[ P ] Never See You Again

The sickly sweet

secrets of the poppy seed

Alphonse was dead.
Cirrohsis, Bel assumed, but he hadn't found the money the order an autopsy. Being old with no signs of injury, Alphonse had been low on the list for investigation. Had he been murdered, the guards and patrolmen might have seen fit to spare a second to him. For as freely as the old man had lived, his death had been uncharacteristically peaceful—and as a result, the powers at be had not bat an eye. Or at least, that was what Belfast had had to assume. From the moment he had found Alphonse cold upon the ground in his dingy wing of the apothecary, his life had become a bit of a blur.

Numb, he had gone out into town. He had flagged down a guard, mumbled words he could not remember. The next thing he knew, the body had been removed. No one came to arrest him, and he had been left to sit in the stillness of the shop.

It hadn't been long before the cracked bell by the storefront had stopped tinkling. Few customers would continue to arrive if their orders were not being fulfilled. Bel had sat in the back room, barely catching the sound, paralyzed by the events that played like a movie reel before his eyes.

He hadn't known Alphonse well enough to cry.
But he had known him. And he was gone now. Dead.
Dead like... he winced as he pictured the stone burial in which his mother had been tucked underneath. She had looked at ease despite the obvious punctures within her neck. Anaca had seemed almost... happy. Another wince.

And that was when the bleeding started. He coughed, wiped his lips, and saw red upon his chocolate wrist.

...
Another morning, another day of absent customers. More coughing, more blood. When had he last eaten?

...
On the fifth day, his sense of hunger ignited him into action. He gathered what he little he owned—which in fact was nothing more than a few moth-chewed satchels in which he gathered herbs and a bowl—and left with a mouthful of peppermint to stave off his hunger-induced nausea. The shop would likely close—but he could not feel a true attachment to it. It had been the veneer of a life that was not his own.

Something temporary.

...
He found food, found a hovel in the red-tinged wood, and a quiet life alone. And that was where he had hoped to stay.

code by EGGSY, minor modifications by claerie

@Xandria

The Imperial Army had been on high alert since reports of Prince Jacob’s return had reached the mainland. Xandria’s work days stretched on longer, back to back patrols and drills had stolen much of the Lieutenant's time. On her days off she tried her best to split it between visiting her news sisters and spending time with her best friend. When she had dropped by the shop had been in a state of disarray. At first she’d been afraid that a break in had taken place, but when Belfast was nowhere to be found her imagination drew darker conclusions. Xandria had tried to rally a patrol together to search for him and that had proven futile. There wasn’t enough evidence to prove that anything had happened to him. A few flecks of blood and an empty shop was hardly a crime scene.

Still she hadn’t given up. She questioned his customers, passed around his description and a promising lead sent her in the direction of the redwood. Her determination began to falter when her anxiety crept in, her budding grief threatening to overwhelm her. Her father was dead. Ahkoris was missing and most likely dead too. If anything had happened to Belfast..

Her pace increased, urgency pushing her onwards to find her wayward friend. A stale, but familiar scent of poppies and lavenders briefly tickled her nose and she whipped around to follow it to its source. She found his hideaway and cautiously stepped inside, golden eyes wide with worry. He was there. She had found him.

What the hell? I’ve been looking for you everywhere, she exclaimed, stepping further in so that she could see him properly. His eyes were red rimmed, nose crusted with dried blood and his chocolate fur was a complete mess. Bel… are you okay? her voice grew softer then, her earlier fears heightening once more.

Art by Ashon

Leprechauns

The soft scuffling of tiny paws can be heard as if mischievous children are racing through the undergrowth and sprinting north. They snicker as if they have won a pot of gold.


To interact with the leprechauns, please post in #updates

The sickly sweet

secrets of the poppy seed

Her voice was like thunder, the lash of her words the sudden strike of a lightning bolt. It wedged itself into his ears and pried apart his skull until meaning seeped in. Once inside, his heart ached, and that pain joined the throbbing of his already existant headache. Slowly he opened his eyes, although it wasn't wholly needed. He knew she was here. It was impossible not to. He'd come to know her in every little way. From how her paws seemed to plant more firmly into the ground when she was angry to how she seemed to waver with doubt far more than she liked to let on...

"Bel… are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah, just..." His voice was hoarse. Grimacing, he swallowed and did his best to stretch out a little. "Adjusting."

He knew how it sounded. He knew how he looked. Nonetheless, he wasn't ready to crack back open and bleed, not on Xandria. Nor was he going to have her stare at him with any more pity than he could already see in those golden eyes. If he was a dying man, then he'd die alone. He'd keep her from that as best he could. Alas, his best method—running away—had already failed miserably.

"Move a little? I'll come out," Belfast asked lightly, laughing somewhat. With a bit of an impish glint in his eyes, he nudged his nose against her. "You're too fat—no, fluffy—remember?"

code by EGGSY, minor modifications by claerie

@Xandria

The emotions of Xandria Tiamat were as fickle as a storm, one moment there was calm and the clouds seemed to part to let out the sun and the next the sky was raging once more. Her narrowed golden eyes took in the sight of him and measured them against his words. He was trying to deflect her concern and pretend everything was fine. Earthen pelt ruffled with irritation that he thought he could appease her with such obvious lies. Don’t lie to me, she replied, voice firm and commanding. If you think I’m going to let you run away and live like a sick hermit in the woods, well you’re wrong, she stated, reminding him just how stubborn she could be. She didn’t give her loyalty away easily, but when it was won she didn’t give up on her friends.

He promised that he would come out, but that didn’t stop him from making a familiar joke. Xandria didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved that he at least still had his sense of humour. Her nose pushed back against his and her fiery yellow eyes stared into the depths of his blue-green gaze. Fluffy. And you better remember it or I’ll kick your ass again, she played along with him, knowing that she wouldn’t actually hurt him. Especially not now, but she wasn’t against knocking him out and dragging him to Rionna if he insisted on staying out here.

She stepped back out, giving him enough space to come outside. Bright gaze watching him with the intensity of a hawk should he so much as wobble.

Art by Ashon

The sickly sweet

secrets of the poppy seed

He knew that there was no use in attempting to be strong—not in front of her. But he also couldn't help but try. It was not in his nature to show his wounds and ask others to treat them. No, he had learned early on that his injuries had to heal on their own. There was no one to ask for help. At least, that was true now that his sister was gone. And while he could have asked the world of Xandria—and implicitly he knew that she would conquer it all for him—he would rip out his tongue before he requested such a thing from her. To her, the last person truly in his life, he refused to be a burden. He'd be damned if she ever had to carry his weight too.

There were enough demons haunting her.

"Don't lie to me," she snapped and Belfast gave her a sidelong glance. But he let her finish. "If you think I’m going to let you run away and live like a sick hermit in the woods, well you’re wrong."
So violent, Belfast thought with a huff of laughter. But that was the way of the Tiamats, wasn't it? All fists and fights, thoughts and feelings later.

At his jest, she pressed her nose against his and he stared into those golden eyes of hers. Eyes so full of bright life and vibrance. They were no longer dulled and pained by the stories of the man she had hunted down and killed—but he knew they'd darken again. Such wounds never healed; they scared.

"Ah yes, fluffy. How could I forget?" Belfast answered innocently as he stepped outside. Absently, he wondered if she could smell the blood on him from their proximity.

Once he was out, he turned to her and offered a wry smile. "Well, I'm out. Are you going to drag me home?" He asked with an impish glitter in his eyes. And, if he was being honest, not all of it was a show. Teasing Xandria did make him feel better. If only slightly.

code by EGGSY, minor modifications by claerie

@Xandria

Part of her couldn't help feeling suspicious that he was so willing to follow her outside since he'd gone this far to run away. But why had he run in the first place? Part of her feared that he didn't trust her enough to rely on her. She wasn't Kohl, and even though she tried to be there for him she was afraid that it might not be enough. The slightest wrinkle between her tan dotted brows hinted at her worries, but she masked her feelings behind an impatient scowl that faltered when he teased her. It was hard to stay mad at him when they fell back into their old routine.

You seem to forget that a lot, she pointed out. Did I hit your head too hard back then? she quipped, lips forming a sly smirk as she recalled their first meeting when he'd come to the Tiamat manse in search of Kohl. In ways he was still the same rough little brat that had invaded her home and introduced himself as Belfast fucking Moss and then the act that had led to the headbutting which she graciously forgiven him for.

Well that depends… Are you going to surrender peacefully or will I have to apprehend you? Xandria bantered with him back, golden eyes bright with playfulness. It brought her back to the times when they'd played together as children, soldiers and thieves. She'd adamantly demanded to play the role of soldier and that meant that she had to catch Belfast, the thief.

Art by Ashon

The sickly sweet

secrets of the poppy seed

At her quip, chiding him over the time she'd wrestled him down onto the tile, Belfast laughed. He had been precocious back then, hadn't he? But, then again, he could say the same for her. While he'd been a small brute stomping his way into the Tiamat manse in search of Kohl, eager to demand that the man come back to his family, Xandria had been a warrior princess ready to defend her turf. She'd had no trouble pinning him instead of calling for maids or guards or butlers. Most nobles, as he'd come to learn later, rather liked having others do their dirty work for them. But not her. Never her. She would pluck her own eye out with a fork if only to be the one to feed herself, and she'd consider it a fair price to pay.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, you did," he said with false notes of injury in his voice. Laying down onto his belly, he sprawled out as if his years-old wound was a truly grievous thing. Then, rolling onto his side, he looked up at her. "It still hurts, make it better." With a paw he gestured to the top of his head.

It was a wonder they'd become friends looking back at it. He'd been little more than a street rat. Maybe more of a pet that she snuck scraps of food. Hell, even her maids probably thought she was growing fat from all of the portions she'd demanded.

Pet. He'd been called that by others that were green with jealousy over the meals she'd sneak him. And yet, while their words stung, they never sunk deep into his skin. Xandria had never once made him feel as though she owned him, as if her charity was a transaction and he a beggar. No—she let him pay her back in his own way, cherishing the friendship that he gave as if it was worth all the world's riches.

And no matter how hard he'd try to hide, she'd always find him. She'd catch him in the hallways and the streets and the forests and drag him back to prison—and he'd listen to her read all night as punishment. Stories, poems, philosophy. Her homework allegedly.

And he'd learn—when he wasn't stuffed in the closet so that her mother and grandmother didn't find him.

"When have I surrendered peacefully?" Belfast asked with a gasp, appearing more offended than injured for a mere moment. Then, lightly, a wry smile folded onto his lips.

When he was with her, things hurt far less. Even in this moment of bantering, mere minutes from the hole where he'd curled up to die, he felt... airy. Light. Weightless. Later, when she left him, he'd settle back into his grave. Each burden would be far too heavy to carry then.

code by EGGSY, minor modifications by claerie

@Xandria

The dynamic between them had changed a lot since they were children. Belfast didn’t need to rely on her as much and it seemed like he didn’t want to either. It was easy sneaking him her extra rations when they were children and making sure he had a warm place to sleep at night. She’d had a rebellious streak even then, determined to act as she wanted and not as she ought to. Being a Tiamat came with expectations and she was careful to meet them, but she never compromised her ideals. Belfast had opened her eyes to the unfairness of the world and her privilege. He never judged her for her nobility or treated her differently because of it. Others fawned and pandered for her attention. They didn’t know her. They wanted to use her. But not Belfast, never Belfast.

"It still hurts, make it better."
You brat, she scoffed at him. Her golden eyes rolled and she let out a drawn out sigh. What did he want her to do exactly? She drew closer, snout reaching close enough so that her warm breath could be felt against his crown. Her lips gently touched his brow, giving a kiss to ‘make it better’. The mischievous side of her hoped that wasn’t what he’d been expecting so she could revel a little in her vengeance for the kiss he’d stolen from her as a girl.

She knew she still needed to convince him to come back with her and playing games was only delaying the inevitable discussion. He could be just as stubborn as she was at times. Why did you come out here, Bel? she asked, needing him to be honest with her. Even if the truth was what she feared, that he’d come here to die and she wouldn’t know he was gone until she was called in to identify his body.

Art by Ashon

The sickly sweet

secrets of the poppy seed

He had expected her to hit him again in truth. It'd be a quick bonk to the head, a proper repayment for all of the tackles and tumbles he had put her through as a boy. Instead, he felt warm breath upon his brow and a gentle peck. At first it caught him off-guard and he stared up at her, seemingly paralyzed as the spot she'd kissed warmed. He felt slight flutters in his chest, but they could not wholly phase the thick blanket of depression and exhaustion that seemed to numb his entire body. Had he felt their full effects, he might have lept to his paws and shot back a quick quip to embarrass her. Instead, his expression slowly melted into a wane smile. "Gosh, I'm charmed," he mused with the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes.

Perhaps it was from his sluggish reaction or from the whole waiting to die in a den display, but her gaze soon darkened. The curtain was drawn on their whole light-hearted production and he knew—both because she told him and because he knew her—that there'd be no weaseling out of her questions. If he had wanted to escape her interrogation, he would have had to not be found in the first place.

"Alphonse died," he answered before rolling from his belly onto his back. He stared up at the sky—at the red-coated canopy above. "Naturally." Came the delayed response to any questions about how. "As naturally as one can, I guess."

His lungs expanded with a large, steadying breath that brought less clarity than he'd hoped for. "Not sure what to do now."

Everything was true, he wouldn't lie to her, but it wasn't the whole picture. He couldn't even see the true extent of what was going on, really. Alphonse hadn't meant that much to him, not enough to send him into a death spiral. But his mother had, his father had. He could still see his mother's grave in his mind's eye, the burial ground piled high with rocks and stones and flower petals. He hadn't gotten to say goodbye to her.

Hell, he'd barely been able to say hello while she'd been alive due to her constantly drugged state.

And his sister was gone. And Kohl was gone. And his father was gone—died, apparently. Or left.

And his aunt didn't remember him. Not even a shred of recognition had been in her eyes when he'd stumbled upon her.

So what, pray tell, was left in his life?

He moved his muzzle to the side and stared up at Xandria. She was still here, but that was the problem, wasn't it? She was the only one, and he was too heavy a burden for one wolf to carry alone.

code by EGGSY, minor modifications by claerie

@Xandria