Legend of Ransera

It did not take someone well versed in faces to see the sort of turmoil the boy went through with the simple act of taking off his mask. A crutch. A safety web. She might have felt sorry for him — might have. Instead, she watched his momentary struggle with a level of detachment that came with someone merely looking in on something private. She blinked as he finally looked up at her. It was almost as if he had not taken the mask off. A face void of expression and set on a default. As if the sculptor of his being had been unsure of what face to give, and decided that a nothingness of well set features would suffice.

She blinked again. “Ah, so you are cute enough to get away not being so bright.” Another observation made. He would need to do something about that stare, though. It was perhaps — aside from his being a Lysanrin — the thing helping him least. “Fix your face; you look constipated, sweetling. Try a smile.” She wondered if that might even be a stretch. But it would be good to learn.

“Oh, now you’re on your way to being a little gentleman. Yes; I would.” A chuckle punctuated her words, watching his momentary dismay at their difference in size. His dagger had not gone unnoticed, but would likely not be needed. She wondered how much use it actually saw.

Nnerka thought for a moment, considering where she had wanted to go as she took his hand. They made quite the pair to see out and about. “I heard there was this nice little shop that sells some poisonous insects. Been meaning to try them out. I haven’t had much chance to eat anything worthwhile these days. And since you were hunting.” She paused, smiled as she looked down at him as she began to lead him to where she could find said shop. “I assume you must want something to eat, as well.”

She tried — truly, she had — to hold back the smallest of chuckles. Some slipped out before being confined to the pursing of her lips as she turned her attention to the path they took. It was around here somewhere that she’d heard about it.

“Your lady?” She quirked a brow, glancing down at the child a moment. “I’m sure she would appreciate you getting a tolerance for it. It’ll do not more than burn your tongue, I think.” Every child needed to have some tolerance for poison and venom. It would come in handy one day and if they didn’t survive — well, that was just the way of the world. But she sighed, conceded. “We could find you something to eat along the way. Tell me what you like.”

She turned to look at him again as he spoke, this time voicing a discomfort that she didn’t understand. They were in broad daylight; most people didn’t think to commit any act of crime towards another while the sun shone and witnesses could see. Like she did not belong. “I don’t feel that.” Simple, easy to understand. Maybe it was because she had always been the predator, set higher on the food chain than most others.

“Maybe I don’t belong.” It had been a long while she’d mused on where she belonged and where she didn’t. It was really all a matter of making space to belong. Claiming your part of a place that no one could take from you. Another perk of a predatory nature; it came easy. Like knowing where your hunting grounds ended and began. Knowing your limits was important, yes — but fear got you nowhere.

Nnerka crouched down again in front of the boy. Two arms settled on his shoulders, one hand cupping his chin so he was forced to stare at...at least two of her eyes. “No one belongs anywhere. These people that walk around? They are here on borrowed time and nothing more. They can say their family has lived here for generations, but any other person on the street could take that from them. I could take that from them if I wanted to. You, and your little knife, could do that if you wanted to. No one belongs anywhere unless they make it so.”

The fae sighed, pausing a moment. “And no, I don’t belong here, but this is temporary.” She shrugged. “All civilization is. The Wilds will always be. They came before and they will be here after.” A pat on his head, and she stood once more. Her gaze drifted to somewhere ahead of her. “Oh, look; there it is! Let’s go, sweet boy.”

The selection within the shop was as she had hoped. Far more than those in the market had boasted, but small enough that it would not attract too large a crowd of daredevils hoping to try something new. Her gaze landed on the skittering shape of a long creature. Exoskeleton shining even in the dusted jar it remained in. The delicacies of her spiderling days. Nnerka leaned in close to further examine them, glancing at Yvshold. She would need to choose something else on his stomach.

“If you say so.” She let the last word drawl out, patting the boy’s head once more. The fae turned her attention to the little woman behind the counter, a smile upon her lips. Another moment of browsing among the jars and the tiny menu placard on the counter, and she had decided. “If I could have...hm. The Ghost Lacewing and roasted Grim Slaters for the little one, and a serving of the Royal Bubble Cricket and Basking Centipede noodles. Centipedes live would be preferable.”

The woman behind the counter nodded before peering over at Yvshold. As if to take stock of him before his order could be served. When she blinked, her eyelids slid vertically. Almost seemed to stick to the ball itself as they slowly dragged open once more. “Please; have a seat while you wait.” She gestured to the few tables behind them, before waddling off to the kitchen, voice raised to shout out the orders.

With time to wait and just the inkling of curiosity, her attention returned once more to the boy. “So, little Yvshold, tell me: who is this lady of yours?” She’d thought she’d heard him muttering about the mysterious lady when they were outside, but had been distracted. And he’d mentioned her before, with no name, in passing. Clearly, she must have been someone worth tethering himself to if he relied on her for matters of the conscience and way of the world. Though, there may need to be a correction on that last bit.

The little one went rigid — more so than he had been before — and that only served to make Nnerka more curious. She watched as he appraised her. Had she not been deemed a threat already? A careless mistake to make with one such as she. He was not the first to do so, either. She wondered what went inside that head of his before there was shift in his demeanor. The attempted tough guy routine, unfazed by anything; it melted away to something akin to adoration as he spoke of his Lady.

The name struck a chord, and it made sense. His behavior. “Lady Petra, the little bird.” She was two steps off from laughter as she considered. “Beautiful beyond my grace? You hurt my feelings, Yshvold.” That was colored with the tinge of a giggle, a raise of a brow. To think the would-be godling had found herself an admirer already. Or perhaps before the two of them had met. Almost remarkable. He seemed the devoted type, if his attitude was anything to go by. What wonders the little godling produced, even when she wasn’t present.

“I know of your Lady, very well.” Not well, but well enough. Their conversation had been interesting and the woman had practically melted into her embrace as all those who came to see her did. Eventually. “You owe her your life, do you?”

How sweet. Harmonious relationships such as what this must have been had existed within her clan before. Creatures not like them were of some benefit. “You sound like you have a crush on her, little beetle.”
As she spoke, their orders arrived. It was not the older woman, but a more spritely-looking creature. The buzz of insect wings as they fluttered nervously against one another, bulbous eyes raised to Nnerka’s face before darting down to the lysanrin opposite her. “Payment upon finishing.” Perhaps she suspected the other would not be capable of moving after the meal that was set before them.

Yshvold’s was still. The lacewings glittered with sugar crystals, stuck in perpetual flight as they were arranged on the plate. The slaters rolled into balls and crisped. They moved about the plate only as it was tipped from one side to the other, a sauce for dipping set in the center. Nnerka’s bowl, however, writhed. Sleek black exoskeleton caught the light as the centipedes wrangled the jelly crickets, little bulbs of molten gold that attempted to escape. The soft hiss of the centipedes filled her ears as she used chopsticks to prod at them and the noodles.

“Well? Eat.” She wasted little time enjoying her own meal, brushing back hair from her face as she leaned in. The centipede caught in the grasp of the wooden utensils squirmed. A jelly cricket had been caught in the crosshairs, bleeding out the liquidy insides that gave it its name. It glimmered as it dripped down into the bowl, a honey consistency connected it to the centipede and soon Nnerka as she opened her mouth and placed the centipede on her tongue.

The creature hissed as her lips wrapped around it, teeth sinking in. Crunch. The softest squelch as she parted one body segment from another. The legs still twitched as she pulled it away, humming softly as she swallowed. “Not bad.”

When she was younger, her mothers used to scold her for her manners. Or, well, lack thereof. Typically, it had much to do with the way she might bully a sibling into giving her the larger morsel, or the threat of taking a bite out of them. Watching Yshvold eat reminded her of those times. The barest of chuckles left her at his questions, coming faster now with the boost of sugar-given energy.

“I do not mean crush her.” She rolled her eyes, leaned in a moment to use a lower hand to brush sugar from the corner of his lips. “I mean that you might be…fond of her. More so than others.” She shrugged, pooping a jelly cricket into her mouth before lifting up more noodles and another centipede with her chopsticks. Though, she wondered if he understood even that explanation. “And don’t talk with your mouth full; you’ll choke.” As comical as it was to watch it happen, she didn’t exactly need him spitting up sugary insect bits into her own food. She quite liked the way it tasted as it was.

Perhaps the sugary dish was not the right choice for him. The jitters of extra, unchecked energy were beginning to show, and he would need to stretch his legs. But he hadn’t even touched the slaters. “Because they’re not cooked the same.” She was no judge of culinary prowess and she had very little skill of her own, but she could appreciate a good meal. “Eat your slaters, or they’ll go cold. It’s not like your food is running away.”

As if to illustrate her point, one of the centipedes nearly succeeded in its attempt to escape her bowl. It was thwarted by the snap of the head segment, legs squirming as Nnerka popped the segment into her mouth and swirled the noodles and punctured crickets around with the remaining live centipede.