Lulled and gently deposited into a stream of magic, the young King's stream of consciousness had all but quieted. A warm, comfortable dark enveloped him for the two weeks he slept; it spared him the agony of reformation, of pulling apart his broken form and putting it back together again. His gem was kind enough for that, and perhaps also keeping him from fretting too much. If Aure'd been allowed lucidity in the chrysalis, he'd have attempted to emerge after the first day.

Now, as his jasper's shell began to weaken and the light of awakeness began to creep in through the blinds, thoughts trickled in. They were unsteady at first. A gentle observation of his own blank surroundings to start, then re-parsing what'd landed him here. Fungus. Emuh - that canine monster. He... did something to me, after. Before leaving me, us, oh - us. Damask. There was the chisel, driven into a weak point of the inner chrysalis and membranes. I need to go. Go back - I'm okay now. Aure knew his lungs had yet to kickstart again. His eyes remained half-lidded as he shifted, twisting in too-tight confines to inspect and flex his once broken wing. I'm okay.

Adequately assured, Aure took a hammer to the proverbial chisel, letting all the gemstone-filtered light in and stretching against it. His chrysalis obliged after a moment of steeping in the cool of outside, blistering and splintering to reveal the Bone King; white as his namesake. Coughing up amniotic fluid into the broken shell, he lurched onto unsteady feet. There was too much light - he screwed his eyes shut a moment, and an instinctive flare of magic felt around. Satellite-dish ears swung around first, then his gaze, searching almost blindly for a familiar face.

@Damask

@Auré
retroactively: cw for intrusive thoughts, disordered eating, and general heaviness throughout damask's half

pace. perch. pulse check: still beating. perch and pace. squint, sniffle, shake. pace, pace — perch.

the past two weeks had been rough; the past twenty-four hours, rougher. damask swayed in her seat, huddled and shivering at the peak of the chrysalis. something like a yawn loomed in the back of her mouth, the kind that wouldn't come out, wouldn't go away. she felt empty, hollow, excavated. hey, when exactly was the last time you slept? let alone ate? that thought kept niggling at her, like a repeat wake-up call at six in the morning. fine, so it's been a minute. she huffed and glanced down at her feet, curled raw around the shell's grit. it was impassive as ever. he should've come around by now. her eyelids slid shut, losing the battle to keep them open. i've got to be there, i told him i would be, i promised —

she sucked in a high, gasping breath. there it was, the chip of a beak, his beak, his chisel to freedom. she dipped over the edge, switching this way and that, peering upside-down until she spotted it: a pinpoint fracture, about to burst apart. in moments' time, the jasper weakened and crumbled, left just enough space for her to maintain a scrabbling grip — and then her father spilled out, coughing.

can he breathe, can he see, is he okay — ? with effort, damask kept still, all fizzling nerves she fought to ride out. his wing looks better. no quote-unquote added features — except that he's clean, straight black-and-white, like, like ... like her. finally, she found her voice and used it. "welcome back, dad."

she dropped to the floor and crept up beside him. vertigo trembled up and down her legs, but she masked it with care, every step a delicate suggestion. shoulder-to-shoulder with her father, she stopped and canted her head, seeking out his gaze. her feathers were preened to deceptive perfection, but they hung just a little too loose, an ill-fitting suit around her aching frame; and her eyes, those she couldn't hide, dull and sunken over a smile as slight as she was.

"hey," damask whispered. drawing on dregs of energy, she sent breezy kisses along his cheeks, wings, trousers — to ease off the fluid, and to ... hold him, in a way that she couldn't.

i'm sorry. i want to. i can't.

"how do you feel?"

Strange, how the world sounded underwater in vivid technicolor facing one direction; crystalline-clear and monochrome in another. Rehearsed, almost, just for that barely-awake mind of his, haggard and slicked-over wet with new Is it new? Or is it rebirth? The rabbit's pace of his heart quelled a moment, finding nothing but his own mother's spores clinging to the remnants of his chrysalis. She's been here, he observed distantly, momentarily beside himself as Damask was.

Catching up. Catching — caught? Aure caught his darling's eyes, and near-immediately pinpointed their sunken nature and the way they couldn't be hidden behind a smile. It was too drastic a difference from before not to note. That below-sea-level feeling sunk back in, flooding his thoughts for a moment. I should've been — present? About? The before that persistently nagged at him suddenly found release. Pressure relieved from the back of his head only to coalesce at the front, between the brow. With it came the flutter of premortem memories, all grisly and pock-marked with she must have seen. Oh, and me, me — I

"I —" he tried, voice creaking as if in the wind. The young King started, shook himself with a lopsided stumble towards the wind's source (not Damask, but the opposite wall.) "I'm soh —" Frustration mounted, and he held his wings tighter yet against his sides, tail lashing once. "I'm sorry you — saw that. Whatever you did see —"

He'd avoided the question — or maybe missed it? It finally processed and he executed an answer to it, "fine — better… not… fully awake." The sluggishness clung fast, the aftershocks of his test having returned to a slow trickle. Best to avoid another overdose of shock; it was one Hell of a drug.

Aure's beak opened again, but he seemingly aborted the thought. He spun the proverbial table, returning Damask's check-in in his own manner: a low, barely within range of their hearing "are you okay? Going to be?" Two vastly and quantifiably different things. A start.

@Damask

@Auré

oh. damask's eyes opened wider, struggling against the heft of their lids. he is not doing so hot. it was almost as if he were ... swimming; wading through a dream, a world apart from hers, half there and half not. was he supposed to be like this, taking so long to wake up? something was wrong, something was wrong — "careful!" she yelped, feinting closer as he listed away. her magic slipped, and for a second, she thought she might have to — catch him, manually — but (good that's good) he steadied himself, somehow speaking.

when she blinked in response, his image inverted into memory. it wasn't hard; she saw it in her dreams — her father's body, bloody and battered, broken-winged, stumbling and staggering. a whole mess. that hasn't changed, huh. her features fell, gaze averted a moment from his, muzzle shaking minutely at the floor: don't be sorry. it's fine. i didn't see anything. or what i saw wasn't that bad? ... i can't get my story straight. she brought herself back, forcing clarity with a catch-all solution. let's not talk about it.

at least he had the mental wherewithal to tell her he was fine. it didn't inspire a great deal of confidence — saying it didn't make it true; damask knew that all too well — but the not fully awake part was patently sincere.

"are you okay? going to be?"

don't answer that. sudden impatience resounded in a rapid-fire tap of talons on stone; she echoed her earlier gesture with vehemence, tossing her head as if to throw the question away. "of course," she said shortly. "dad, listen to me. no worrying, not now, not about me or anything else. got it?"

she stepped back and traveled in a slow, shaky circle around her father, combing his frame for any trace of a flaw, assessing his color, his muscle, his weight. "sit, stand, or walk? are you hungry, thirsty?" beneath his confusion and all of that white, auré was — actually in pretty good shape. strong, unhurt ... well-fed. damask licked her lips, all her gnawing amplified, an unbidden shudder lancing down her spine. no, no, and no. remember giggle? it's not about you. swallow your spit and take care of him. message received; she forced her pains away and refocused. "tell me what to do."

Tap, tap, tap, — talons turned into breaths, deep inhales, sniffs along the floor, the walls, the hunter coming for its prey… that beast… creature — not calling it a monster, no, no, it had no part in what it was doing… Aure jolted again at the sudden toss of a head, bright eyes tracking the motion raptly before fixing on sunken-in eyes (noting, of course, they weren't like that before. She's —)

"No worrying, not now —"

"I will," he cut her off, entirely too quietly and hoarsely. His own voice sounded underwater, but was that his hearing? Or was he really still in a chrysalis, processing postmortem in the form of a chat with his dearest, most beloved daughter that was pushing him away? Away into the front, Aure admitted to himself, tail flicking mutely. Her simple yes-no question went intentionally missed; entirely out-of-character for one who went the extra mileage to respond to every little bit.

Damask's shaky circle was confirmation enough — "stand… are you any of those things?" Bright — dull? Bright eyes fixed on her, brows drawing halfway down them, "you — I… worry about you. Worried was the first thing I… felt, waking up. Let me worry, please." Caves, he knew she hated to be fussed over, hated the phantom sensation of being assessed and looked over, but the boundary-respecting part of him had yet to emerge from the chrysalis, withdrawn and keeping his affectionate impulses at bay. "I'm fine, I'm okay — I can take care of myself," Aure muttered, still groggily swaying on the spot. He paced a few steps forwards, and to the side.

Gooey eyes fixed on his daughter, his darling, and beckoned her: "please, Damask, go and… get something to eat and drink, just you."

@Damask

@Auré

all her attention, his; and all of his, hers. every word — every second her father's eyes spent on her — was another lash of an invisible whip, and hard as she tried to suffer it well, he had her pulse racing in the space of sentences. the first thing he felt ... was worried. about me. auré could take care of himself, he said, and she reeled away as he broke back into motion.

"please, damask, go and ... get something to eat and drink. just you."

frantic, violent: shit!, and with that outburst, a clamoring roar: this is on you, if you're gonna do this to yourself (you are) you need to be better at hiding it, he's not all there enough to hold himself back and you are on the brink, there's no fighting him not this time so suck it up and fix it — ! oh, surrender did not go down easy, but when it came to instinct versus rationale, she had to pick her typical poison. a tiny nod, and she turned on her heel, jumping into flight with a snap of her wings and a dull, searching flare of magic. to the river.

some fifteen minutes later, a scrawny walleye thumped onto the floor — followed by a scrabble of claws as damask lowered herself behind it, panting. please note: the rabbit's missing haunch, sliced away with surgical precision, and the water dripping pointedly from her chin to her chest. a moment to gather herself, meeting auré's gaze as she caught (... some of ...) her breath. satisfied? left unsaid, but it showed in her eyes, all the more weary for haste and exertion.

"the rest is for you." the accipiter nosed her kill in her father's direction. "it's your day, and it deserves to be celebrated. you deserve to. not another word about me." now, to steer them both elsewhere — somewhere, anywhere but this risky road. she leaned closer, a valiant attempt at conspiratorial intrigue sidling in as she turned the car around. "would you like to hear what you missed?"

Oh — and it was a lonely fifteen minutes.

If he listened close enough, there were phantom echoes, ringing from the fold in the space-time continuum he'd fallen from: an omnipresent hum; squealing frolicking; nightmarish shrieks; bone splintering, consumed — beast splintering, consumed — chrysalis splintering, consu… oh, no, not consumed, he twisted to peer at it, it's right there. Aure let his breath rattle in his chest. Easy does it.

His talons were still idly shifting the shards of his chrysalis about (arranging them in no particular order) when Damask returned, rabbit in hand, dripping-wet. A pointed note. Bright eyes stared at the Lesser, traced the clean-cut line of pelvis and haunch. It was a scrawny little thing, but it was something. Aure nodded gently and settled before it.

"My day's passed," he muttered gently — much steadier than fifteen minutes ago — into the rabbit's torn-off hind. It was already started there; may as well carve from it. The hybrid took in just that one hunk, before offering a weak nod, "I would."

Beat.

"But… I just — oh," Aure swallowed again, "I meant to say, after we were done here. Before I forget…" The filter pressed back in, halting his voice. (Before I lose the nerve.) At last, he forced it in one shot: "if you… want to, you should make a space for yourself. I'd like to know where it is but — if it's… a secret, that's okay. In Canis or Orion or Polaris, that's okay. I won't try to find it. I can… teach you how to replant mushrooms, or make little lights." Breath. "And — if one comes along, would you mind if I… assigned an apprentice to you? Someone for you to teach?"

Okay.

@Damask

@Auré

his day's passed? what in the world could that ... no, quit overthinking it; he doesn't know what he's saying. and just the one bite — ? she gave the rabbit another shove, harder than the first, her meaning unmistakable. the irony wasn't lost on her. damask, you liar, you absolute hypocrite. but auré hadn't caught it — the subtle absence of blood on her lips and meat on her breath. she'd assuaged his anxiety, and that was what mattered. plenty of time to make good on it later. yeah? yeah.

"i would." she lifted her eyes, ready to speak. "but ... i just — oh, i meant to say ..."

shot at and missed. he isn't gonna let this go. red-hot frustration accrued in her skull; a soft wheeze, her chest. not another word about me, she'd made it very clear. and that's seventy-one infractions. when he finally gave her space to respond, she took it at once. "can we please not —" but right there, her lungs went to pieces. a coughing spell. really?! come on! she dove into a wing, rode it out, and scrubbed the river's remnants away before she reappeared, shivering. the fit had brought her to a slow, sinking seat.

damask was not the one at the wheel.

she pulled herself together, tugging her voice free of her throat. "setting up a place could be of some benefit: instill a sense of security, ownership, inspiration; and the help that you're offering, i'd ... like that. you could stay or swing by anytime. only you." a hazy smile. "orion would be my choice of locale. as for an apprentice —" ah. outer cutoff, inner flinch. "... whatever you feel is best. so: yes and yes." she paused, brows furrowing. "hold up, though."

something isn't right. the speech was too sudden, too specific. auré had rehearsed it, and the authority of the ideas didn't match their wavering presentation — as if he wasn't entirely sure of them himself.

"this didn't come out of nowhere. someone put you up to it. i think we both know who."

Shove — Aure stared at the rabbit a moment longer, and shot Damask a look: I'll get to it in a moment, please... He just about withered halfway through it, much like her lungs in her request. The young King was capable of many things, but forceful looks was not on that list (neither is kil—) It was fruitless to see what he could do to help; he could only settle down further, watch as she sank in a shivering mess, a facsimile of those wind hoppers sitting between them. This wasn't quite so macabre.

Look, urged a beat of his heart, and he did, belatedly. Nothing new came onto the magical radar. Safe. It'd already be too late if it wasn't, but there was comfort in knowing — shaky as his magical hold was. Everything felt… strangely off-kilter. Not quite right. It wasn't the time to consider that. He was coasting through the conversational tophat — needed to keep the momentum, or he'd roll back into station.

The suggestion of having a place to herself was seemingly well-received, and the apprenticeship notification was lukewarm at best — but he'd take it. Aure's ears pricked forwards in time with the gooey smile on his face. His head bobbed in a single nod, and he dipped down to take another piece of the Lesser, foolishly believing that to be the end of it. It was in his mouth by the time the pause rang out and echoed: "Someone put you up to it. I think we both know who."

He tore off another piece of rabbit, hiding the grimace twisting his muzzle. What do I even say to that? It was blatantly obvious — as was he, shuffling his wings and chewing far more than was strictly necessary — that the ideas, at least, weren't his own. Softening blows and dishonesty were… pointedly not ideal paths to take. Successful navigation demanded honesty.

His throat flared, and he licked his chops once. Aure aimed and shot point-blank, "yes, she suggested it to me, at least." Eyes — brightened and semi-lucid, at this point — moved up from his meal to Damask, "but, I worry about you and I didn't know what to do about it aside from just… nothing." He twisted away to sigh, and looked back in earnest. "I know that you can take care of yourself and that you can protect yourself, but I can't help but be afraid for you. If we… fight or something happens and you need to be alone, I — at least — want to know where you are and let you have that space."

The apprentice thing went unacknowledged for the moment, letting his darling have a chance to speak on… all that.

@Damask

@Auré

tight on auré, abruptly very intent on his meal. the rabbit wouldn't go to waste — that was good, and it brought her a certain ... vicarious relief to see him eating it — but he'd made it his excuse to stall. go on. say it. prove me wrong. damask stood motionless, expectant — waiting, waiting, waiting for a ... "yes." something in her face came close to cringing, and she concealed it with a sideways tweak of her head, brow relaxing. slowly and a little numbly: "... okay."

he kept on talking — dancing around her the way he knew how, all those constructions of i know and but i that acknowledged her position as he put forth his own. yet they faded into the background, absently catalogued in the back of her mind. they were talking about me. the two of them. together. she could see it now: his mouth and giggle's, drawn close in the shadows, her name a dirty word on their tongues. the picture brought a creep of nausea to her gut, the pressure in her chest going absolutely nowhere. air crawled slowly in and out through her nose, a whistling rhythm just loud enough to hear through the distance.

what else had they said about her?

snap out of it! nothing messy, just the facts. keep it light; easy-breezy.

"hey, learn to take yes for an answer, yeah? i'm amenable to both ideas, if a little more to one than the other." one, two coughs, but she strained a smile through the pinch in her voice. "the apprentice thing. i trust your judgment, and i'll agree to it. however —" another bark, harder this time, a flare of pain around her stone, and she fell quiet for a beat. here was another kind of anxiety, the kind she'd felt with masquerade — with the gamboling shapes she sometimes found in her sensory periphery, given a wide and furtive berth. does he know how i am? about kids? didn't matter; she'd steer around that too. "the timing, the specificity ... it strikes me. let's assume an opportunity does present itself — and unless i'm mistaken, it hasn't. why not someone more qualified? i don't see the angle." except that ... no, you're pretty sure you do. she was fishing, yes, but not for a compliment. 'cause that's not what you're about to get.