ORIGIN - gluey feathers on a flume

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Every frame of her rewinding flickered by too fast to parse; merely to notice. It punctuated that quiet "oh" of realization, and passed in the splitting of a second. There one moment, gone the next, tossed out the window with a flick of the head.

Snout tilted, and a glimmer of "holding you to it." It was too easy to cling to that teasing squint and posture. Airs put on to disarm that smattering of unidentifiable undertones. Aure let a soft laugh and a brief "alright" escape him. But, was it genuinely mirthful — playing along? — or was it another draught of concern? He himself wasn't sure of what was in that one-word cocktail, but he ought check to see if it'd been spiked. Perhaps the young King wasn't as lucid as he thought he was.

Enough so, however, to notice that slight side-to-side listing and take a half-step into that carefully established distance. He waited until Damask'd taken another measured step before following proper; carving still clutched in his claws. It had a nice tactile sensation, rough edges somehow worn smooth to the touch — every grain stood out and chafed against his wing-claws. Many feelings to experience.

All in good time.

Satellite-dish ears swung forward, catching words ("... what I don't understand.") and hardly any change in motion ("... for what? ... was more.") until the spasm of lungs and flanks. Aure stiffened, only to smother that pervasive desire to launch his heist. His beak tipped in acknowledgement, murmuring preemptively, "hm."

Do I feel any different? Looking directly at each limb striding in and out of his periphery, he initially thought no, I don't. He might be flight-capable once again, thanks to his chrysalis, but nothing'd shifted. There was no disorienting extra limbs or spines where they shouldn't be. Magic hadn't altered his form except to strip off the cycles-old ferrous coating on his feathers. Blinking, pupils contracting to adjust to greater Polaris's gleaming lights, Aure zeroed in on magic. The very thing he'd struggled to grasp since his reawakening (~~rebirth?~~) Something once so close to him that it was nearly second nature. Gone like the glimmer of a wisp, which he quietly dismissed.

"Not physically, no," he admitted, at long last, "but, it's almost like... my magic's changed." Aure's ear twitched. "I know it, but it's... different?" Struggling to articulate, he paused and hummed through another series of thoughts before settling — "it's unfamiliar, like it was when I was younger. New, even. I can feel less of it, but I feel like there's... more room for it." Potential, locked away behind uncertain footing. Strange, how that worked. Emuh hadn't left any instructions; just the promise of more.

@Damask

@Auré

ah, now here was a puzzle. damask hadn't expected her father to know all the answers, but ... he was struggling with the subject even more than she was. as he grappled for words, she made a note of every one, turning the intel over and over in her head, thinking in time with the one-two beat of her stride. nothing different physically, he reported, which ... yeah, checks out. she was betting on another kind of change, less tangible, like, like — "my magic ... i know it, but it's ... different? ... unfamiliar, new, less of it, but ... more room for it." like that. the pieces were falling oh, so neatly into alignment. it all came back to that word, noun-adjective-verb. transcendence: existence or experience above and beyond. transcendent: extraordinary; exceptional. transcend: to rise above. emuh's reward was an exclusive pass to power. it was on auré to climb the steps and turn the key. the answer in itself didn't come as a surprise; this had always been about magic, and it only made sense it'd end the same way. potential? damask could've figured that part out on her own. just not the rest of it. that the trial would steal from him. that it would leave him acting, looking, feeling like this.

well, that explained the state of his wisp: small, fitful, and ... as of just now, altogether extinguished. she gritted her teeth, resisted the urge to kick at an imaginary pebble. maybe it was fair, in the meanest sense of the word, to have that catch — a humbling reminder, for the ones who needed it. but not for auré, not him, not her dad. he'd already paid his price and done his time. she couldn't even guess at how long it would take for him to recover from this, and not just in a magical sense. but come on. is that really what he needs to hear? no, it very much was not.

"all right, more room," damask said. "more space. empty right now, but all we need to do —" back it up, back it up! "all you need to do is make it full." what are you even talking about? she held her breath and released it. fun fact! there is a bright side! you're even allowed to look at it! "practice, train, retake what this took from you, and then take more. few weeks, you'll look back on today and you'll think, that used to be me. you made the right choice, and magic aside, you're already stronger for it."

hm, good stuff. real inspirational. so, how about you? are you, did you, will you? coming up on five cycles, now, and how much have you changed since the world spat you out? no, scratch that, how much for the better? is it ever gonna be for the better? you're looking pretty down right around now, kid, so here's the million-dollar question: just how low can you go?

her voice hadn't cracked, even carried a note of pressing persuasion: i'm selling; you're buying. and yet — somehow, somewhere in that tangle of rhetoric — all of her face had slumped down to half-mast. there, a prick, alcohol burning in two open wounds. damask swallowed, walked, swallowed, walked, staying the course, confining herself to a perfect, unbroken loop. he wouldn't see a thing. even so, she forced a smile just for the floor.

"what i said earlier, it stays between us. please. i'm serious." a hush, a downturn: "and i'm sorry." that's it that's the end not another word neither of us have the energy and you know it so just let it go: "right now, orion and the state of the nation. no need to talk, no need to listen."

usually, their dynamic went the other way around.

"... all we need to do — ... you..." Wait, — but, of course, Damask couldn't hear his thoughts, and she did not. "Practice, train, retake..." — she cut herself out. The young King clutched at the brakes of that train of thought, ripping them back with such a ferocity that it broke the lever clean-off. It hurtled on, why? being the caboose, vanishing off the edge of the world. It was good for both of them that he was too tired to give chase on either wing or foot.

So, he kept to his pacing strides, woodblock tumbling in his claws in a brief fidget. Aure glanced up from it with a soft hum, ears pricking forward, "just the same as learning about any magic, I — suppose... ?" The young King let her have her sales pitch, just this once (and every other time, because he was too sure of her ability to keep a handle, even with it being swept away and haphazardly rebuilt in every little instance, too fast for him to comprehend.)

"If you've... got any pointers... ?" His brows quirked pitifully, even with the hybrid ahead of him, staring down her nose at the ground.

Click! Click! — and a muffled boom!, the bullet pushed through the rings of a suppressor. Barely audible, not at all intended as a shot between the ribs, but Aure feinted in that direction. What'd I say? He stumbled backwards through his addled consciousness where memories and sentences were already melting together like wax on a sunny day. What is it —

Damask evoked his offer to walk without speaking.

That left him alone in his tumultuous thoughts, reaching into them in a feeble grab. Talons hooked in a corner of them, and pulled. The blurred and torn folds of his short-term memory unraveled for him. It was almost like an accordion: if he let his hold slacken, it started to recoil back into its messy state.

Transcendence, emergence, initial concerns, Damask steeling herself — oh.

Oh...

Aure couldn't just forget that like she wanted him to, but —

The young King let go of himself, turned the carving over a few more times, and continued to walk after Damask. All that compressed into a mere twenty seconds of uncharacteristically brutal, heady silence on his own part.

fade... ? :cattocry:
@Damask

@Auré

nothing. absolutely nothing. crickets, crickets, crickets, and yes, damask had told him that he didn't have to talk, but did he have to take it like this? all she needed was some form of acknowledgment, some indication that he'd heard her, that he understood what she was asking of him, that he would respect it — that he wouldn't — ... tell on you. the silence wore on: impossibly, paradoxically loud. come on. come on. a few paces more. even ashtoreth wasn't this quiet. please, dad. she could've torn the air and its absence apart in her teeth — or she could've choked on it. say okay. say okay. just say okay, and he wouldn't.

she swallowed again. maybe if she just snuck one quick peek over her shoulder? see if he would at least nod at her? could she manage that much without stumbling, without giving herself away at the sight of his face? ah ... better not. had to look ahead, the next step and no further. and maybe that was better, not knowing — wasn't it? withholding herself, choosing inaction, clinging onto that hope of something good? getting hard to see with all this shrinkwrap over her eyes.

is it sinking in yet, just how badly you blew it today? biggest mistake you ever made, and what does it feel like, knowing you can't ever take it back? like waking up from a dream and wishing you hadn't? like losing a limb that'll never grow back? like taking a bullet just shy of the heart, and oh, if only it could've just killed you?

none of the above, actually. see, some things didn't feel like anything else.

"you've got a lot of work to do," damask said, and screw this, just because he wouldn't make her any promises didn't mean she had to do him just as dirty: "anything you need from me, know that it's yours." mmm, so much easier to look after someone else. yes. "so — !" really not impressing anybody with the segues today, are we? "word is, it's all quiet on the home front, just as i'm sure you expected." not that you can speak to it yourself. you were too busy sitting right here. "giggle took all of this very well. she's been visiting on a regular basis, actually." and didn't that just make you seethe. totally could've taken all that time she was there to get some sleep. eat something. you didn't really have to self-destruct to prove that you're the best rock-watcher around. "more on that later. you'll be seeing her soon, assuming she's on schedule." oh, boy! bet you can't wait! "now, pride ..." oh, yeah, you mean that pride-shaped blob of red? the one you were spying on from all the way over there, because little nobodies like you don't get to talk to celebrities without parental supervision? "he also went in for a trial. finished, naturally — but you beat him to it by a straight three days." except that he also came out completely unscathed, which auré very much did not. real tactful of you to leave that part out. you know what, just keep going with your sweet little lies. after today? probably best if you don't ever tell the truth again. "wish you could've caught the look on his face when he saw you ..."

... and imagine those words fading away in her mouth, lips still moving, sound presumably still coming out. damask stopped and hovered for a couple of steps; let her father catch up to her side; continued. a very nice picture, just a tiny, happy family of two on their way home.

off that picture, cut to black. but something's missing, something's not right ...

hey, everyone's waiting. answer now. one more time: how low can you go, kid?

and roll the credits.

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