ship in a bottle

[Florian]

”Yes. Time.” It was so soon. Florian was holding onto his own deep-seated trauma that had lasted him lifetimes. But he did not go through what Aoren had gone through -- at least, not so recently. He dropped the chain, and it faded from vision, and hopefully the painful memories faded with it, if only for the moment.

Florian knew he had a bad sense of timing. He was rash, decisive, angry in general. His emotional state pivoted from extreme to extreme. He had been crying. He had been quiet. He was not angry now, not angry at Aoren. He was a god of Rebellion, and how could one such as him get angry for someone not doing as he said, as he said it? That was the point. Even his mother could not get him to listen.

And they were practically strangers.


”Let’s fight.” Florian said, abruptly, after a moment of silence between the two of them. ”We don’t know each other. But we will if we fight.” Florian was taller now, slightly more broad-shouldered, but he was just as thin, just as lanky as he was before. But that had never stopped him, it had just made him adapt. There were rare few who felt the need to bully him in Zaichaer that were as tall as the Avialae were. Most had been human.

He had no misconception that he would win a fight against Aoren, but he didn’t care so much about winning against someone who wished to help him. But he wanted to feel challenged, and as his skill grew, the challenges lessened. He had been “welcomed” to Gel’Grandal by a couple members of a small gang that claimed his briefly lived-in apartment as his territory, and even if he had not been a god, they did not possess the necessary skill to overcome him.

”Stretch your wings... release emotion... I think I need to fight. I’m getting rusty.”

[Talon]

A O R E N

Aoren breathed a sigh of relief as he visibly shook himself to push away the overwhelming feeling of pain and suffering that had been pressing upon him. When Florian blurted out his proposition, the Kathar could only blink at him.

“You…” He sized up the young man. The skepticism in his gaze was clear. “...want to fight? Me?”

He rubbed his face and let out a small laugh of disbelief. It was not that he did not believe Florian could reveal himself to be a capable fighter but the sudden shift in tone was a bit dizzying. Realizing how his laugh could be taken he held up his hands.

“I mean no disrespect, Florian. I know nothing of the skills you possess but don’t you think the timing is a bit…?” He rubbed the back of his head as though he were searching for the right words. He felt out of balance. He felt out of place. Most of all, he ached with a need to have his husband at his side to a degree that it threatened to overwhelm him with pure rage and madness. Bondmates were not meant to be apart from one another.

“You know what?” He clapped his hands on his knees and rose to his feet. The raven wings upon his back stretched and flapped. He rose to his full height and drew in a deep breath.

“Let’s do this.” He extended a hand to Florian. “But not here. There is a sparring island just above the palace grounds. One that is for the palace guard and one that is for the members of House Novalys.”

Once his hand was accepted, Aoren scooped Florian up into his arms in a bridal carry. He stretched his wings and with a few powerful downbeats he began to ascend into the sky, taking the both of them to the training grounds that he had mentioned. It did not take long. The islands floated lazily in the skies, suspended by powers as old as the Astralar Mountains themselves. Aoren took them to the smaller of the floating islands and gently deposited Florian onto the ground. They were not alone as members of the Palace Guard were going about their morning routine but there was a space that was clear for them in a sparring ring.

“Armed or unarmed?” Aoren remained at the edge of the sparring ring. He looked at Florian expectantly.

[Florian]

Florian’s face remained impassive as Aoren went through his many emotions that accompanied the tone shift. Knowing how to protect himself was therapeutic to Florian, in a way. Knowing that he would never allow anyone to restrain him again was also therapeutic, and perhaps some of that knowledge would impart itself onto Aoren, through the rune.

”I think the timing is perfect.”

Florian was not entirely sure about being carried like so, and despite his time spent on an airship, and the fact it was likely safer than that, it was a rather harrowing flight for him. He avoided looking at their surroundings and stared at the underside of Aoren’s chin instead.

When he was on firm land -- or what approximated firm land, given that it was floating -- Florian stood at the edge of the sparring ring with Aoren.

”I’m not sure of your skills either. I assume you’re formidable, yeah? Magic and weapons? Don’t tell me what you know. Do what you will.” He did not say it dismissively, but encouragingly.

Florian walked over to one side of the sparring ring and stepped inside. He had no weapon to conjure, but if Aoren looked closely, he would see that the pupils of Florian’s eyes had disappeared, the entire iris replaced with silver as he observed the flow of aether between them. He waited for Aoren to begin. It had been some time since he had used his inborn-magic, though remnants of aether still welled inside him, and a pair of aetherite earrings dangled from his lobes that he began to siphon from. Shields were useful whether Aoren used magic or not.

"Ready?"