Head twisting away, and a murmured "... okay." Well-received, aside from the whistle-wheeze of a barely-stifled breath and coughs. She'd been coughing before, hidden under a wing. There wasn't anything he could do, he was sure — oh. Reach into the air, twist it, break those bits of pressure and make it shift around. There could be more airflow. Easier breaths, without stirring up the dust around. It took slowly, a sort of push and pull in the barometric pressure on either side of the corridor. The cast was safely away from either of them, but made a drifting breeze.

"Hey, learn to take yes for an answer, yeah?" A little dif — Aure shoved off the thought before it came to fruition. He shifted in place, tucking away another shred of Walleye, working up past the hip now. "Looking to be clear, I suppose," was his attempt; no ill intent presided in his heart.

"No, no one's come along," he confirmed, then paused to swallow down some more rabbit. "But, when it does, I want you to... at least have the chance to try it out; it might be a good fit and you may like it... ? 'Qualifications' don't play into it at all." Bright eyes blinked — offset with logic, or... "with... Draco on the horizon, I want to delegate duties — I've needed to for a while — so that we're... well, prepared for it." Off-track, steer back onto the rails, there, bud. "It shouldn't be a... all-the-time thing, at least. You won't have to look out for your... apprentice at all hours."

The Bonebound weren't operating in some sort of American job market; not on his watch.

@Damask

@Auré

the words died in her mouth and sunk heavily to her lungs, rasping and wheezing around the knife in between. okay, hold steady. oxygen in, CO2 out — hey, wait ... that's a little better. damask's nose turned softly into the breeze. a shiver sent her feathers ruffling as her airways let up, and she tossed her father an appreciative look. no thank you, no you're welcome, no acknowledgment on either side — exactly how she wanted it. instead, he launched into his reasoning, and it did not impress. "qualifications don't play into it"? well, they should've; someone's education would be on the line, and the bonebound had better to offer than her. auré was hiding the real motive, but it wasn't hard to guess. in terms of its origins, the idea wasn't his. giggle thought that she had a confidence problem — what, are you saying you don't? ... and that this would help. as for auré himself ... it's the best he's got. he doesn't know what else to do with you, and he's grasping at straws, because:

"with draco on the horizon, i want to delegate duties."

... that's right. the meeting. it's coming up and i never told him. i've gotta tell him.

that thing she'd thought so hard about — kept a secret, even halfway to herself. damask started, snapping to attention, gears turning in another direction. hold on. maybe an apprentice made more sense than she'd thought. competence, caretaking, leadership: all very relevant skills, and auré was giving her a chance to develop them. a chance, and a gift. still, that flare of automatic apprehension; but teaching wasn't parenting, and as long as nobody crossed that line, this might just work. "i'm in," she said. "thank you." here, her eyes darted away, jaw working, talons rapping clicka-clicka-click — stop it!, and she did. inhibitions, where you at? here's how you look, and here's how you feel: like shit. you're not thinking straight, your composure just cracked, you are not in control. you sure you wanna do this now?

but if not now — when?

"listen," she began. "regarding delegation. there's something i've been meaning to discuss with you." whoa. was that her? no pause, no stutter, not the slightest hint of a tremor, she didn't even have to try, and it caught her off guard. whatever it was, she let it take over, a certain intensity pressing its way into her sentences. all of a sudden, she was on her feet, pacing in a tight, unwavering circle as she continued. "several weeks ago, you told me i could be whatever i wanted to. you never made it into a question, but i did, and i've been asking it ever since. i've taken the time; i've assessed all the options; and i have the answer. short of you, nothing is more important to me."

damask stopped and sought her father's gaze. despite all those sleepless nights, her eyes had gone clear — not hollow, but hungry, and brighter for it. her chest rose and fell in a deep, mustering breath, spine straight, shoulders back. finally: "i'd like to be k —" (WHAT ARE YOU DOING STOP RIGHT THERE AND STICK TO THE SCRIPT DO NOT SAY THAT WORD TAKE THAT K AND TURN IT INTO A Y DO IT DAMASK DO IT NOW) "— your next of kin."

No acknowledgement, but Aure just knew that his magical intervention was appreciated with that small smile — at least, he hoped it was. I'll try to remember that, he signed down onto the parchment of his conscious; any good use of his abilities was worth keeping close, and any way to help his darling (right, no, she wasn't his to keep) Damask with… whatever it was that plagued her in these small moments was something to be treasured. It'd been a flight of hopeful wind, and it worked. He returned the smile, at least twice as warm and honey-sweet.

Her silence suggested not agreeing, but then… oh, there's the start and the shift. She seemed to slip right into gear. I don't know and wonder why she — Clicka! clicka! clicka! She's building up to say something, and Aure tried his damnedest not to tense up. Feathers pricked slightly, and he smoothed them down deliberately. It's probably not bad news. Giggle hadn't disappeared in his absence, his family was okay, the Caves were safe, he hadn't missed Draco —

"Listen." Like Hell he wouldn't, even if the build-up and dancing around was suffocating him (Aure was quickly learning that suspense from his daughter was almost oppressive and what a terrible thing it was to realize that.) Damask swelled up, spoke, and —

OH!

Oh…

If the monochromatic raptor kept count of the heavy silence following, it came out to a mere six; it was rough running through a hundred-plus thoughts in such short order. The vast majority were, of course, this is unexpected. What do I say to that? How — Bones, what's mom going to think? Including various permutations of such, of course.

Aure blinked slowly, sighed, and forced a breath, "okay." He inhaled again, almost stiffly, and exhaled another "okay." A quick shake of the ruff, and he added, "sorry, sorry — that's just quite a thing to spring." It made sense, didn't it? Her commitment to magical practice and attending overwhelming committee assemblies. He'd offered the opportunity once, and it was unfair to not let her have a shot at it. The wyvern stared down at Damask, smiling slowly, "I won't announce it at this meeting — one thing a time — but we'll work on it, alright? Training and… practice, maybe?" Whatever that'd entail.

Almost immediately, he set to watching quietly — gauging a reaction as best he could.

@Damask

@Auré

one, and done. two, i'm through. three, four, five ... that came out pretty good, right? besides the stammer? i did this right, and it's out in the open, i was — i was honest. this is a good thing. he just needs a sec to process. ... six ... wait —

a heavy sigh left his lips, and in that moment, damask's heart was scarcely beating. whatever leonine power had possessed her, it didn't anymore. she clung tight to herself, utterly frozen — save for the nystagmic jitter of her pupils as she watched his mouth move, riding out the successive waves of his reaction. "okay," and once again, "okay." he sounded stiff, tired, faintly troubled: not one sign of joy at this news, not in his voice or his face or anywhere else. hey, now, is that really what you expected? no, but she'd been hoping. a tufted ear flickered back, willing away the noise. it's another load on his shoulders, and that's the last thing he needs. told you the timing wasn't right, this was a mistake, whatever chance you had it sure is ruined now, should've kept your mouth shut, should've told no one at all kept it the dream it's always gonna be — no, stopstopstop —

"sorry, sorry — that's just quite a thing to spring," oh, had she sprung it?, she hadn't wanted it that way, built up to it and everything; a tiny wobble prodded at her posture, her composure, but: "take your time," she said quietly, urging him on in spite of her instincts —

"i won't announce it at this meeting. but we'll work on it, all right?"

and there it went: the last of her energy, each and every drop. damask tried to catch herself, clamped her teeth before they could part; but she had neither the mental nor the physical strength to stop her shoulders slumping. goodbye, bravado — and hello, exhaustion, seeping back in force, every lost hour of sleep written plainly in the lines of her face. all right, she mouthed, nodding quickly at the floor, almost more to herself than to him.

count the seconds, six of them, a perfect replica ... (what's wrong, kid? didn't get the cake and confetti you wanted? your dad let you down like a crying hatchling, and it still wasn't gentle enough for you? what happened to it being his day, huh? how's it always end up being about you — sweet, stupid, selfish you?) ... and then, total whiplash, screeching wheeling one-eighty running on fumes and strung-out static.

"enough about me," she managed, with the faintest, fakest color of a chuckle. that supposed to pass for a segue? are you seriously this out of it? sure was, and increasingly sick, at that; but she forged ahead, wove a step forward. "more than enough. are you feeling up to walking home? or flying. your choice, of course. i'll bring you up to" — coughing jag! — "to speed, on the" — pant, pant — "on the way. everyone will be" — where's my air where did it go please please don't do this now aahh it hurts come on breathe breathe breathe — "so happy to see you."

she cinched her features into a smile, eyes narrowing from the bottom up, puffing through her nose as quiet as she could, bubbles of pressure and saltwater just-withheld in her throat.

It wasn't as if he weren't enthralled by the prospect of Damask — selfishly made to carry on his legacy on monochromatic wing — striving to be just that. His lukewarm reception was the conflict between paternal joy from success and the deep-seated worry of what if - what if - what if? It was a goal to work towards, work with her on, maybe it'd help to look towards something - they could work on it together so she wouldn't go down the path Az -

Oh.

Bright eyes stared through the shift in composure: eyes averting, nodding at the floor, a poor segue. Feathers pricked once, twice, then smoothed. Flattened, even — rounded ears followed suit. Furrowing a brow, he rocked up to his feet, abandoning the rabbit between them. Enough of that and lying about. Aure strode forwards, wings outstretched and tempted to break that barrier of personal space between them.

Lucid enough, though, he restrained the urge and reached again for his magic. Again for what'd helped just moments ago. It slipped out of his grip — and back out of mind. He took another stride, stole another inch or two of space and for once — for once! — managed not to back down or away. "We'll walk — we'll walk," he began, taking a fussy step away for once and finally starting to leave Emuh's testing grounds, "I don't need to know everything right away either. We can just be quiet for a little bit." Rest the wing, don't worry too much about how much air you can get in up there.

Aure worried his beak, tongue swiping once over his teeth. A pace away, and the young King took another shot, "I know you just said, but... I do want you to know that — that I'm happy for you. I'm glad you... want something. I just wasn't prepared for it." For that specifically, or for anything? Would he have been surprised if Damask'd announced her vested interest in cartography? Her keen eye for anatomical structures? Research and deduction? If she'd announced anything?

What did that mean?

@Damask

@Auré
cw for emetophobia and severe panic/respiratory attack in the intermission
yes this thing has a goddamn intermission i'm so sorry for the length please enjoy

her father drew closer, wings outspread, and damask's smile faltered. closer still; it faded. she jerked her head to the side, a flare of reproach, of — of fear? — in the motion. under other circumstances, she might've let him have this, respected his day and his wishes over her own idiosyncratic aversions; but now, now the danger of breaking the levee was far too high. he knows better, we have an understanding — and then he stole another inch from her. she recoiled outright, almost lost her footing, teeth flashing, snapping high and fast and small: "don't touch m —" why NOT? huh? freak? her voice cut away, ebbing into another fit. she fell still, blinking at him. chastened. he wasn't even going to do it.

and yet ... he let it go. the outburst, the confession, all of it. at least for the moment. and that was all she wanted, needed — i'll get over this, i will! it's fine! it's cool! — a moment, an hour, maybe a day at the most, and they could come back to it. just ... not now. walk — they'd walk. that was fine. she nodded, sidling back to let auré pass. so you're having one of your things, and he doesn't want to fly, he doesn't want to talk. you don't think there's anything suspicious about that? of course there was, but no hiding, no denying it anymore: damask couldn't afford to refuse. she began to turn after him —

"i know you just said, but ... i'm happy for you."

... only to stop, eyes squeezing shut.

a long pause followed, silent save for the rattle in her chest. when she did speak, the words swum in her ears, as if through water or a dream. "ah, almost forgot," and cough. "i have something for you." she opened her eyes. "just — just sit tight for a second, all right? i'm sorry. s-sit tight." you're a wr-wr-wr-wreck, damask, a wreck. she swallowed and reversed the turn. it took some momentum this time, and on takeoff, the imbalance was alarming — but she wouldn't have to go far. the wall was close, the ledge itself not too far overhead. only barely out of earshot and sight.

---

her feet hit the shelf, and that was it, that was all she could do — she doubled over, barking, every convulsion a pressing knife between her lungs, pains and chills and shudders rolling up and down her frame, leaking tears thick as blood; but she fumbled through it, this fog in her eyes this roar in her ears, sifting through the nook in the wall with claws that shook — where is it, which one, why did it take me so many to get it right? — garbage, worthless, all wrong — is this it? — it was, or at least she thought so; feel, feel, that's the one, try number five — but it's stupid, this is so stupid, he'll think it's stupid, just like his daughter who wants to be a king — !, and right around there, she would've thrown up, except that there wasn't anything to pitch. just bile and spittle. a mess, nonetheless. retch, wheeze, pant — calm. everything hurt, and then everything didn't. was this dying? no, not dying. but you're not in control, and is that so much better? no food, no sleep, messy emotions running wild, this is what happens. back behind the wheel. now. right, she took a moment: recollected the memory of breathing. clean up your face. okay. pick up the thing. okay. and take it to him. okay. she pushed around, faced the room, braced herself for one last flight. her wings trembled like paper in the wind.

---

with luck, auré wouldn't notice the dizzy stagger on the landing, the ruffles in her feathers, or the lingering smell of something sour around her muzzle. he would, by some miracle, overlook all the aftershocks. instead, he would hone in on the objet d'art that she carried in her claws.

it was a little wooden carving, born of the overgrown treehouse she'd found by the spire. making it'd been a matter of trial and error — a lot of trial, a lot of error. she couldn't've gone for something simple, and attikias had only shown her how to do it the once. but here it was: a troop of whittled mushrooms, blooming from a base in the shape of her father's footprint. damask had fussed over every detail, down to the impressions of gills and of three talons' points. all exactly to scale.

she held out the thing, looking as if she'd stolen it and been made to bring it back. all that time and it's still not good enough. i could've done better. one of the caps had a chip in it. one of the stems, a crack. "still needs to be painted, polished, but —" shut up and look at him. she cleared her throat and lifted her eyes — put a real thrust of cheer into it when she said once again, "welcome back, dad."

lemme get uhhh intermission ... two!
Head snapped away — he should've stopped there — whites flashed like the explosion at the end of a rifle, a light before the glint of a bullet holding fast to the thing nestled square between the second and third ribs. Turn left at the sternum. The question was if it was Damask that pulled the trigger, or if it was himself. (He couldn't help the obvious flinch and raise of feathers.) Aure knew better than to even look like he was going to make uninitiated contact; knew better than to seem even a small bit like he was going to say anything about his daughter when she'd already established the barrier and hoped he'd respect it like he always did.

The silence was worse than the initial buckshot and he swore he could feel his heart bleeding out onto the ground. At least he was present enough not to look for it. Stay the course, don't push the envelope even further with innate affections —

— "sitting tight," he muttered, and he hated how dejected and defeated he'd sounded. Worn-out from dancing around, worn-out from worrying over the plastic-bag-in-the-wind lilt of Damask's wings on takeoff. Bright eyes traced her path away. Aure didn't like the temptation to place a mental link between them. If she really was fetching something — if she was taking a moment to herself — she could handle herself. Her trajectory had seemed fairly straight. Single-minded. Tunnel-visioned.

---

Aure sighed shakily, curling his claws into the rock. The stench of rot and decay was rising up in his nostrils, bile coursing through his gullet despite his persistent swallowing. Invasion. Many as one. One as none. Swallowing became fruitless, and he shook his head. His magic prodded in one direction, but he pushed it into another — he already knew what would come of the original intention. Nothing. Nothing, he was safe, but idle claws made for an idle mind and an idle mind ran a mile from an inch.

A phosphorescent light winked into existence, small and feeble. It was enough. It'd do to stare at, direct every woe of his until they managed to fade back into the subconscious. Not quite compartmentalized, but coped with for the time being. Packed away for painfully slow digestion.

---

The young King hadn't quashed his wisp by the time of Damask's return, but it'd fallen out of his periphery. Out of sight, but not quite out of mind. It was sustained by weak pulses of his magic, and little more. Bright eyes did a single once-over (I can't bring that up, can't do anything about that but give her the space —) and found themselves fixing sadly (at first!) on the carving. Unfamiliar, Aure didn't immediately recognize it for what it was but a piece of wood broken-up. A sweet gift, but...

Oh, wait, he peered at the offering, the caps and the footprint set deep into it. Three-toed, surrounded by fungus. That's mine. It stirred his heart one, two, out of rhythm. Worries sloughed off to the side, ice floes drifting into the vastness of the ocean. Aure gazed at it, twisting his head to and fro to look at it. One foot lifted to get a closer look, but he managed to place it back in the same spot. Lesson remembered.

Instead, dark wing-claws reached out, spread just far enough apart for the carving to be placed into on Damask's own terms. To look at with even more detail and gooey love. The young King smiled — close to tears — and murmured, "painted and polished or not... it's beautiful." His gaze drifted up from it, back to the haggard-looking youngster holding it. Aure tried not to let his smile falter, but it did just that small bit. A split-second thinning of lips, barely-noticeable, but he made up for it with the genuine "thank you, Damask. I love it."

P.S. "I love you."

@Damask

@Auré

just a little thing made of wood. two starving, sleepless weeks, and that was all damask had to show for it. it'd felt so right at the time — his footprint, his fungus, memorized and reiterated slice by careful slice; something thoughtful, something she'd made with her very own claws — but now? if it weren't too late, she'd've thrown it to the wall until wind and stone sheared it to splinters. this had been a tree once, alive and green and self-evidently perfect. and it should've stayed that way. blood rose to her face as she tracked her father's appraisal. up came a foot — let him, just let him, you don't get to keep your walls after what you said to him — but ... no, and out came his claws, upturned, the width of his talons apart. give it up. and she did, less a thief now than an out-and-out child. her wings snapped at once to her sides — no, further, digits shuffling underneath, like a guilty pair of hands crossed behind her back.

"beautiful," huh? talk about telling her what she wanted to hear. okay, look, is that really what you think of him? are you blind? don't just stare through him: look at him. but the moment she brought her sights into focus was the moment he lifted his own — the moment his smile thinned, infinitesimally or not. ... that's me, that's me, that's because of me ... she couldn't take the heat; averted her eyes, hid them and the sockets they lived in.

"thank you, damask. i love it." you know what's coming next. "i love you."

and just like that — KEEP IT TOGETHER, KID! — she was choking up, muzzle twitching, threatening at twisting with the impossible effort of containing a sob. after her gaze, her head followed suit, straining not to bare teeth at the floor. why did he have to be so soft, so sweet, so good? what had she ever done to deserve this? what was there to love? nothing. say it back. unthinkable: those three words were dangerous, a tune she danced to but never ever sang, hoping against hope she could show their significance any other way. no. yes. no. but she couldn't — say it back, you coward piece of shit, or he's gonna get hurt.

"... and you," damask mustered, the confession crackling low in her throat.

oh, she was tired, in every which way. she had to get out of here, out of this place, out of her horrible, horrible head. the accipiter ducked away, breathing, breathing, compass needle swinging unsteadily towards the exit — and found ... a feeble, floating light, a ways off, just barely discernible. one of her father's. she gravitated towards it, a planet to a star, tiptoeing. (even then, her feet crisscrossed a little; hard as she tried, she was not passing any sobriety tests today.) up close, the wisp's phosphorescence played in her eyes, along her feathers, turning them close to white and blue. she paced around it, alarms in her ears, a crease in her brow. that's his self-soothing spell. just the same as alpha's eye for blood, and for her, that — that one, the magic with her voice, that she'd been — practicing, ah ... kind of a lot, as of late. back on task. auré used it when he needed a distraction, a comfort; she'd only caught him in the act once or twice, but it was too transparent to miss. meaning: something's wrong. then: it can't be my fault, not this too. it has to be something else. has to.

one more circle, and she switched from the wisp to her father's eyes, features fallen into unsheathed concern and dismay. "what is it?" she said quietly.

Moments like these cruelly reminded the young King of the difficulty of being a father — even when magic did half the work as certain Masters thought. It was hard when your child, someone you created was looking away and shuffling about and metaphorically steepling fingers guiltily just for making one gesture of love and affection; when she was so near something but stepping closer would bring about a nuclear meltdown with him at the controls. What a headline that'd be.

Even Aure, with his conscious at half-mast, had noticed the rough shape Damask was in and the compensation attempted for it. But, he waited. There isn't much else he can do with his claws occupied with the carving and his talons rooted to the ground. All he can do is to take that and you for what it was because it was a rare verbal show where she so clearly preferred gestures and indications for affection.

It was in the way she regaled him with a vast amount of her explorations and information-gathering; her accompanying him to the Place of Ascension; this gift and her almost religious watching-over him and presence, even at the expense of her own health. Quicksilver eyes and the hollow face they were sunken into averted and tucked away behind a wing — I just wish you didn't... let yourself fall so low for me. Aure wished he could do more; oh, how he wished.

The best, he supposed, he could do was read the cues: the cards being laid out on through a spectacularly failed test in lucidity. Heading out, right.

He counted the steps and moved after the monochromatic raptor with a marching rhythm drumming out in his head. Damask's head came up, muzzle pointing directly at the phosphorescence lighting up the tunnel. Ah, and it was still there, pleasant to look at while mulling over how his daughter could barely stumble a foot ahead. He'd walk with her until Orion, and let her have the chance to go on her own to eat, drink, and rest. He'd offer to catch her food, too.

The goal was, then, to just assure her that he was fine.

Because, really, he is. The Bone King is past the initial gut-punch of postmortem trauma. It was uphill from here, even if he was being railroaded back towards looking at himself (and another for the notes: she's always looking after him when I should be the one looking after you.)

"What is it?" Aure trudged ahead a few paces, trying not to look so dismayed by confronting what he'd just pushed down and tucked away. A sigh — read: honestly? — capitalized his voice, "it's just — remembering that test." (and the Mother thing, going unmentioned for his own sake) "I promise that I'm okay now, though."

He shifted the figurine in his claws, and trailed after Damask another few paces. "Are y —" Wait, rephrase. "Let's go to Orion." Ready whenever you are. Just a quiet, focused walk. Heading for the hills — heading for home.

@Damask

@Auré
damask's almost done, i swear!!

the test. "oh." damask let her eyelids close. auré's answer should've added weight to her shoulders. instead — if only for a moment — it made them lighter. this new problem, (or maybe it wasn't new, maybe, more likely, you were too damn stuck in your head to see it,) it wasn't her. for the first time since he'd woken up and staggered to his feet ... he was letting the spotlight fall onto him. not a single you in his mouth.

that relief was not long-lived.

don't feel better when he's feeling worse. exit self; enter empathy and memory. the here and the now had ousted all else, so it took her a moment, adjusting bandwidth in limited supply. a few seconds of buffering — query to retrieval and imminent results. with a friendly ping! and that little punch of effort, pictures reeled across her vision with all the jagged impatience of an amateur flip book. an owl's looming, shadowy form ... rabbits staged in a twisted horror show ... darkness, darkness, page after page. fast forward to her father in red, broken wing limp on the floor, facing off a beast about to burst. triumph at last, and then the image that haunted her most. it invoked a flash of déjà vu, doubled in time. he didn't look it anymore, but coming out, he'd been a dead ringer, minus the slick of fungus and blood: barely with her, falling to pieces. he was going to sleep, he'd said, and she couldn't have known what kind — only that on a scale of transience to permanence, phobic her was bound to assume ten out of ten. recall, recoil. all right, that's enough. more than enough. damask had been (scared to death?) close to crushed that day, and that reaction was only secondhand. of course the real survivor was struggling, whether he said so or not. she'd accepted it before, but this time, auré's promise was harder to swallow. sounds like something you would say. something you did say.

she jerked her head a little to the side with a squint, somewhere between teasing and not. "holding you to it," damask said. an undertone of darker warning: i'll know if that changes.

"are y —" am i what? ready? finished? okay? don't you dare flip that question again. "... let's go to orion."

she nodded once and cut off the exit, glancing narrowly at auré behind her. let me lead, even knowing he'd long since outpaced her in terms of lucidity. one foot in front of the other, across the core's widest diameter. sure, it sounded like a lot, but hey ... it was an hour. that was doable, right? her eyes shot down at the floor. do the math, one pace forward, one print apart — envision the tracks — make it happen, counter the weave, too stiff and too careful to let the shakes show. there. almost a straight line. very convincing, all things considered.

she heron-walked ahead, roughly counting out the steps, those elapsed against those remaining ... and then, once she knew that (one,) he was following and (two,) she could multitask: "here's what i don't understand." no change in speed, nor the downslope of her head or the march-and-flick of her gaze. "you passed the test, but for what? emuh said there was more." why was this so hard to articulate? damask coughed a little, listed to the side, stumbled, corrected — tried another angle. "transcendence. that's what all this was all about." beat. "dad, do you ... feel any different?"