Under Cover of Night [Eitan]

[Rivin]

15th Frost, Late

The Doctor retired shortly after Rivin had returned from delivering the Commander and his servant to their rooms for the night. They were housed in separate rooms, but only one door apart. Now the part-Lysanrin walked the halls in silence, or, what seemed to be he.

The conversation he'd had with the voice that came, disembodied to him, flowed through his mind. The agreement had been made, and now, he was required, in faith, to submit. Faith came hard; like Frost creeping around him, hammering chill at him from the outside, coming for his core.

He carried no lamp or candle, relying on his senses and memory of the layout of the house. There were lamps lit on the walls, but they were spaced few and far enough that shadows swallowed the spaces between. When he reached the Commander's door he swallowed, drew in a slow breath, and then reached out with his mind.

Alright, I'm here.

Good boy.

The voice was condescension without veil, but if he could do as it promised, it deserved such uses. Trying to relax, Rivin waited.

Nothing happened. The nearest lamp flickered briefly.

Nothing happened. The silence was deafening.

Nothing happened.

Then, so suddenly that it just was, Rivin was seeing through his own eyes. Except, now they weren't his. It felt almost precisely what he had imagined going mad would be like. Able to experience what was going on around you but not able to react, not able to control anything.

His body stepped forward, a looseness about it that would never have fit around him when his bones belonged to him. His hand raised and knocked, quietly but with assurance, on Angevin's door.

A shudder ran down Rivin's spine. Except it didn't. His spine was still as a prey animal, calm as library. Where the shiver ran, he knew not, but he felt it. The part of his mind that had been frantically trying to cling to anything in the helplessness latched onto the idea and began trying to write a treatise on the nature of consciousness and how belief in Self formed Self, but he ignored it. After a moment the door opened a little and his voice box intoned,

"Good evening, Commander, I wondered if I might have a quick word before you retire?"

[Eitan Angevin]

Intending to make an early morning of it, Eitan and his man were going to make an early night of it as well. It was Dienerin who opened the door, his face polite and amiable.

"Let him in, Dienerin," came Eitan's voice, and then the door was opened wider. The valet had helped him into his night clothes and a robe and it appeared he was winding down for the evening. "And you may go. I'll likely want for nothing until we prepare to leave."

"Very good, sir," he said crisply. "Good night."

"Good night."

Dienerin nodded politely to Doctor Ilex's assistant, held the door for him, and then closed it behind him after he departed, leaving the commander and the Lysanrin alone. Eitan was sitting in a comfortable chair with a tumbler of something dark and smoky. He indicated the chair beside him.

"May I offer you a nightcap?" he asked as if they were of the same caste. "And what may I do for you?"

Some of the servants in White Knight Hall were Lysanrin, those he had freed from Fverard's oppression who hadn't had people to seek out when they were freed. They looked upon him as a savior, and he rather liked being admired. This one didn't have that look in his eyes. He seemed too smart for his own good, but he supposed that was helpful in a research assistant. He couldn't help but wonder if he had once been a subject of that research. Ilex had been a bit odd, but then so was Stechpalme. He had always figured hers to do with the divine corruption she bore in order to help heal her patients. He didn't know what Ilex's deal was, but that particular mystery wasn't under investigation at the moment.

[Rivin]

Having shown them to separate rooms, Rivin had expected the men to be in those separate rooms. The being that had, somehow, taken full control of his physical autonomy also seemed surprised, but more displeased than anything at the sight of the serving-man. A slight twitch about his mouth told Rivin this, before it was replaced by a smile benign enough to have made Ilex proud.

Never had the Lysanrin been more aware of how his body felt, of his expression, and what it felt like. Stepping into the room the smile became more genuine as the valet was dismissed, leaving Rivin alone with the Commander. Well, not alone, not even Rivin, really.

Something inside the being inside his head shifted, as though wrapping itself in a cloak and his hand raised in polite refusal,

"No, thank you, Commander. I will take only a moment of your time. It is my understanding you intend to leave early, with the dawn?" The tone was ultra-civilized, considerably too much so for Rivin's comfort. Lysanrin did not speak that way in the Empire, or in Zaichaer, or anywhere.

Perching lightly on the edge of the chair opposite the one Angevin was occupying implied comfort in the situation but an intention to leave it soon. Rivin made note of this, it could be used in the future. Assuming he was ever in control of his form again. The thought twisted through his guts like razorblade butterfly wings.

"I had meant to ask earlier, but the subject at hand drove it from my mind. I have some business to conduct in the city. Orders from above, you understand. I was going to take a carriage day after tomorrow, but you would save me a great deal of time if I could ride along in your airship. I'll arrange a carriage back, of course, if that would be agreeable?"

[Eitan Angevin]

He frowned slightly at the denial, but took a sip of his own nightcap and that smoothed out his features. But even in his equanimity, he noted the change in the man's speech patterns. While he had been well-spoken and almost, quietly, playful earlier, then terse and to the point in Ilex's presence, now he spoke rather like he was asking if he would see him at the next society gala. Dark eyes were keen upon him for a quiet, considering moment.

"Indeed," he relented. "We leave with the dawn. The sooner we return to Zaichaer, the sooner we return to our duties. I can certainly taxi you to the High City; what you do from there is your own affair. Don't be late; we shan't wait." He paused, a slight smile softening his words. "I don't suppose there is anything you might add to the earlier conversation now that your master isn't here to observe and overhear?"

His eyes remained upon the man over the rim of his glass as he took another measured sip. He wasn't getting intoxicated; he was only allowing the heat to seep into his bones and relax him for an early bedtime. Eitan certainly knew how to party, but that wasn't what he was up to.

He wondered if he would be able to get the man's name out of him before all was said and done or if he wanted to continue to play mysterious. There was something too quick in those eyes now, more alien than Albrecht's eyes had been, even when they were shifting colors with his shifting moods.

[Rivin]

A smile, pleased but not too pleased, and looking entirely too much like an expression one equal gave to another, Rivin's body nodded and made to stand.

"Excellent, I am most grateful. I shall be aboard with all punctuality."

When he reached the door he made a half bow and with a simple,

"Till the morrow, Commander." Before exiting.

Once the door was closed behind them the body they now shared walked easily down the hallway until it was out of earshot of the bedrooms. The sensation of being suddenly grasped by the intangible idea of his personhood and thrust forward till he was, once again, right behind his own eyes was...

Rivin did not enjoy it, but that idea was swallowed whole by relief at being able to control his own form again. Stumbling he pressed his back against the solid wooden wall and panted as though he'd been running. Experiencing things, such as panic, without a heart to race or lungs to gasp was actually more uncomfortable. If asked before that night, Rivin would have theorized the opposite. It was something to think about later.

See? You're back, all safe and sound. Exactly as promised.

The Lysanrin actually jumped when the disembodied voice spoke into his mind. Closing his eyes and steadying himself he pushed himself off the wall and walked, calmly, back toward his own quarters. He needed to decide what to pack. If to pack, had been in his head for months, but now that he would be flying away on a ship piloted by those who had no intention of helping a slave escape, he would have to pack. To arrive with nothing would be suspicious. Clothes would do. Maybe... maybe books.

He was twenty more paces down the hall and beginning to turn down a new corridor before the idea hit him hard enough that he stumbled again. Books. Ilex's Books.

Not the library, which didn't even belong to the Doctor, but his journals. The experiment.

Rivin could not take them all, their were hundreds, but most were just the collection of data, information taken and stored for later use. The formula, the heart of it, was stored in only three, large, meticulous volumes. The door to the room they used for study was locked, of course, but he had a key to be used when an experiment needed tending overnight. Tail twitching, he changed directions.

Two hours before dawn a shadow stole from a window on the far side of the courtyard from the main doors, slipping down the wall with practiced ease, despite the addition of a bag of burden. When silent feet touched the ground they made their way to the entrance of the airship and slipped inside. It was not unattended, of course, but a few words whispered into Rivin's mind and then spoken from his lips reassured the man on duty. Finding a place without windows to the outside he settled in, nervous and sick feeling, so wait on fate to decide if he would spend the day soaring or screaming.

[Eitan Angevin]

Eitan had put himself to bed and awoken with a discipline born before his military service, but honed by it. Dienerin helped him dress, which was unnecessary, but a trapping of his social class. What was more helpful was the coffee and toast to wake him up and tide him over until later when he would have an actual appetite. They boarded the sexy little minx he had borrowed from the Dornkirk Windworks, and Dienerin went to prepare the airship for launch, though Eitan was planning to do his share of the piloting. He found he rather enjoyed practicing that skill now that he was mostly hands-off in command.

"Ah, you made it," he said, gregarious enough with the strange Lysanrin. "And made yourself at home."

He was amused rather than offended. It wasn't his ship, after all, and the man wasn't doing anything untoward.

Eitan felt the thrum of the engines through his feet and it set him at ease. Airships were home now, too, though he was eager to return to his true home.

"Dienerin will take the first shift at the helm, and then I will take over and dock us at the Windworks." He patted the wall. "She's a loan from a friend. Anyway, I suppose I should play the good host. Would you like any refreshment?" Regardless, he might speak to the man a while, though he was a bit cagey. Then, perhaps, he would get some of his calisthenics out of the way. There wasn't much else that needed doing, and he did like to keep himself in top condition, especially after his last foray into the Warrens and all that had happened there.

Remembering, he found he was able to hear the song of the wind as the airship rose. It was qualitatively different on high, and he could hear it through the hull of the ship, at least until he set his jaw and shut it out.

[Rivin]

The Voice had not offered any of its auditory advice since Rivin had regained control of his body, so he was left alone to handle interacting with the Zaichaeri officer. Attempting to uphold the accent and mannerisms of the brief conversation in the Commander's room the previous evening did not feel plausible, and he had spoken more to the man in his own manner, so Rivin fell back on his only real resource, himself.

The man, if he was a man, something about Angevin's form picked at the part-Lysanrin's brain, seemed genial enough. Uncurling from the seat he had taken Rivin stood,

"I did not wish to delay you, if you decided to leave early." Hearing himself speak, he was suddenly aware of how much of the Empire was on his tongue. He would have to try and do something about that.

At that moment the deck beneath them rumbled and Rivin froze; the best he could do not to jump. He did not want to say he had never been on an airship before. How could he know how unusual that was, or if it might be a reason to remove him before they rose into the skies? But, to a experienced ZADC officer, his virginity to the experience would be plain in his every muscle.

It was a struggle to even understand the words being spoken to him as the ship performed its intended function and rose into the air. His hands went to the railing immediately, and were white from gripping just as quickly.

Forcing his eyes closed he made his mind replay what had been said and replied, belatedly,

"No, thank you. Motion sometimes causes me to grow ill. Even a carriage does this." His stomach was already trying to fall out from under him and crawl up his throat at the same time. Even unable to see as the ship rose to flying height, his body knew what different elevations felt like. After a few moments, they stopped climbing and his body stopped trying to win the fight to make him tremble and curl up. Telling speed was not something that he knew how to do, and when he cautiously opened his eyes they were mostly surrounded by clouds, which, somehow, made it easier.

Unexpectedly, though he should have expected it, he heard hundreds of sprites, and even some larger spirits flitting all around the vessel. Mostly they were air, but some water as well. They sang and danced in their way, but sounded different from those he had encountered on the ground. Almost as if they had a different accent. The thought made him smile despite himself, a small thing. 'Hearing' the spirtes also made him more away of his natural hearing and he turned to look at the Commander, who had tried to be only helpful so far and asked,

"Why do my ears hurt?" If it was specific to him he would look foolish, but he was quite sure he was already doing that.

[Eitan Angevin]

Eitan seemed more concerned than amused by the man's tribulations. When he had gathered himself enough to talk, though, Eitan put his hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Try to keep your eyes on the horizon; whether it's land or cloud, it helps the mind orient itself and often the body is better able to handle the strangeness of it. This can be true in carriages as much as airships," he added. Giving the shoulder a pat, he let his hand fall.

"As for your ears, from what I gather from the physicians... there's a bit of fluid in our inner ears... helps with balance, which might also tie into the trick with the horizon. Anyway, the higher up into the sky we go, the air gets thinner. They theorize that with less air, the pressure inside our ears meets less resistance so we often hear little pops as things normalize. It's nothing to worry about. Sometimes it helps to yawn?"

He shrugged, having long since lost any discomfort when it came to rapid ascents and descents. He frowned, though, for a moment, trying to block out the song of the wind. That was new since his last foray into the Warrens. He could shut it out, but he wished he could just cut it out of him, shape his insides as Dr. Stechpalme had shaped his ears into a less offensive form.

"I find the wind helps," he said. "Fresh air, I mean. If you go belowdecks, you're more likely to grow ill. Just be careful you don't fall overboard." He grinned. "I don't want to have to tell Dr. Ilex I've lost his research assistant."

For a moment, he studied the man, wondering if he would need babysitting or whether he ought to find something to occupy himself with until it was time to relieve Dienerin.

[Rivin]

The touch, wholly unexpected, felt warm enough to make him realize how cold it was where they were now cruising through the skies. Why was it colder closer to the sun? The thought was logical enough to pull him back from fear enough to analyze Angevin's behavior at least. Something to try and puzzle out always helped.

Rivin had been casually touched by Ilex's guests, even the Doctor himself once in a while, mostly it seemed harmless, even thoughtless on the part of those who believed they were allowed.

"At least this doesn't shake as much." He said, wincing inwardly at his own lack of clarity and hoping the other man would understand he meant 'as a carraige'.

The answer made far more sense than the Lysanrin had been expecting but he nodded, even though the motion made him a little dizzy,

"Endolymph, the fluid." The yawning seemed sensible, and he was certainly tired enough for it. Giving the taller male a look that Rivin wouldn't know was mildly abashed he half turned away and covered his mouth as he tried. The popping sensation was... new. Dizziness made him grateful he'd left his other hand on the railing, but it only lasted a moment.

"The wind is nice." He agreed, letting his eyes wander over all the creatures making their way around the ship, some curious, some not even noticing its passage. The idea of spirits so large they covered countries in their slipstreams made him feel covered, small in a way that made safety. Without thought he reached out, a tiny gesture; just two fingers lifting from the railing to allow a tiny sprite to rub against them like a fish. It was soothing, and who was to know?

When he opened his eyes they were a clearer blue, almost matching the skies; a distinct enough change from the dark grey of illness and fear they had been since Angevin had approached him.

"How do you navigate, when it's daytime and you can't see the ground?"

[Eitan Angevin]

"Endolymph," he agreed, though he stored the tidbit away to ask Stefan about later. His brother-in-law was smarter than him, or at least more educated in all things scientific, and he was a safe source of information without worrying that his questions would elicit ridicule or disdain. He watched the Lysanrin out of the corner of his eye, otherwise taking note of their course from the taffrail. Or perhaps he wasn't entirely Lysanrin, after all. He knew there were the three tribes, and perhaps some demi-tribes where the three main branches of the crisscrossed. But while the man was markedly different from Florian Albrecht—tails were new—he didn't know how different one had to be in order to be a different people altogether.

If he was strange, well, he was foreign and foreign.

"We have instruments," he supplied. "Compasses and the like. And we learn to identify clouds and meteorological phenomena in order to make more educated guesses until we can dip below cloud cover to ensure our headings are correct. And the sun charts her course in a manner predictable. Of course, at night, there are the stars and the moons."

But now he was wondering whether Stefan might invent better instruments for blind navigation. After all, he knew how to warp light to hide a ship from plain view. To his mind, there was little Stefan Dornkirk couldn't accomplish given time and adequate resources. He wondered too if he would like an assistant like this one. He had certainly been curious about Albrecht and his innate powers. It was too bad they hadn't installed some sort of failsafe in Albrecht; perhaps had someone like Tobias, albeit more powerful and skilled instill a sense of loyalty into him.