Ship in a bottle

N
Nicharion observed the waves, sitting and nonchalantly leaning against the taffrail in a way that mostly hid his distress. The ship most definitely did not agree with him. The way it swayed, disrupting his balance. The overabundant salt, crusting on his fur and drying out his nose. Finally, the water... ah, it’s one thing to indulge in melancholy as one stares into the ocean while sitting safely on the coast, and something else entirely to be surrounded by it on all sides.

He had so many things to complain about that he could almost forget that the ship was magical. In some strange way, it was a relief. Magic is at its most suspicious when it’s too good to be true.

Some romantic getaway... he snorted to himself, his eyes shifting to glance at the male sitting beside him. Then again, even he had to admit that once the sun leaned down to kiss the sea and coated everything in liquid gold, it wasn’t all that bad. Or maybe it’s just good company.

What thoughts go on in that pretty head? Every single time he had thought there was nothing more he couldn’t expect, Bastien delivered a new surprise. It was fascinating.. even if the biggest curveball happened to be a duck. “You ever thought about leaving Rionnach?” he asked, opting to sate his curiosity on something dreadfully predictable, given the circumstances. But if he won’t start contextual conversations, chances are they won’t be having them at all. “Not for just a while like this, I mean. Forever.”

---

B
Compared to his emotional state before they left, Bastien seemed completely unaffected now, eyes closed and muzzle lifted towards the sky. While uncomfortable for his companion, the nostalgia evoked by the salty spray was deliciously sweet. Fonder memories from his childhood smelled like this... and he was delighted that there were more moments being preserved in this scent.

Nicharion's voice coaxed him from his thoughts, one eye sliding open to glint at the red male. "Feeling restless? Or testing the waters to see if I'll follow?" The teasing note in his voice was unmissable, though beneath it lay something earnest, as if he genuinely wanted to know. But then his voice steadied, anchoring in a tone more serious and serene. "But yes, I've thought about it. Mostly in my younger years. I doubt it's very unusual to want an escape from the life you know, a chance at finding something better somewhere new. But you know better about that than me. Rionnach sounds very different from the world you came from."

Bastien leaned over then to tame a particularly unruly tuft of fur on Nicharion's shoulder, savoring how the sea spray enhanced the familiar flavor by adding a brightness that was previously absent. Before withdrawing, he asked, "Do you ever miss it?"

---

N
The red brute smirked, relieved by how effortlessly his lover’s answer has been offered. “Testing the waters alright. But.. for something else.” Nicharion was aware that between the two of them, he was the one with less reasons to be anxious. Leaving everything behind is difficult, but much like everything else, it gets easier the more you do it. And Bastien knew he’d done it. “Making sure I don’t need to reassure you that I’m not going anywhere.” He stuck his tongue out, wrapping heartfelt intentions in a playful attitude.

The steady rhythm of the waves was like an enchanting drum backdrop to the monochrome male’s words. In a way, it was reminiscent of the winter evenings they would spend huddled in front of the fireplace in his office. Nicharion could listen to him talk like this for hours, even when it was universal truths he already knew for himself.
“Hah. Miss it?” The very notion amused him from the second the question fell upon his ears, but he parroted it to give himself time to double-check how he really felt about it. The answer didn’t change. “No way. I like to harp on about Rionnach sometimes, that all of this ‘society’ is just wishful play pretend. A mask all too eager to slip off.” Survival of the fittest, that’s always the truth. In Rionnach, more insidious than anywhere else; promising the weak they’ll be protected, so they don’t even know how to fight to survive when all of a sudden they aren’t. And while might not Nicharion have much sympathy for them, it bothered him as much as anyone else to be promised a work of art, only to receive a blood-stained canvas.

“But there’s more opportunities here, more things to do and try than anywhere else I’ve been. I don’t miss living in holes and caves, eating only raw game, having only the odd mushroom or berry to get the edge off.. and nothing to achieve beyond holding on to a piece of territory that you like.” Thinking of it like that, his ancestors’ great accomplishments of hoarding unmanageable amounts of land seemed petty and small. Maybe he already had it better than they ever did.

And he had someone to enjoy it all with.

---

B
Comically, Bastien flung his head one way, then the other, a dramatic flair imbued in every movement. “Going somewhere? Best of luck with that. Unless you’ve suddenly gained Fish’s ability to cross oceans, I think I’m safe.” All joking aside, trusting his partner to not perpetuate the cycles of betrayal he had known for so long had not come easily. But through word and deed Nicharion had proved himself.

But that didn't mean he didn't appreciate the reminders any less. His confidence in the permanence of their relationship was growing but still remained fragile, like a sapling, and every small reassurance helped nurture it.

As always, the way Nicharion described his homeland had the former mercenary captivated by its stark differences from the only life he knew. So... primitive. Lawless. Free. From Bastien's perspective at least, having been burdened by social stratification in his early life and in later years victimized by the very system put in place to protect its people, it didn't sound all that bad. He could envision himself embracing a place like that, and it was one thing he hoped lay beyond these crystalline waters on a still-distant shore.

"Y'know, thinkin' about it, maybe it isn't all so different," he eventually mused, now fixated on the clouds lazily creeping by. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Fish, somehow perched on the foremast (how he managed to accomplish feats like this, being flightless, Bastien couldn't surmise), ruffling through his feathers to remove an unseen irritant and nearly toppling over in the process. First permitting an amused snort at that, he resumed his train of thought, "Except its two men fighting over the same strip of dirt. And only the wealthy get the spoils while the rest do live in caves, gnawing on fresh kill and dreaming of escape. The liquor's easy to come by, though. I'll give you that."

Put that way, maybe it was better to be satisfied with what you already had than to look for greener pastures elsewhere. Rionnach's system was flawed, but so what? All one needed was a bit of cleverness or luck to exploit it.

And Bastien felt rather lucky these days, leaning against his partner's sturdy frame, finally at peace in a life he never imagined possible.

---

N
As far as Nicharion knew, ducks weren’t too inclined to swim in seawater, even if it wasn’t strictly impossible. He couldn’t point out every single incorrect thing Crow ever said though, could he now? “Is that where the name’s from? Because he swims rather than flies?” He wasn’t one to initiate conversation about the duck. Most of the time, he tried to pretend Fish didn’t exist, like some error in reality that was bound to get itself sorted out eventually. But if they’re already there, might as well.

There are questions one is sometimes inclined to ask themselves, such as ‘What if I’m actually dying and all of this is just desperate figments of a fizzling out mind, a moment stretched into an endless dream?’ Fish’s existence has put them all to rest, because Nicharion knew his mind couldn’t possibly grant his lover a duck, even if he were feverish and high as a kite.

As if on cue, his eyes followed the other’s gaze to find the bird in question. Safely out of reach of anyone.. something the other passengers were no doubt grateful for, as the major could swear he’d heard combative quacks and surprised yelps earlier. “You’re not wrong. But at least there’s a lot more vertical space between them and rock bottom, compared to some pack leader hotshot.” The kings were a bother, to be sure. Especially for one such as him, who couldn’t stand being taunted by heights that are forever out of reach. But it was better than the alternative.

Leaning closer to the other male, he started to hum a tune he remembered from his days at the Seagull.. until Fish almost falling down again provided inspiration for some improvised lyrics. “What should we do with the drunken mallard, what should we do with the drunken mallard...” A devious grin crept onto his lips, it was time to make some humorous threats. “Roast him on a spit until he’s crispy, roast him on a spit until he’s crispy?”

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"Actually," Crow's lips twitched, fighting the urge to grin. "He tried stealing my meal the day we met. I didn't know at the time that he was the least useful mallard in existence, but... well, I missed the return window."

Fish was little more than a nuisance with whom Bastien shared a perverse symbiotic relationship, or so was the narrative he claimed was truth. In reality, he liked that they were traveling together permanently. The constant companionship made the trips between countries bearable, especially now that winter was in full swing and there were many nights he must endure alone. Nicharion had certainly spoiled him, this beast once so used to solitude.

And continued to do so, calling to another memory with a jaunty serenade. Fish's faraway protests as background vocals made grinning now impossible to resist, and joining in was mandatory. "Ooooh, what should we do with the drunken mallard, what should we do with the drunken mallard? Knock him off the mast and watch him flounder...?" His enthusiasm faded away as he turned his head just so, allowing their noses to brush. So many things had changed since the first time they'd been able to do this, yet so much had remained the same. A shudder rippled through Bastien at the momentary contact, as powerful as if lightning struck him full force... but the skies were pristine, dappled by clouds too feeble to possess that sort of power.

"What are you expecting to find once we arrive?" He knew that his lover wasn't keen on the supposed magic surrounding the Hinterlands, which made it that much more meaningful that he'd suggested it in the first place. Bastien was also curious if there was anything beyond prudence that opened him up to the idea, despite his inherent aversion, and what aspects might even excite him about venturing there.

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“Hah. You are what you eat, as the philosophers like to claim.” Not that anyone should take it quite so literally.. a wolf named Rabbit would be quite a laugh. Regardless, Bastien’s experiences haven’t really shed any light on this pet-owning trend... maybe it frustrated him a little bit that he couldn’t really wrap his head around it, understanding the behaviors of others was a skill he considered to be rather useful, after all.

Then again, singing silly songs wasn’t the worst consequence imaginable. Nicharion smirked at his partner’s verse, then crowned it with an approving “Early in the morniiiing.” He was already trying to come up with another one, but their noses touching unexpectedly was like casting a stone into water - it broke the surface of his thoughts with countless ripples. He held his breath as his gaze fixated on the scarlet pools of wine in Crow’s eyes, how they almost seemed to flow with the faint reflection of the ocean in them. It was absurd, how such a small thing could still stop him in his tracks after everything they’ve done together.. but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Well.. privacy, most of all.” He leaned in a little closer, rubbing the side of his muzzle against Bastien’s with a rough and languid motion, visibly drawn out in his enjoyment of it. “No one will know us there. We can do whatever we like.. claim to be whoever we want.” His position in the army had more advantages than drawbacks, but the constant care to avoid the wrong kind of attention was weighting down on him sometimes. Be it passing out drunk, getting intimate in back alley.. or simply sleeping well into the afternoon, there was much he couldn’t afford to do.

His jaws parted and fell shut on the uneven rim of Crow’s tattered ear, tugging it with a slow rhythm that almost matched the waves, sensual rather than teasing. “Anything you’d like.. you need only say what..”

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No one will know us there. We can do whatever we like.. claim to be whoever we want. Having spent his life unsettled, longing to be in another skin, obscurity was like a sweet temptation whispered in his ears in a voice equally as tantalizing. The ability to toss every mistake and past regret overboard, let it all sink to unreachable depths...

At one point, he would have been thrilled by the idea.

Now?

Rocking in time with the ship and allowing himself to be lured closer and closer by the pull on his ear, Bastien's muzzle skimmed the hollow curvature along his lover's throat. "Anything I like, hmm?" It's been ages since he found this vulnerable place with his teeth, grazing deliberate patterns with their jagged edges. The accelerating pace of his lover's heartrate thrumming wildly beneath his touch resonated in his skull, reminiscent of the beat of a battle drum, as if they are sailing towards an opposing coast, conquerors in their own right.

Blood pooled where his teeth connected, only to be swiped away by his tongue seconds later. When Bastien pulls back, as far as the leashed grip will allow anyway, his tongue still hung out and his eyes sparkled with genuine mirth. "All I want... is already here with me. Though could you ask him to come down?" Feigning that Fish was the subject of his thoughts while trying to resist chuckling proved to be difficult but he held firm, more interested in what reaction the coy ploy would goad from the crimson male.

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