[Tethers] Making Friends - Pants and Capes

[dracoqueen22]

Title: Pants and Capes
Universe: Tethers
Characters: Tyrael Ashborn, Tempest Teapot, Dakota Sorrel
Rated: K+
Description: Tyrael’s new companions continue to bafffle him in ways he never expected.


“What are you doing?”

Tyrael tries to ignore the nosy question. He hunches his shoulders and stares harder at the parchment smoothed out in front of him. A few inked lines scrawl across the paper, but words are hard, especially words like these.

They have to be the right words, honest, but not too revealing. Truthful, without spilling his heart on the page.

He misses Elias, all the way down to his marrow, but a part of him worries Elias might not miss him in return. The distance stretches between them, further and further, with every step Tyrael takes from home. Elias might find another, someone who hasn’t gone on a quest of indeterminable length, and who might die in the pursuit of it.

“What are you writing?”

Tyrael huffs and curves his body away from Tempest, attempting to shield the paper from her point of view. “If it was something I wanted to share, I would have told everyone.”

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not the greatest reader.” Thump goes Tempest’s elbow as she leans on the table beside him. “I was just curious. We’re still strangers, right? We should get to get to know each other.”

"For what reason?" Tyrael asks.

Tempest wriggles her whole body in a shrug. "Because we're going to be friends." She cranes her neck to try and peer over his arm. "Celeste said you had a boyfriend. Are you writing to him?"

Tyrael sighs and scans the common room of the inn, searching the tables full of people engaged in quiet conversation. Easton is off by himself in a dark corner, reading a book while he sips on a tankard, but Tyrael sees no one else from their party.

"Where is Dakota?"

"He took my pants and went up to our room," Tempest says, and despite himself, Tyrael looks down.

She is indeed without pants.

Her tunic drapes to mid-thigh, and her boots come up to mid-calf, but her bare, scarred knees are visible to all and sundry. He fears what the world might see if she were to bend over.

"Why...?" Tyrael pauses, draws a breath to comport himself. "Why did he take your pants?" And how? Had she simply stripped them off here in the common room? Or had she undressed upstairs and then come back downstairs as if her partial nudity was of no concern?

"Because they were ripped," Tempest says in a tone which implies Tyrael is dumb for even asking. She grins and leans forward. "So. Is it a letter to your boyfriend?"

"Why didn't you go with him?" Tyrael asks.

Tempest furrows her brow, looking genuinely confused. "Why would I? The ale's down here. Watching him fix a rip is boring." She brightens. "Maybe if I'm lucky, there'll be a fight."

"Not in this place, I wager," Tyrael says, casting a pointed look around them. It's a subdued inn they've found this time around, full of hard-working individuals too tired after a long day's work to do much more than eat, drink, and engage in quiet chatter.

Denize is not a rowdy village which is precisely why Tyrael enjoys it so much. A shame it's only a brief stopover on their way from Marbadan to Port Udousk.

"Then conversation it is!" Tempest grins and her whole body wriggles, like a puppy demanding attention. "You still haven't answered my question."

Tyrael sighs. The ink has long dried, so he carefully rolls up the parchment once more. "Yes," he says. "I was writing a letter to someone important to me."

"Your boyfriend?" Tempest plants her elbow on the table and leans her head against her knuckles. "What's his name?"

Tyrael tucks the parchment behind his plate armor. "Elias. He's back home. In Alduin."

"Why didn't he come with you?" Tempest asks.

"Because this is my quest, not his," Tyrael says.

Tempest blinks and her brow furrows again. "Is it Celeste's quest, too?"

"She invited herself." Tyrael sits back in his chair and signals the server for another drink. He's going to need one if he's going to get through this conversation. "As for Elias... he had other duties he couldn't abandon to accomplish my quest."

"Is he waiting for you?" Tempest asks.

Tyrael's mouth opens, then closes. He hadn't asked, because he didn't want a promise neither of them could keep. He certainly hopes Elias is willing to wait, but he also doesn't want Elias to be alone. If he meets someone else, Tyrael wishes them well.

Or at least, that would be the honorable thing to say.

His heart aches at the idea of letting Elias go.

"My quest could take a long time," Tyrael says instead. "If I return at all."

Tempest scrunches her nose. "You think you might die?"

"It's a dangerous world," Tyrael says. He rubs his wrist where their encounter with a trapworm had nearly cost him his hand. If not for Celeste, he might have been forced to trade in his greatsword for something he could wield with only one hand. "I'm realistic."

"I mean, I'm realistic, too, but I prefer to think things are going to turn out okay," Tempest says. She taps her chin, her ears flicking in an adorable manner. It’s hard, sometimes, not to see her as a youth given her behavior. Harder still to know she’s actually older than him. "You really love him, huh? That's nice. I don't really do 'love,' but I think it's nice you have someone."

Tyrael furrows his brow. There she goes again, saying something odd as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Tempest blinks and looks confused. "Um. That I think it's sweet you have a boyfriend?" She sits up and tilts her head. "And I hope you can see him again soon?"

"No, I meant the other thing."

"What other thing?"

Tyrael sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Nevermind. I appreciate the sentiment, I suppose. Only time will tell what actually happens."

"Just gotta have faith," Tempest chirps, but she leans a little to the left, staring past him, toward one of the table clusters. "Hey, you think he wants company?"

"Who?" Gods, she has the attention span of a gnat.

Tyrael twists to follow her gaze, seeing a lone elf sitting at a table, soot staining his clothes and cheeks, his worn hands cupping a mug of ale. It's impossible to guess his age, given the longspan of elves, but as to whether he desires company? Tyrael doesn't know.

Then again, he hadn't wanted company and that hadn't stopped Tempest.

"Maybe?" Tyrael hazards.

Tempest grins and hops down from the chair, adjusting her clothes and tugging her tunic a bit open at the lapel, physically adjusting the swell of her chest. "I'm going to find out."

Tyrael blinks. "But you're a halfling."

"I am?" Tempest's eyes widen in false surprise.

Tyrael rolls his eyes. "Fine. I see your point. At least promise me you have protection."

Tempest beams at him and pats her side. "Got a dagger right here. Don't leave home without it. Sweet of you to worry though." She tugs at her clothes again, showing even more skin than her unclad legs offer. "Wish me luck."

He isn't sure she needs it. She's got confidence oozing out of her, and she struts up with her shoulders raised and a jaunty pep to her step. She swings by the barkeep, gets two more mugs, and saunters right up to the elf's table, sliding the mug down in front of him.

They are too far for Tyrael to hear their conversation, but he sees the surprise, and then the invitation in the elf's face. Tempest grins and hops up into the chair, her tunic riding up and showing off an obscene amount of thigh, plus the beginning curve of a buttock. She leans forward, squeezing her bosom between her arms, and yes, the elf's eyes drop to it.

Clearly someone is going to have a happy ending tonight.

Tyrael pulls out his parchment for Elias and his quill and dampens the tip. He re-reads what he's written already, and manages to add a few lines before the back of his neck prickles, and he registers someone looming a foot or so away from him.

He sighs quietly and puts down his quill, looking up to see Dakota standing over him, his face built into a glower, though Tyrael suspects that's merely his default expression.

"Where is Tempest?" he asks and only then does Tyrael realize he's clutching fabric which looks like a scarf in his hands, but must actually be Tempest's leggings.

"I am not her keeper," Tyrael says, but he tilts his head toward the corner where he'd last seen her. "She's wooing a companion for the night."

Dakota's eyes narrow. He looks past Tyrael and sighs. "She must have succeeded," he rumbles and looks exasperated as he balls up the leggings and tucks them into a pouch.

Tyrael glances in the corner. Indeed, both Tempest and the elf are gone.

"You're not worried?" he asks.

Dakota snorts. "She can take care of herself." He looks around the common room, brow furrowing as he lingers on Easton before he returns his attention to Tyrael. "You tore your cloak."

Tyrael blinks and follows the line of Dakota's gaze. There is indeed a rip in his cloak, probably from the bramble bush which caught him earlier. His luck has been absolutely terrible since leaving Alduin, from the seasickness to the thievery to the trapworm and now the bramble bush.

He sighs. "So I did." Tyrael fingers the fabric. Elias had bought this for him, having commissioned one of the temple wardens to weave it. Tyrael hadn’t worn it before receiving the quest, and Elias had insisted he do so.

"Give it here."

"Um." Tyrael's hand moves to his clasp before he realizes what he's doing. "Why?"

"Do you want the tear fixed or not?" Dakota asks.

Tyrael feels like he's in the middle of a conversation he doesn't remember having. "I do, but--"

"Then let me have it, and I'll fix it." Dakota holds out his hand expectantly.

Tyrael finishes with the clasp and sweeps the cloak from his shoulders. "Thank you. I appreciate that." He hands it over. "This is, um, important to me."

"Like the pouch, I wager. I understand." Dakota dips his head into a nod as he accepts the cloak, folding it into a neat square for him to carry. "You'll have it back at breakfast." He offers a two-fingered salute before he lumbers away, the most incongruent thing in this tavern right now.

If it bothers him, Dakota shows no sign. He’s probably used to it.

Tyrael sighs and rubs his forehead. He stares down at the letter for Elias. He’s been working on it for weeks. He wonders if he’s ever going to finish it.

He rolls up the parchment and tucks it back into his armor. He finishes his mug of ale and rises from the table, feeling oddly light without the sweep of his cape. He casts a glance around the common room once more, but even Easton has vanished from the corner, leaving Tyrael the last of the party to retire for the evening.

He climbs the stairs to the room he shares with Nym, opening the door as quietly as he can, not that it matters as the tiefling sleeps like the dead and has no self-preservation instincts whatsoever. It’s a terribly good thing he’s attached himself to their party, because Tyrael fears he might not have survived wandering the world alone. It’s not naivete, but a sheer lack of survival instinct.

Nym snores; Tyrael painstakingly strips out of his armor and climbs into the bed, under blankets he hopes are clean, but the smell suggests otherwise. He pulls the pillow over his head to muffle Nym’s raucous breathing. They have a long day of travel tomorrow, toward a decision as vague as the quest he’s understaken.

He misses Elias with a terrible ache in the center of his chest.

He hadn’t understood the weight of duty until he left Alduin. It’s becoming increasingly clear he hadn’t understood much at all.

This is the vow he’s made, however, and he can’t turn his back on Cyrillus. He can only keep moving forward.

Perhaps tomorrow he’ll finish the letter.

Tyrael closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

***