leaving the ones we've crossed

Shifting sands and a violent harmony from the raging tide did little to drown the discord deafening his senses. Like walking through endless fog, there was only one beacon guiding both his steps and his anger, which still thrummed throughout his body, narrowing his periphery to swaying haunches. Bastien’s growl hummed in his chest, reverberating off the flexing of his muscles as he followed further from the fallout but closer to calamity.

Was it only himself he had to blame? No. No, he couldn’t accept that.

Whether or not it was a foreseeable consequence of wanting to have his cake and eat it too, it wasn’t his intentional oversight that brought forth the reckoning. Whether or not it was a byproduct of the game he’d initiated, it wasn’t his recklessness that caused all these conflicting forces to prematurely collide. It wasn't him that crossed the line.

Despite the lingering sweetness on his tongue, the ashes of what could have been and what was were mingling in his mouth, souring the taste. Parting his jaws and letting the salty humidity settle on his tastebuds did little to flush it. Bitter words were all he had left, and they promised an equally unpleasant aftertaste once he spoke them aloud. It was an eventuality that Bastien was not avoiding as effectively as he was avoiding the conversation he’d have to have with Amoux later. Nicharion would not be spared this wrath. He only waited until they were far enough away that only the cliff could hear them over the howling wind – and so, should things trend south, one or both of them would end up plummeting over the edge.

“Have you got what you came for?" He didn't try to disguise what was writhing in his voice: Anguish, anger, and another, more uncomprehending question he didn't dare ask.

Was it worth what I had to lose?

Underneath all that outward fury, pointed like protective quills, ran a much deeper truth: That Bastien was hurt more than he was anything else. Hurt that the respect he held for his lover and the trust established between them only went one way, and that that foolish thinking may have cost him not just Amoux... but Nicharion, too.

Wasn't it ironic that the man that claimed he had nothing stood to lose the most?

TABLE BY AMANDA

The cherry on top of this shit cake of a day was where they found themselves - by the sea, not far from the Seagull. Countless days he had spent here, and carried away as many memories, most of which he didn't care to remember. But they were flooding in now, like a catastrophic chain reaction, fueling the frustration that echoed in the stompy sound of his heavy steps. Vaguely, he was aware of Crow walking behind him, an arrangement that at any other time he would have taken full advantage of to tease his lover's attention. But not today. And that only annoyed him more.

Have you got what you came for?

Over their many encounters, he's come to almost take the black and white male's ability to say just the right things for granted. It was a jarring dissonance to experience the opposite, like the betrayal of trusty loaded dice suddenly losing every game of chance. Nicharion's steps came to a sudden halt and the growl welling up in his throat could no longer be contained. "If you got somethin' to say then fucking say it, asshole!" The last thing he had the patience for was chagrin put behind a mockingly thin veil. All this bullshit dancing around anything and everything concrete was what got them into this mess in the first place.

"What, you think I'm proud of myself or whatever?" He started to pace from left to right, trashing with volatile energy for every time he turned. His emotions refused to remain bottled any longer, but they were dispersing unfocused, like he wasn't sure if he was more angry at his companion or at himself... nonetheless, his snarls intensified for the brief second Crow entered his vision at every turn. "Well I'm fucking not. Especially when I thought this might happen, but I expected it wouldn't. After all, what are the chances you had me help you kill someone just so you could fuck a guy who's as ornery as a bitch in heat, eh? No, that's apparently not important enough to mention! And apparently he doesn't get to know you didn't do the job for him alone either, does he? No, I imagine he wouldn't like that." He scoffed and went out of his way just to step on the nearest seashell and crush it into tiny pieces. "Any other fuck buddies I can inadvertently piss off? And why the fuck can he just throw you out and it's me you got a problem with!? I had half a mind to rip his throat out right there for it..."

...but could I trust you not to take his side?

That thought hit him like a haymaker he didn't see coming. What else should he doubt? Crow had claimed to relate to his loneliness, yet here he was bending over backwards just to appease someone else... Anger fled him like air from a punctured balloon, and similarly he deflated, slouching over as he sat down, facing the sea. "I was.. thinkin' about you. Got greedy. It was a whim and I'm no good at waiting those out.. but neither are you, right? Thought that was obvious." He wasn't someone who could sit in a carefully sequestered section of someone's life, folded neatly and waiting for the opportune time. No, he was bound to walk all over it like he owned it sooner or later, but as he did so, he was willing to offer everything of his own.

"I won't apologize for doing it.. only for how it went down. Regardless, fuck that guy. I would have sided with you against anyone, even if it foiled all my plans." Nicharion wasn't one to think of another as his equal easily, but Crow had snuck his way to that spot. And even if Crow himself was fine with that sort of disrespect, it was making every fiber of the major's muscles tense up with revulsion.

But that wasn't important, not right now. He risked turning his head to look Crow's way, focusing on red eyes and red blood staining his neck. Ah.. despite the emotions pulling at his mind, part of him still wanted nothing more than to taste it and the skin it flowed from... but all his past was a string of allowing lust to pull him away from necessary choices. "...would you?"

TABLE BY AMANDA

There it was. What he’d sensed prickling beneath the cool façade came to the surface in a blistering invitation for him to air out what was fueling his own fury, but before he could even say a word, Nicharion persevered with unyielding intent, come alive like Bastien had never seen before. He might have admired it, were someone else on the receiving end. Instead, he seethed underneath his quivering fur, glaring daggers at the prowling monster that had been unleashed.

Which only served as a defense for his building uncertainty, the foundation of his rage shaken by each circle made, like he’d built it upon the distant sand and just now realized the instability of it. One more crashing wave and it might come tumbling down…

And like that, there was nothing. All that rage and nothing to show for it, all that pain and nowhere to place it. Bastien couldn’t identify which was more maddening, more confusing, only that the combination was causing his head to hurt. He shook it helplessly, stopping only when it was entirely unbearable. Another outlet, then. His claws dug into his lover’s chest before either of them could register that Bastien had closed the distance, but even that was a vain grab for vindication.

“Damn you, Nicharion! Damn you!” Pushing away with sudden intensity, his paws crunched on the broken pieces of shell, which pricked one of his pads so a nasty cut would leave behind a smear of blood on the stone. Sweeping his tail along the rocky outcropping sent shards skittering over it and into the wicked sea. How he wished he could disappear as quickly. It would be a kinder death than the fiery one he was heading towards.

“Damn you,” he said again, but there was no force behind it. There wasn’t much of anything except sad sincerity. “Maybe I have outgrown this disguise.” His lover had proven capable of commanding his emotions like tides beholden to the moon, but fear was never among them. Admiration, astonishment, solace, and a desire so completely consuming it was absolute possession, but not fear; Bastien had never had to guess Nicharion’s intentions, not since they’d first met in front of the barracks. Only now did he wonder if it was Crow that he cared for or the man behind the mask. “Bastien. That's what my name is. I didn’t go to Maiden’s Braid because I knew you were there, though I can’t say it was an unfortunate coincidence. I was born there, grew up living off frogs ‘till I learned how to coax coin out of a purse. I only went back because it’s the last place I saw both my siblings together before I abandoned them to take up with the army. Suppose I needed to see if they were alright, what with everything going on, not that they’d care whatever happened to me. Not after everything I’ve done to them.”

He sighed and leaned his head back, pretending the black clouds were a starless sky and imagining he were someone else in another place. A useless daydream, he supposed, but an effective method of avoiding the disappointment he feared he would glimpse in the other’s expression now that the illusion was fissuring. “I figure you may as well know that much. It’s not… everything, but it’s more than… more than I’ve given anyone else. More than I’ve given him,” he added, and for a moment his thoughts did drift back to Amoux. Nicharion had unwittingly exposed the fragility in their relationship, though Bastien was struggling to process what that meant or how he felt about how easily it’d been for him to be brushed aside. It wasn’t something he particularly wanted to think about, not when the growing emptiness left him more susceptible to the cold sea-born breeze. Unconsciously, he did find himself leaning into the warmth of a sturdy shoulder, though even his body was hesitant to make contact without reciprocation.

"I only fault you for not asking... though I haven't made that easy, have I?" Still without looking, he offered a rare moment where he recognized his blunder and accepted it, opposing the greater desire to shrug off the weight of blame.

TABLE BY AMANDA

A part of the red brute might have wanted for them to fight all throughout the night, to tear each other down with sharp words and sharper fangs; that part was surely let down and stifled by Crow's feeble attempt at retaliation. A push, maybe a scratch, he couldn't quite tell, and few words that quickly lost all their energy. A hollow victory that offered no satisfaction. Maybe it would have been easier to be in the wrong.. and he was never in the wrong. He toyed with what he could toy with and steered clear of all else... there was no one else he would have allowed to challenge his thoughts.

But that was not where they were headed. Instead, the other man offered something he seldom did - a piece of truth larger than a mere sliver. Nicharion was... more confused than anything else as he listened. Why now, of all times? Was it a scrap meant to placate him? He sighed, instantly realizing the falsehood of such suspicion. Crow.. no, Bastien was many things, but master manipulator he was not. Otherwise he never would have gotten in a feud with Savard, nor would he allow for his dark-furred friend to lose his temper so easily. He had never lied over anything substantial, as far as Nicharion could tell, nor used the truth to mislead. He merely offered precious little of it. So despite everything, his sincerity was not in doubt.

But was sincerity enough to make up for... what, exactly? The only thing Nicharion had truly been angry about was the attempt to put all blame on him. If the other already relented, was that enough? He was uncertain, perplexingly so.. for shouldn't something this important be obvious? He stared at the other man in search of an answer... but he seemed to be looking for answers of his own in the sky.

"Your past doesn't really matter to me, Cro.. Bastien." So used he was to the moniker they had agreed upon that addressing the other by a different name felt strange. And it would have been all too easy to detest Bastien for his past, if he so wished, when it represented everything Nicharion detested about his own family. But he never wanted to know in order to judge him for it. And by a fickle stroke of luck, the red brute found himself drawn in instead of repulsed. To understand the perspective of the other side, was it not something he had always wished for?

If Bastien would strive to keep his trust, if he would persist where so many had not.. would Nicharion find solace in that?

"It's only means with which I might better understand the wolf you are now. The man that I..." He faltered, uncertain what words would best describe the depth to which these feelings took root. Ironic that he had no method to measure it, when his previous line of work relied on taking advantage of irrational emotions in others. "...can't get enough of." he finally conceded, knowing it to be a half-truth as soon as the words left his mouth. If this was the least he could settle for while holding back, then perhaps it would take far greater missteps to truly burn him. Was it for better or worse, he couldn't tell.

"But your past is more than that to you. So as much as you withheld full answers, I made sure to measure my questions." Extortion was mundane, an everyday fare in lives such as theirs. Asking only for as much as would be given, the mutual respect that came with it.. he had savored every moment of it. The red brute let out a chuckle, tentatively breaking through the morose atmosphere. "Hah, in hindsight.. following you certainly wasn't any less intrusive. The games we play skew the perspective, I suppose." They have made light of so many things, from professional responsibilities to murder. Is an invasion of privacy a transgression or an excitingly unexpected gambit? Who can tell? In contrast, a question is honest and direct, leaving no room for doubt.

Slowly, Nicharion leaned closer to his lover, finally giving into the temptation that was unavoidable with their proximity. If Bastien didn't recoil, he would brush his tongue over the bites on his neck. The blood had already clotted by now, leaving but a faint metallic aftertaste, but Bastien's scent was more than enough to light a fire in him, a fire he desperately wanted to burn away the sickening cold ache that permeated him to the core. A fire that was only stoked hotter by possessive frustration, by the thought of that other man taking his place mere moments ago. Whatever he had to offer, Nicharion wanted to do the same and more. He grunted, his breath uneven against the thunderous beat of his heart, and reached out with a paw to further shift his weight; it brushed against the other male's chest and belly, before provocatively finding ground just inches shy of his body, between his hips. "Mhmm.. Bastien.." The second time he spoke the name, but the first he truly savored it, drinking from it like from a cup of finest wine. He shuddered in delight, eagerly anticipating how it might make the other feel to be called by what was truly his in this manner.

And yet, as suddenly as his advances have started, so too they were put on hold. His momentum halted, leaving him not pushing but clinging to the other male's body like his life depended on it. He couldn't repeat the mistake of withholding questions any longer. "I am asking now. Would you..?" He lifted his head from the other man's neck, just enough to be able to look into his crimson eyes. "Side with me against anyone, no matter the cost?" Absolute trust was no more likely than a fairy tale for the likes of them. Betrayal lurked at every turn, the side performing it sooner being the wiser. Maybe it was futile to think they could have something different. But even if it was doomed to fail, he'd be content to cherish a promise made with honest intention, for as long as it might last. Nicharion was weary. Too weary to keep doubting, sick of all the safe falsehoods, friends or lovers who ended where their bottom line began. He craved something he could believe... even if it killed him.

Only Bastien could give him that.

TABLE BY AMANDA

Your past doesn’t really matter to me.

Bastien’s eyes tore from the sky harshly enough to tatter the dark veil, introducing a drizzle that would have been light were it not lashing about in the wild wind, then inexplicably softened. He should not be surprised.. but he is. The monochrome male expected revulsion—anything less was inconceivable. So, when instead he received acceptance unimpeded by judgment, and an advance that made his head lean back, he was shocked beyond words; all that he could muster was a pleasant hum, low in his throat and buzzing down through his chest, following the path that his lover’s paw was creating, reawakening past sensations that had faded in the light of his burning anger.

But, compared to what he saw blazing in Nicharion’s gaze, Bastien reckoned it’d never been greater than its glowing coals in the first place.

Hearing his name, like a breathless prayer, was the cherry on top. When last had someone he… someone he cherished said it? His face turned until his muzzle hovered close to the other’s, tasting a medley of breaths warm enough to burn the rain off his whiskers. It was driving him close to the brink of insanity—closer than he’d gotten even when Nicharion had ridden him damn near to the edge. A white paw came up to cradle the arm encircling him, his body starting to follow the direction that both head and heart were heading. But then he froze. A movement so infinitesimal that Bastien thought he imagined it gave him pause, and then he was looking back into eyes so familiar, they might have been his own.

Would you side with me, against anyone?

The question posed an interesting dilemma where the right answer and the correct one were separate entities. How easy it would be to string pretty words into a necklace his lover could wear to ensure his trust… but that would be a disservice to Nicharion, to that trust that they’d somehow established between them. No, this required careful consideration. Bastien sat back and adopted a thoughtful expression that somewhat smoothed his features. "For you?" He echoed not the words but their sentiment after a prolonged silence. Several faces had flashed through his mind during it, but there was only one that truly mattered in the end. "For you, there are no friends that I would not face as foes. There’s no one else, Nicharion, no one who I’d rather stand beside." A heavy admission, and completely earnest. Bastien had betrayed friends—hell, even his own family— for far less than this. For far less than… love.

When he spoke again, there was a new quality in his voice, shining through layers of uncertainty. "My turn to ask something." He fully faced his lover then, tilting his head to the side, as if to look at him anew. "Did you really opt against manslaughter on my behalf?" As openly amused in the answer to that question as Bastien seemed to be, he vibrated with an energy that was more anticipatory than it was anything else, like he stood on one side of the threshold to a new world and Nicharion stood on the other, waiting for him to take the step that would allow them to explore it—together. He looked uncharacteristically bashful at the prospect, busying himself by twirling a claw through a stray tuft of maroon fur, creating a loose knot with one motion that he would then untangle with the next. "If you had, well then, I m-might... I may just fuckin' love you for it." For what it means to me and represents for you was the unspoken but intended addition that Bastien didn't trust himself to articulate without stumbling more than he already had.

But then it was his turn to sigh, immediately relinquishing his confession to the windswept rain, allowing solemnity to take its place once more. How Nicharion received it would only delay or expedite an inevitable change in tone. Though they ultimately ended up more honest than they'd ever dared to be outside of their shared fantasies, clinging to one another mere meters from certain death, omitting vital information in favor of the brief bliss it provided would only land them back at the start. And Bastien was tired too, tired of taking the scenic routes to avoid difficult paths. He didn't want them to end up in another field of uncertain terms. "But there is someone else that I love, too." He hesitated just long enough to draw breath, and then:

"My daughter."

TABLE BY AMANDA

The rain has escaped his notice, breaking upon the surface layer of his fur. Only the cold could slowly seep through everywhere where Bastien could not shield him, like a creeping reminder of what it is to be alone...

There was a silent part of him that lingered on the bitter irony in his question that only he was privy to. Fate enjoys rhymes; once upon a time, he’d heard similar words and offered his allegiance with little hesitation. And yet.. it couldn’t last. When Bastien followed in his faded tracks and spoke with conviction that should have put his doubts to rest, Nicharion felt...

Nothing.

He clung to his somber countenance, concealing the panicked frenzy of thoughts within. Why? Why wasn’t it enough, what else would it take? In the end, was it just the chase that he craved, the conclusion doomed to disappoint no matter how it played out? Was there no way to overcome this selfish, predatory nature of his? Nicharion refused to accept that, just as he would reject the yoke of destiny, gods or any other immutable truth. He couldn’t endure fading into the haze of indifference once more... He wanted to bask in the fire he felt throughout their many dances, even if it would burn away everything he once was. But what could be its source, the gleaming ember that won’t extinguish so long as they know to hold it close?

Who knows how long he would have lingered, searching his mind for an answer, had the crow not voiced his curiosity at something seemingly inconsequential. The red brute blinked, his efforts to conjure a train of thought with enough substance to withstand the distraction proving futile. “You could say that, I suppose. Although I nearly opted for it for the very same reason..” It’s a wonder he’d managed to hold back, considering he had felt personally offended as well. A bigger wonder still that Crow accurately classified the would-be result of violence as manslaughter instead of coldblooded murder because of his emotional state. The major was somewhat annoyed by the way it was somehow a little impressive.

He chose not to comment on it further, seeing that the other male was on the verge of saying something more... what could warrant such hesitation at this point? It drew his curiosity and promptly delivered a sucker punch he could not guard against. He blinked, his ears pivoted in disbelief, his tongue suddenly felt dry.

Ah... so that’s what it is. The answer he needed.

This flutter in his chest, the burning in the tips of his ears... he exhaled sharply, snorting almost, as if finding the notion that such cliche confession could evoke these feelings in him absolutely ridiculous. And yet, this dismissal, feeble and lacking conviction, was almost entirely drowned out by the thumping sound of his tail hitting the ground. “I, uh...” His ears folded backwards as he glanced off to the side. All of sudden he knew.. no, experienced Bastien’s hesitation from seconds ago intimately. To say he knew it would imply he understood it, and it was utterly perplexing. It’s just dumb, sentimental words. Why do they weigh so heavily?

Before Nicharion could take the leap, his lover followed the punch up with a drop kick. It really felt like a physical blow, a couple seconds of sheer dread like the realization of having taken lethal damage, until the revelation was further elaborated to reveal his vitals have been missed by an inch. Unknowingly, Bastien might have played his cards perfectly - what under different circumstances might have been throwing a lit match into an oil storage, framed in this context came as a relief. The red brute drew in a shaky breath, attempting to steady himself. It’s been a taxing day so far, there were entire months in which he’d experienced less emotions. “I won’t say it’s not bittersweet... being unable to be the entire world to you. But I know the weight of familial bonds, and what it means to be compared to such.”

That he could already guess Bastien’s daughter was adopted didn’t change the sentiment much, as the care he devoted to her safety was more than evident. As for the basis of his guess.. Nicharion has had lovers who swung both ways in the past, and keeping their attention had been a far greater struggle than in the case of his precious bird.

Such conjecture will have to suffice for the time being, as he didn’t have the energy to press for more details.. especially when there was still one challenge waiting ahead of him. While he could easily attempt to play coy and try to move on from here, he expected Crow wouldn’t let it slide.. and it would be a disservice to even try. “Which is to say, I... I...” He took in a deep breath, thinking it would help. It didn’t. He just sat there with uncomfortably full lungs, as if waiting to burst. It was beyond ridiculous, to struggle so much with something so simple. When his frustration became unbearable, he blurted out quickly as he let go of the air in his chest, but still bashful enough that the rain nearly drowned out his voice.

“I love you, too.”

It was horrible, and he hasn’t felt happier in years.

TABLE BY AMANDA

There could not be anything more agonizing than confessing one’s true feelings and waiting to hear them reciprocated in turn. Except there was the small matter that Bastien had dropped two bombshells rather than just the one, and he wasn’t sure which answer he feared more. Love, until now, had been a trophy he’d been the least likely to win… but it was a new experience, unburdened by past failings. He couldn’t imagine being rejected in that capacity because he had never allowed himself to be close enough to anyone to risk it. Whereas, when it came to Vela, he knew how damaging that revelation could be.

After all, was that not the confession that had severed his connection with Savard, the one wolf who knew the errors of his life and accepted him despite them?

Could he survive it if Nicharion reacted the same?

Unfortunately, Bastien could hear the cogs turning, even if Nicharion shielded them behind his solemn mask, their insufferable grinding muting the beat of his lover’s tail reacting before the man himself could find the words. He even found himself leaning impossibly closer, as if he might make some sense out of the senseless sound, when the ragged breath caused him to jolt back in sudden, wild fear of being too close when the expected blow was delivered… only for it to never land at all. Nicharion wasn’t even trying to strike him. In fact, there was nothing but acceptance shining through his jaded tone. That alone was enough to stun the beast for long enough to not bother responding at all, his shock turning to a slow buzz of curiosity, as it was the red male’s turn to struggle for what he would say.

Words that Bastien never expected to hear in his entire life, words that meant so much because they’d been offered so little. Crimson eyes inexplicably softened, his own tail sending water drops in every direction, the rain-chill vaporized by the heat spreading throughout him. Now that the words were released from their cage, he felt them swell in his chest, and there was no doubt that Bastien could shout them endlessly across the swirling sea. Instead, he opted for quiet, familiar teasing, bringing his ear back to Nicharion’s maw. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch what you said,” he enthused, only partially concerned with his proximity to the cliff’s edge and how easily he might be shoved over it.

TABLE BY AMANDA

Overwhelming though this exchange might be, Nicharion could still see them - the fleeting moments when the monochrome male was prepared for the worst outcome. Perhaps it was to be expected, considering his poor choice of friends. And maybe Nicharion wasn’t any better than them. He’d killed on a whim and tormented for amusement, to hope for honest love from him was the very peak of naivete. And yet... be it for his selfishness extending outwards to what he considers precious, or a set of principles that remain firm despite detachment from the conventional notion of morality, he had no inclination to physically lash out againt someone who stood at his side.

Even when said someone was smugly asking to be shoved off a cliff.

There was no denying that his eyebrow has twitched in frustration when of all the moments, Crow chose this one to tease him. But it also offered him some relief in its return to form, back to the habits of their games and back and forth. And most of all, he couldn’t possibly miss the look in the other’s eyes, an undeniable proof his words have been heard despite their shortcomings. A sight just for him, an alluring abyss that could put the ocean crashing against stone below them to shame.

The soldier’s lips stretched in a smile as he leaned in towards his lover’s ear, his heart yet again dancing to the negligible space between them. He pretended to hesitate, seemingly about to repeat the desired words.. until he did not, instead swiping his tongue against the fur on the inside of Bastien’s ear. “What, is it opposites day? Wanna interrogate a confession out of me?” His teeth closed in on the male’s ear and he shook his head to give it a rough tug, pulling the other closer still to him and away from the precipice. “One of my old hideouts is nearby, should suit the occasion just fine...” The tone of his voice descended to that of a sultry invitation. This offer was quite the privilege; his lairs weren’t just places to lay low, they also contained ill-gotten gains from his old line of work. Trash and treasure alike in unorganized piles that he never had a care or need to sort through and liquidate. A veritable dragon’s hoard he had kept to himself.. until now.

TABLE BY AMANDA

Bastien recoiled when his ear was licked then bitten, but he grinned despite the icky sensation oozing deeper into his ear canal than the rain. It was his own fault for hoping—praying?—to receive exactly what he asked for. Nicharion had a number—too high for his uneducated admirer to count—of tricks up his sleeve that, more often than he liked to admit, rendered the white wolf stupefied when he ought to have seen it coming from the start. Maybe that's what made these moments so surprisingly sweet.

Flicking the offended appendage, he pretended to consider the other's question. "Mm, no, I think I'd rather get my way using other methods," Bastien ultimately decided with a flash of his fangs. He did use that minor interlude as an excuse to huddle unabashedly closer, feigning cold, though there was no ignoring how hot his face became at Nicharion's proposal. Hopefully he wasn't turning as red as he felt he was. Being invited somewhere so private was no small matter for company such as theirs. The crow could be somewhat short-sighted about certain things, but the importance of that was not likely to go over his head.

Impressively, he did manage to seemingly shrug it off and offer a casual grin—that his dancing paws, bouncing giddily, contradicted. The seductive timbre of his lover's voice turned his grin into an honest one, eyelids falling slightly to shade eager eyes. The chance to end such a turbulent day on a pleasant note was impossible to refuse. "You know, I actually think I'd like to do a little investigating after all," he rumbled agreeably, taking the chance to nip Nicharion on the hip once they started to head off.

TABLE BY AMANDA