[ P ] A Peasant’s Soil

when everything you touch turns to gold Now that the questions were turned on him, Pythus was even more at a loss of what to say. He was accustomed to being the one always pestering others or trying to woo women; rarely did anyone show such an intense interest in him. Or perhaps these questions were throwing him for a loop because he did not even know the answers to them. At least, he had never really thought about them. Pythus blinked, trying to process, his maw parted and ready to speak but no words flowed. So he merely grunted in partial agreement to the stranger's first question, about his relations with others. It was true, for the most part; he had little reason to like anyone, except for his sister. But he didn't mention Memphet, because when he thought of her, a pang shot through his chest, that usual feeling of emptiness swelling beneath his ribcage. "I'd rather be lonely than associate myself with those not worth my time," Pythus replied with an entitled little tilt upward of his chin. He was attempting to compose himself again. Of course, this attempt fell immediately apart when he once again tried to wrap his mind around the idea of being with another man, and he cleared his throat several times in preparation to speak as his mind reeled. He'd never payed the idea any consideration before. What was there to pay consideration to, when there had always been plenty of beautiful women in the city? His father had made the occasional homophobic joke in the past, and Pythus had always found them somewhat entertaining, but the subject was never broached seriously. Besides, men didn't talk to him anyway. Until now. Golden eyes swept across Zoltan as, for the first time ever, Pythus thought about what it might actually be like to lay with a man. And to both his and likely his father's disappointment, the idea didn't repulse him as it should have. But it did frighten him. Pythus shook his head to himself, gaze dropping to the ground. He wished that Memphet was here right now to offer guidance. Again, that pang shot through his chest. "Yes -- I mean, no. I mean, of course," he stammered. Then came another throat clear. He felt oddly exposed, and panic began to circulate within him, so he jabbed, "It matters that you're a damn peasant." This time, however, the insult was at least spoken with a bit of playfulness to his broken tone, his mouth hooked into a smug little smirk. @Zoltan "speak"

The more the man lashed out with insults the less effective they were in deterring the blue witch. His heart was already calloused and hard from years of careful shaping. What were words, but sticks and stones? Part of him was intrigued by the handsome stranger's abhorrence of him. Zoltan hadn't met someone who hated him before. It was fascinating. Were they his true feelings or just a mask to disguise his real self? His blue eyes reflected his curiosity, lips curving into a boyish smile when the man once again tried to push him away. He picked up on the admission of loneliness in his retort, but didn't remark on it. He accepted the small nugget of information and held onto it. Maybe I'm worth getting to know. Couldn't hurt to try, he suggested, still trying to charm the man despite his obvious resistance.

A crack began to appear in the arrogant noble's demeanor when Zoltan's intentions were laid bare. He acted in a way that surprised the blue boy. Not with disgust or bitterness, but uncertainty and hesitance. It was enough for Zoltan to know that his interest in the man wasn't entirely one sided. No? he asked, blue eyes focusing intently on the man's face. He took a step towards him and then another. A filthy disease ridden damn peasant. I know, he laughed lightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. He would attempt to lean close enough to whisper. But you can call me Zoltan, he introduced himself, tone flirtatious and playful.

Art by Bunny

when everything you touch turns to gold When was the last time Pythus had gotten to know someone? Never, really, unless you counted showing fake interest in a woman’s favourite flower or her disgruntlement with some trivial issue. In fact, Pythus couldn’t recall ever having a friend. No one but his sister ever tolerated his constant snarky remarks, and when it came to lovers, he shied away from commitment. The man’s maw parted instinctively to protest, but he stopped himself, the breath halting in his lungs. Though he was still deeply uncomfortable with the entire situation, he had to admit that this was a pleasant change of pace from his usual interactions. And at least the stranger – Zoltan, as he introduced himself – had an actual sense of humour. “Fine…” Pythus conceded. “…peasant.” He smirked ever-so-slightly at his refusal to address the man by his name. “My name is Pythus Are – Pythus. Just Pythus,” he said, so accustomed to sharing his full name with pride but now scared of what others might think when they heard it. Would this new, potential friend of his change his attitude if he knew of the shame it now carried? “So enlighten me, then. How do we get to know each other? Share embarrassing stories, braid each others’ fur?” he jested. “And for the record, it could absolutely hurt to try. I’m still not entirely convinced that you don’t just want to skin me and make me into a rug.” Memphet used to keep Pythus from straying outside the city bounds by telling him stories of barbarians and cannibals stealing away his hide and wearing it as a trophy. It had been her strange way of keeping him safe while stroking his ego. And he’d never admit it, but to this day it was still one of his fears. Zoltan didn’t seem like the barbaric or cannibalistic type, though he had shown an interest in his fur. The thought only added to his many anxieties and reservations about the situation. @Zoltan "speak"

The blue witch brightened immediately when the handsome stranger agreed to get to know him. He was still peasant for now, but Zoltan was beginning to regard it as a playful nickname since there was no obvious disgust in his voice when he addressed him. He considered this progress in their budding friendship. The tips of his ears practically wiggled with joy when the stranger introduced himself to him, lips curling into a happy smile. His tail wagged furiously, further emphasizing his joy at knowing his name. It was only a small thing, but Zoltan didn't have any friends either outside of his mother and the trees in his home. All thoughts of sacrificing him were forgotten in light of his joy at having a potential new friend.

Pythus looked to Zoltan for direction on how to get to know each other. He paused for a moment then his smile grew. You can ask me anything you want Prionnsa, he replied, still flirtatious and playful in his gaelic tone. Is there anything you like to do for fun? he followed up with a question, this time more serious.

The man admitted to having some fears for his safety. It wasn't entirely without merit. If he knew that Zoltan had wanted to sacrifice him he would have been horrified. He merely smiled reassuringly. You're safe with me, he promised, voice gentle and soothing. It was the truth. He thought it would be a waste of such beauty to ruin his fur and make it into a rug when he could have the real thing, alive and with added snark.

Art by Bunny