different tent, and be careful, and wait because someone was going to come and get her.

She knew Hahren was dead.

She’d seen animals die. She knew people did it, too. Her parents had died. But usually there was a reason for it. Hahren had just gone to sleep; she shouldn’t have died from it. Kel waited for the keeper to come, sitting in the too-quiet camp, and wondered if it was her fault.

Sometimes she still wonders, even after Deshanna explains what a stroke is.

Kel thinks maybe she should go back to the camp, for a while after Hahren Saheil’s death. She knows the routes that Hahren takes – took. And she knows that there are important jobs to be done, checking plants and animals and seeing to the clan members who live out by themselves, in little clusters, or else all alone. Delivering things, and guiding outsiders through the area, and making sure the mine isn’t doing stuff they’re not supposed to do. If she had lists of things to check, she thinks, then she could do it. Then things wouldn’t have to change.

But Deshanna says she’s too little. That if she still wants the job when she’s bigger, then they can talk about it, but in the meantime, Kel has to go to someone who will look after her.

There’s a lot of talk about that. For a while she stays with Deshanna, and then she goes and stays with the teacher who runs the little clan school, and their family. But the teacher’s son is mean to her, keeps pulling her ears and shoving her, and pinching her, until Kel kicks him between his legs. Then she gets sent back to Deshanna.

It’s a few months before she meets Victory. It feels like a really long time to Kel, though. She remembers it like years, sleeping in the spare room, listening to grown-ups talk where they thought she couldn’t hear them.

Victory is a big elf. The biggest Kel has ever seen. He has a nice smile, though, and he brings her a soft doll that looks kind of like her, and crouches down when he talks to her. He smells like cars. He tells her he lives in the city, where he fixes them. And that he makes motorcycles, too, but that he didn’t bring his motorcycle with him this time.

He wants to know if Kel would like to live with him.

Kel’s not sure if she wants to go to the city, though. People say a lot of bad things about it, and Victory somberly tells her that they’re not wrong. There are dangerous things in the city. But there are dangerous things out in the bush, too, so it’s a big decision that she has to consider. Victory visits for a few days while Kel thinks about it. She’s never got to choose something so big before. But she likes Victory, and she knows she has to go somewhere. And Victory says she can keep her rock collection, and that she’ll have her own room and toys and story books, and promises that he’ll look after her. He says she can even call him Babae, if she wants.

So she decides that maybe it’s okay to try living in the city, for a while.

Babae drives them there in a car that smells stuffy, and lets her put her window down while they listen to Old People Music. Kel asks him if he’s married, and he says that he’s not.

“I do have a true love, though,” he tells her. “His name is Aelynthi. He is the most beautiful man in the entire world! I promise that’s accurate, and I’m not just saying that because I love him. Though I do, of course. He lives very far away, and only comes to visit. But he will like you.”

Kel blinks, and wonders what the most beautiful man in the entire world might look like.

“Is he nice?” she asks.

“Very nice!” Babae assures her.

Well. That’s good, then, Kel thinks. As long as he’s not mean.

Babae tells her more about Aelynthi, as they drive. He seems to like to talk about him, and apparently, Aelynthi is very generous, and shrewd, and has a peacock tail. Because he’s a demon. But Babae assures her that he’s a friendly demon, and that he has a good heart and sometimes he gets grumpy, but that’s mostly because he doesn’t always understand how mortal things work. And he’s very smart, so he gets embarrassed when he doesn’t know things, because he’s not used to that. He has eyes that are full of colours, and he looks like an elf, and he’s not as big as Babae but he’s not particularly small, either. His hair is very pretty and his clothes are nice and he paints his nails.

Or maybe his nails just change colours on their own. Babae isn’t sure.

It’s a while before Kel actually meets Aelynthi, though. The city is big and noisy and full of people, living so close together that it takes a while for Kel to stop feeling like someone must be watching her all the time. Babae’s home is over a garage, where he works on cars and motorcycles and things. Kel likes the garage. It stinks and it’s noisy and she doesn’t know a whole lot about cars, but she likes learning, and Babae really likes telling her stuff and showing her things. He teaches her what the different tools are named, so she can hand him things, and shows her how engines work, and lets her ride with him in the sidecar on his motorcycle when she goes to school.

The city school is huge. It’s not like the tiny one in the clan’s reserve. There are lots of kids and parents and classes and buildings, and Kel keeps thinking she’s going to get lost in it all. And her teacher doesn’t seem to like her very much. She thinks Kel doesn’t pay enough attention, even though she does, and she doesn’t like how she writes her letters, and she says Kel has a bad attitude, even though she doesn’t tell her what she’s doing wrong.

But it’s not so bad, once she gets used to it. Kel misses home, sometimes. She misses the trees and the animals and being able to go looking for new rocks, and shells and things. And she misses Hahren Saheil, and sometimes she worries that she’ll wake up in the morning and find Babae in his bed, not moving. Dead. Sometimes, if she wakes up first in the mornings, she gets scared. But usually Babae wakes up before she does, and makes breakfast. Sometimes he takes her to movies, which are amazing, and when they go to the dollar store, Kel always gets to pick something out from the rack of toys at the back. Babae gets her a magnifying glass, too, so she can look at the anthill out behind the garage.

The first time she meets Aelynthi, it’s on a Saturday. Babae calls her over, sounding really happy, and she goes to the front of the garage. But as soon as she sees the unfamiliar man standing with Babae, she gets nervous.

He is very beautiful.

And he does have a peacock tail.

His eyes are sharp, and full of colours. And he’s frowning. Kel sidles up to Babae’s leg, and uses it to hide a little bit, as she stares at him. His eyes are too bright, she thinks. And his features are all very fine, and he’s wearing fancy clothes, and make-up. He looks expensive, and unhappy, and beautiful, and scary.

“What is that?” he demands, sharply. Angrily.

Babae puts his hand on the top of her head.

“Kel, this is Aelynthi. Aelynthi, this is Kel,” he introduces.

The demon elf looks at her, and Kel hides her face against Babae’s leg.

“…’lo,” she manages.

“…Hello,” Aelynthi returns, more softly. When Kel peeks back out at him, he still looks a little scary. But less than before.

“She’s shy,” Babae says, gently patting her head.

“Well. She’s very… small, so. I suppose that makes sense,” Aelynthi says, shifting from one foot to another. Kel’s not sure if he’s trying to be mean or not.

“I’ll get bigger!” she insists. “’m gonna be a tall elf, like Babae!”

Aelynthi looks skeptical.

“Really? That seems like a lot of growing to do…”

Kel narrows her eyes at him, warily, and when Babae moves his hand away from her as he says something in reply, she dashes off again. To go and check on her toys, and the ants, to keep an on Aelynthi from a safe distance. She doesn’t think she’ll show him her rock collection. Not yet, anyway. Babae said he was nice, but maybe he got that wrong.

Aelynthi talks with Babae for a long time, in low voices that Kel can’t hear. He goes over to her again, but mostly he just stands there for a while.

“What’s so interesting about ants?” he finally asks her.

“Huh?” Kel wonders.

Aelynthi clears his throat.

“Victory said you liked ants,” he explains. “Why ants?”

Kel shrugs. What isn’t interesting about ants? They’re tiny and they build stuff and they have queens, and all that. Maybe demons just don’t like bugs, though. Lots of kids in the big school don’t like bugs.

“’s my job to look at stuff,” she explains, anyway.

Aelynthi blinks.

“You’re too little for a job,” he tells her.

“No’m not!” Kel insists, offended. She folds her arms. “I worked with Hahren all the time, and Babae lets me help with his tools. I’m a good helper! And I gotta watch the bugs, and count things, and make lists. It’s important.”

“But you’re a child,” Aelynthi says. “A very tiny one…”

Kel glares.

“Stop sayin’ that,” she insists. She’s not that small. Aelynthi just looks confused about it, though, before Victory calls him away again.

He goes back home, not long after that.

But he comes back the next day. And the day after. He talks to Kel, asking funny questions, and after the third visit, he starts bringing her toys, too. Weird things, like balls on sticks or little metal stars, although she likes it when he brings her marbles. They’re pretty, like her rocks. The second time he brings her a bag of marbles, Kel decides he’s maybe not so bad, and she shows him her rock collection. He sits with her, and listens good as she explains all about how important rocks are, and how good she is at finding them.

She still likes Babae the most, though. But sometimes, when Aelynthi looks lonely, or like he’s feeling left out, she goes over and shows him some of her toys. And after a while he starts coming with her to watch the ants, and she finds out that he’s really easy to talk to. Just like Babae. He gets better at asking her questions, and sometimes, when Babae has to go do stuff that Kel can’t come along for, Aelynthi stays with her instead.

One time, he brings her an ant farm, for her room.

“This space is too tiny,” he tells her. “You should have a big yard. And you shouldn’t be so close to a garage, the fumes aren’t good for mortals. You need a bigger bedroom, too. With shelves, so you can look at your collections.”

Kel blinks at him.

“Like a mansion?” she asks.

Aelynthi, to her astonishment, just nods, and Kel giggles at him.

“Elves don’t live in mansions,” she says.

He frowns at her.

“Of course they do,” he insists. “Some do. It’s not that strange.”

“Oookay,” Kel permits, giving Aelynthi a tolerant pat to the side of his leg. He gets funny ideas sometimes. Babae says it’s because he’s a demon, and that makes sense, she supposes. “Do they have bugs in Hell?” she asks instead.

“…Yes,” Aelynthi tells her. And then he describes some of them for her, and Kel goes and gets her favourite library borrow book from her room, and they look to see if there’s a section on Hell Bugs in it. But there isn’t. Aelynthi draws some of the bugs he knows for her, though, and she puts the pages into one of her notebooks, and then Babae comes home.

This goes on for a while, before Kel gets sick with the flu.

She hates getting sick.

Nobody likes getting sick, though. Hahren Saheil always told her that, and Babae tells her it’s true. He fusses over her more, though, which is nice. Makes her drink something warm with honey and lemons in it, and takes her temperature, and closes the garage for a day so that he can look after her. But Kel’s sick for longer than a day, and Babae can’t afford to have the garage closed that much. So he tells her that tomorrow, he’ll call Aelynthi to look after her instead, and Kel thinks that’s okay.

So she’s not surprised when she wakes up to see the friendly demon frowning at her.

She’s very stuffed up, though, and instead of ‘hello’, the first thing she manages is a cough.

Aelynthi frowns more, and reaches over, and touches her head.

“Victory said you were a little sick,” he murmurs.

Kel nods.

“’s a flu,” she explains.

Aelynthi just looks more worried, though. He fusses as much as Babae did yesterday, in the end, bringing Kel juice and water and the breakfast Babae left for her. She can’t manage her favourite cereal bars, they’re too scratchy, so she has to have reheated oatmeal instead. Aelynthi carries her into the living room to watch television, too, and sits with her as Kel sniffs and coughs, and tries to focus on the DVD. Babae got it for her. It’s got dinosaurs in it.

But it’s hard to pay attention, too, especially with her nose all stuffed up. Kel tries to be tough, but she’s not so good at it, she doesn’t think. Halfway through the movie she starts crying, just because he face is so hot and her nose is so itchy, and her throat hurts and it’s frustrating.

Aelynthi pulls her into his lap.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Don’t cry, don’t cry… I’ve got you…”

Kel sniffs. His fingers feel nice on her forehead, and he rubs her back. And after a few minutes, she starts to feel kinda tingly. Her nose stops whistling and her throat stops scratching. She lets out a breath, exhausted, but everything feels better, too. Aelynthi keeps shushing her and rocking her as the DVD plays, and eventually, Kel falls back asleep.

When she wakes up, she feels all better. And she’s back in her bed again, and there’s something in her hand. She blinks at it for a moment, before she realizes what it is. It’s a feather. A pretty, peacock feather, bigger than a normal one would be, with different colours in it here and there, and a center bit that looks more like a jewel than anything. Kel holds it carefully, and supposes that Aelynthi must have given it to her for her collection.

It’s the nicest feather she’s ever seen. But it’s even nicer, because it was a present.

She doesn’t know what she could make to say ‘thank you’, though.

When she gets up, it’s evening time. Her flu’s all gone, and so is Aelynthi. Babae takes her temperature, and hugs her and tells her she’s doing much better, but that she still has to take it easy. No running around outside just yet. She shows Babae her feather, and he agrees that it’s the prettiest one he’s ever seen.

“I dunno what to make for thank you’s,” she admits.

Babae hums, thoughtfully.

“I think you could just say ‘thank you’,” he tells her. “I think Aelynthi would like that. And maybe a hug, too. That’s always good enough for me.”

Kel frowns.

“But, you’re Babae,” she says. “Aelynthi’s not family. He’s not even clan, so, I haveta say proper thank you’s. It’s extra important for demons.” Aelynthi explained some of that to her. And that she wasn’t ever supposed to talk to other demons, or summon them, and if she saw one, she needed to call him right away.

Babae looks thoughtful.

“Well,” he says. “I love Aelynthi very much. I would marry him, if he would say yes.  So for me, I think he is like family now, if he wants to be. Maybe you should ask him if he wants to be treated like family? He loves you very much, after all. Do you love him, too?”

Kel nods. Yes, she loves Aelynthi. Even when he’s being weird.

“What if he doesn’t want to be family?” she wonders.

Babae kisses her forehead.

“Then, we’ll think of a very nice gift for him,” he reasons. “We’ll do the best we can.”

She nods in agreement. Babae usually says that people can only do their best. Kel doesn’t have any feathers of her own, but she can make things. Like the shell necklace. Aelynthi seemed to like that; he wears it lots, and said it was a treasure when she gave it to him. She thinks of things that she’ll give to Aelynthi, if he decides he doesn’t want to be family.

But the more she thinks about it, the more she hopes that he will.

It’s a few days before he comes back again, though. Babae’s starting to worry, but then one afternoon Kel comes back into the garage from playing outside, and Aelynthi is back. He’s leaning against one of the cars Babae’s working on, while Babae kisses him a lot. Kel waits until they’re done, trying not to fidget, before she goes and hugs Aelynthi, too.

He blinks down at her, and then scoops her up, and bops her nose.

“Hello, Kel,” he says. “Sorry I was gone for so long.”

“That’s okay,” Kel assures him. “Were you counting things?”

“I was… doing some math, yes,” Aelynthi agrees.

Kel nods, and then musters herself up.

“Thank you for the feather,” she says. “I was gonna make you something to say more thank you’s for it, but Babae said… um. Well. I was just wondering, if maybe it was okay with you, if I just said ‘thank you’. And gave hugs. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do for family, because family jus’… it’s not really special to give gifts, when you’re a family, it’s a normal thing you do when you want to do something nice. But if you don’t wanna be family, that’s okay. I understand. But if you do, then maybe you can stay with us? Babae says he’ll share his bed, but you can have my room, if you want. I can sleep on the couch. Or inna tent! I don’t mind.”

Aelynthi looks at her for a moment, while Kel waits for him to decide.

She doesn’t rush him. It’s important.

But it doesn’t take too long, anyway, before he starts squishing her close, and presses a kiss to her cheek. Holding her like he’s almost convinced she’s going to fly away. Which is silly; he’s the one with the feathers, after all.

“…I can’t stay,” he tells her. “I can’t live here, but I – I want to. I want this. To be part of your family.”

Well, that’s okay, she thinks. People wander away all the time. It doesn’t make them less family, or less clan.

Kel pats Aelynthi on the shoulder, and explains it to him. It’s okay. It’s okay, they can be family. Kel can be Aelynthi’s, and Aelynthi can be Kel’s, and both of them can be Babae’s, and of course he’ll be theirs, too. Kel doesn’t remember her first parents. She still feels bad about that. But she remembers Hahren Saheil, and she’ll remember Babae and Aelynthi. She’ll do her best to be a good daughter, from now on.

Aelynthi squeezes her so tight she has to remind him that she needs to breathe. He almost drops her instead, then, but ends up catching her and pressing kisses her to her cheeks.

It’s not long after that, that she starts calling him ‘Papae’.

[feynites]

bc you got me in the mood for soft(er) uthvir, how about ♔ : Finding the other wearing their clothes for sharkbait in the angel au? only if you want to :3

Sometimes being summoned gets a little strange.

Uthvir is no stranger to arriving at the scene of summoning only to find themselves abruptly doused with holy water, or subjected to attacks, or sudden mass prayer. The incident which first brought Thenvunin back into their company had been unique in its format, but there are a fair few people who seem intent upon summoning demons for the purpose of destroying them.

Most of them aren’t really that effective. There is abundant misinformation about what’s actually dangerous to demons, and it serves them pretty well to preserve that image. A time or two Uthvir has pretended to be legitimately harmed, but usually, they get away without any real trouble. Beyond annoyance, at least.

Getting set on fire is a bit more… perilous, than the usual.

Uthvir answers the summons in the late afternoon, only to find themselves appearing underneath a rigged bucket of oil, and then subjected to flames as their invoker hurls a lighter at them.

Demons are more resilient to fire than most things. Especially mortal flames, which don’t really compare to hellfire, or magical infernos. 

The same cannot be said of their clothes.

Uthvir swears, and bats their assailant into the far wall of the warehouse they’ve appeared in. The oil makes putting out the flames trickier than usual, and they’re trying to budget their magic, dammit. The stop-drop-roll is only marginally effective, and by the time they manage to smother the fire, the figure who summoned them has fled, and their clothes are basically ruined. 

They suck in a long breath, and let it out again; debate the merits of chasing after that asshole, and then ultimately just wing their way back to their apartment instead.

Thenvunin is out. Off collecting prayers with his evil minion. Uthvir strips away their tattered clothing, and winces at the burns that have managed to press through to their skin. They heal the worst of them, examining themselves in their bathroom mirror, before they step into the shower and wash away the soot.

Despite their advice to Thenvunin, Uthvir doesn’t actually own all that many sets of mortal clothing. They could summon their armour, but, well. If anyone actually sees them, it would probably be easier to explain being naked. They have more clothes. They’ve just neglected to do laundry, too caught up in their distractions, and confident in their ability to wear their current outfit for several more days before needing to change.

Shortsighted of them.

They dry themselves off, and wrap a towel around their waist; and then consider their options, before heading into their room. They open up the closet, and pull out a pair of Thenvunin’s purple shorts, and the sweatshirt he had insisted on getting because of the tacky printed eagle on the front. It’s thick and warm, at least, even if it hangs off of them and goes almost further down on their body than the shorts do. And the fabric smells faintly of the angel.

Uthvir supposes they should wash some of his clothes, too. They throw a few obviously worn items into the hamper, over top of their own stuff, and don’t bother with shoes before making their way out into the hall, and then down to the building’s laundry room.

To their immense relief, no one else is there.

Uthvir separates whites and colours, loads up the machines, and turns them on. They settle into the chair across from them, and manage to make the atmosphere around the laundry room somewhat indefinable repellent to anyone who might happen past it. Only enough to make them think that maybe they should wash their own clothes another time.

It’s almost a nice break, in fact. By the time they’ve loaded up the dryer, their lingering aches have vanished; and once they head back to the apartment, they are fairly calm and at ease again. Just another day as a demon. Thenvunin’s shorts keep slipping down off of their hips, though, and when they get in through the apartment door, balancing the laundry basket at their waist and swinging it shut behind them, they lose the battle with keeping them up, and feel them drop unceremoniously onto the floor.

With a sigh, Uthvir steps out of them, and snatches them up. They’ve served their purpose, anyway. Once they get everything put away, they can change into their own pants. The sweatshirt slides down their shoulders as they head for the bedroom, and set about restocking the closet.

They’re still putting away Thenvunin’s shirts - when did he get so many? - when they feel the whoosh and shift that denotes a certain angel returning from his business.

Uthvir glances behind themselves, as he appears in the bedroom.

“Hey, babe,” they greet.

There is a moment of uncommon silence. Uthvir slides the last stack of shirts onto the upper shelves of the closet, and finishes hanging up their own, before they turn around.

Thenvunin is staring at them.

He looks like he just found them with their hands down their pants again.

Uthvir raises an eyebrow, and then glances down. The sweatshirt is thick and warm, but it covers less of them when they’re reaching up, and their shoulders aren’t nearly broad enough to keep it from slipping. Thenvunin’s never been one to consider nudity or exposed skin all that scandalous in and of itself - angel, and all - but maybe exposure to the local mortal standards has had him changing his mind? His gaze is angled distinctly downwards on their figure.

“Sorry,” they offer. “I should have asked, but I had a wardrobe malfunction at my last summoning.”

Thenvunin’s head snaps up, and his brows furrow.

“What?” he asks, a little sharply.

They blink. Surprised again.

“A wardrobe malfunction? My clothes got destroyed,” they explain. “And the rest were dirty. So I borrowed some of yours while I cleaned them.”

“How did your clothes get destroyed?” Thenvunin demands, hotly, marching up to them. Uthvir takes a step back, and he halts. They give him a careful once-over, but he’s not making a move to challenge them to some kind of sexy fight. Though his aura is flaring a little excessively.

“They got lit on fire,” Uthvir explains. “The summoner was a righteous type. Tried to burn me.”

Thenvunin’s frown deepens.

“Demons are not very susceptible to fire,” he notes.

“I’ll be sure and tell the asshole that myself, if they summon me again,” Uthvir replies, amused. “But he got my clothes, anyway.”

The angel looks back up at their face, and then lets out a long breath. And then he looks back down at them, again, and his cheeks go just a little bit pink. More familiar territory, Uthvir thinks. They suppose he just got worked up because he ‘missed’ another summoning. Considering his very ardent and pointed quest to thwart them, and all.

They move a little closer, letting a little slink into their step.

“You’re staring,” they inform him.

Thenvunin swallows. And then straightens.

“I have just never seen you wear nice clothes before,” he asserts.

Uthvir snorts.

Oh, this angel. What a weird one he is. In his light blue sundress with silver stars printed on the skirt, and a scarf that could smother a full-grown elephant. They move a hand to his waist, and still, a moment, when his arms fold tentatively around them in turn. His straight posture giving way, and leaning in towards them, instead.

“You should wear my clothes more often,” he suggests, voice going perilously soft.

“I’ll take it under consideration,” they allow, and lean up to kiss him.

[feynites]

I did some Dirthamen POV in Cinn’s Angels & Demons AU! Because I was in a Dirthalene kinda mood. <3

Dirthamen carefully lights the candle arrangement in the middle of his small, personal dining room table, and then steps back, and eyes the setup carefully. The table is neatly arranged, matching most of the patterns he was able to obtain from several images on Pinterest. The light spilling in through the window is just beginning to blush with sunset. The array of food items he was able to acquire from the restaurant down the street are still warm, and hopefully varied enough to accommodate for his date’s unknown tastes. They have eaten together before, of course, but Selene has largely just consumed whatever items Dirthamen was having at the time. He has not yet endeavoured to appeal to her tastes in specific. Variety seemed the likeliest bet for yielding positive results.

With a deep breath, Dirthamen sets the poem he wrote down beside Selene’s plate, and then clears his throat.

“Selene?” he asks.

Silence.

Dirthamen reconsiders, and straightens his shoulders. Focusing his intent on his mental image of the beautiful demon. Soft hair. Bright eyes. High cheekbones. Long legs. A certain sharpness, that would be easy to find intimidating, but that belies what has been a great deal of courtesy in their interactions so far.

“Selene?” he tries again, clearing his throat. “I wonder if you might like to come over?”

He would prefer not to use the invocation, he thinks. This is an invitation; not a demand. And in that light, perhaps if there is no answer, he will simply have to eat by himself. He considers the merits of a third try, when a familiar spark of light flares in the corner of his vision.

Dirthamen clears his throat, and turns.

Selene has arrived. Clad in a simple black dress, that stops mid-thigh, with her tail swishing around her ankles, and a few stray motes of flame drifting around her horns. There is a bruise on her upper arm. It begins fading almost as soon as Dirthamen notices it. And her expression, for a moment, is relieved. Before slides towards the more canny, assessing gaze he is accustomed to.

“You called?” Selene asks, looking towards the table.

Her lips twitch downwards. Her tail flicks, in a gesture that reminds Dirthamen of unhappy cats.

“I did,” he confirms. “I wondered if you would join me for dinner?”

Selene raises her eyebrows.

“Did your date cancel?” she wonders, a little sharply.

He blinks.

“I have only just asked if you would join me,” he points out. “You cannot cancel, we have no standing arrangement. But if you choose to leave, I will not take offense.”

It is Selene’s turn to blink, at that. Her gaze roves over the assembled dishes. Though she has told him that demons do not eat for sustenance, he cannot help but think that her countenance appears… hungry. Or perhaps merely interested? He is not good at judging such things.

“You set this all out for dinner with me?” she checks.

Dirthamen nods in confirmation.

“It is my night off,” he explains.

Selene seems skeptical. Her gaze flits over him, and Dirthamen recollects her visit to him while he was in the midst of masturbating. Though, he supposes, it had not qualified as masturbation for much longer after that. He feels his heartrate increase a little, and has to look away from her, to avoid an inappropriate reaction. So he stares at the food instead.

“I could acquire different dishes, if these are unsuitable,” he offers. The restaurant owner is relatively familiar with him. He gets take away from there fairly often. She had seemed very pleased when Dirthamen explained that he needed a selection of dishes for entertaining a personal guest. The cost of the meal was much higher than usual, of course, and the number of heart-shaped objects had increased exponentially. But the chef had seemed confident that this would go over well, especially once Dirthamen assured her that Selene had no food allergies.

He hopes he was correct, on that.

“These seem… fine,” Selene offers, after a moment.

Dirthamen nods, and then, in what he hopes to be a polite gesture, pulls out her seat.

Selene slides into the chair with only a moment’s more delay, and once again, looks over the dishes. Her gaze pauses on the wine, and she pulls it out of the ice bucket Dirthamen had set it into. And then she notes the poem, and puts it back again, in favour of plucking up the simple sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” she asks.

Drithamen clears his throat.

“Sentiments seem to be important currency for you,” he says. “I am not good at writing letters. But I was not certain if a poem would suffice. It is… an attempt.”

Selene raises an eyebrow.

“Trying to pay off your debt?” she surmises.

He inclines his head.

“In part,” he says. “Though, as you did not request a poem, I would not presume that it is qualified payment. You may keep it, either way.”

Selene purses her lips, and then begins to read. Dirthamen wonders if she is aware of the way that her eyes gleam when she does so. It is very faint. Just a light glow that appears around the edges of her pupils, and highlights the complexity of colours in her irises.

It is a very pretty effect. And also slightly intimidating.

Her lips move a little bit, too.

When she has finished, there is a bit more colour in her face. She shifts in her seat, and looks over at him. And then she nods, and snaps her fingers. The paper vanishes. Dirthamen does not think it has been destroyed, although there is a faint whiff of smoke. Fire seems to accompany most of Selene’s demonic gestures, whether they are benevolent or not.

“That was… acceptable,” she deems.

He inclines his head, and feels a moment of relief. He was beginning to worry that nothing he produced would be sufficient currency for their exchanges.

“I am glad,” he confesses.

Selene nods again, and shifts in her seat again. And then she goes back to the wine, and frowns at it. Dirthamen hesitates, again.

“Is it unacceptable?” he wonders.

The question earns him a surprised blink, and a shake of Selene’s head.

“No,” she says. “It’s just… it’s important? I wouldn’t have thought a vintage of wine would be important to you.”

Ah.

Dirthamen nods in comprehension.

“My mother made her early fortune through her family’s vineyards,” he explains. “When I was very young, she still owned them. I used to spend summers there. It was… peaceful.” He lets out a breath, and then shakes his head a little. “The vineyards ceased to be a lucrative venture by the time I was in highschool, however. They were destroyed for insurance purposes. Several vintages remain in my possession, but their number is very finite.”

Selene opens her mouth, and closes it again. And a thought occurs to Dirthamen.

“Would they be suitable currency? For our interactions?” he wonders. He points at the bottle. “You may keep it, if you would prefer…”

He feels a slight pang. He always attempts to be judicious in his use of wine, to savour it when he opens a bottle from his family’s vineyards. But, they would never last indefinitely, either. They are precious, and limited; meant to be consumed, destined to come to an end. Part of him often thinks he should simply keep them forever. He has seen too many disappear in his brother’s hands to think that they truly would last, however. And sometimes he resents that. Just a little. Falon’Din has as much right to the wine as he does – and his brother is quick to remind him of that – but…

Sometimes Dirthamen does not feel as if he does.

Selene’s grip tightens on the neck of the bottle, just a little. And then she frowns, and opens it.

Dirthamen blinks.

For a moment, Selene seems just as surprised by her actions.

Then she clears her throat, and snatches up his glass.

“We can drink this one,” she decides. “I’ll consider the matter further.”

Dirthamen nods, and tentatively accepts his own glass, when she pushes it back towards him. He savours it, enjoying the bouquet for a moment, before taking his first sip. Selene drinks hers more directly. She closes her eyes after her first mouthful, however, and tips her head to one side. And then she sighs.

The light falls on her.

She looks nothing like an elf, and yet, very like a regular person, for a moment. It makes him feel warm.

They turn to the food without further comment on the wine, however. Selene picks through the dishes, and tastes a little bit of each of them. More open curiosity showing on her face, bit by bit. She seems to like most things, though her lips curl up at her first taste of the soup, and she puts it aside without further experimentation. Every so often she stops to take another sip of the wine, and though the alcohol content is not high, ever taste seems to relax her more. Her shoulders ease, and her smiles come more readily; and something in the air around her hums, just a little bit.

Like it is an indulgence.

Dirthamen wonders if demons get so busy bartering goods that they neglect to really enjoy them. He understands that. The therapist his mother fired when he was twelve often mentioned that he was over-worked.

He considers asking. But then he wonders if the question might not break the quiet peace that has settled over the table, and it seems like a kind of peace which Selene is enjoying. So he sets it aside for another time, and instead asks her about the dishes she is sampling. Compiling an internal list of what she seems to enjoy the most, and why. It will be useful for guessing about her tastes in future.

Dirthamen eats most of the soup.

Selene is polishing off the dessert when he feels something wrap around his leg. A glance downwards confirms that it is her tail. Dirthamen is not certain if Selene is entirely aware of its activities, as it migrates slowly up his calf. Not until she glances at him and winks, and the hold on him tightens, a little bit.

“I suppose-“ she begins.

But she does not completely her sentence. Instead she stops. Her brows twitch, and an expression that Dirthamen would place as ‘annoyance’ flits across her features; and then she is gone. Barely a flash of firelight lingers in the air for a moment. Her tail vanishes from its place around his leg, and the air in the room cools, for a moment.

Dirthamen blinks, and waits.

And waits.

After the last of the soup has gone cold, he can only conclude that she had something important to do.

He hopes she enjoyed their dinner, regardless, and that he did not offend her without noticing. And that she is not being hurt. His brow furrows, as he contemplates whether or not he should summon her back. But she had not seemed distress.

Maybe next time, he will ask her preferences for such things.

He gets up, and sets about clearing away the dishes.