Welcome to Gaia! ::

Detraeus sank to sit on the edge of his cot.

After having double-checked the bolt locks on his door and shutting up the tiny window above his ‘desk’, he began the process of unsaddling himself of the day’s weights. First went his boots, his cloak, his quiver and bow. Then the leather straps and blades at his chest, his vest, underarmor, and tunic. Then the blades at his wrists, and the dagger at his waist and thigh. Everything left, piece by piece. He stowed his weapons within easy reach all around, but off of his person, a luxury that he never allowed himself outside of private, locked spaces, or — on rare occasions — during sparring sessions with Casseth.

To have the metal and leather gone, though, and let his skin breathe was a welcome feeling, and some of the tensions of the day seeped out as he moved his attention to his head and hair. Nearly four weeks had passed since his first fight in the pit, and the wounds he had earned then were well on their way to healing into clean scars. Several newer ones had joined them, naturally, but they were aches he could deal with.

Araceli hadn’t returned to any of his matches, after the first.

He loosened the ties and beads holding the tips of his braids in place and then began fingering them open, and wondered as he did why it even occurred to him to think of her. Had he expected her to show up? After what had happened to her last time?

‘No.’

But he had wondered, just the same, and it bothered him to wonder, too, whether he was — in any way — disappointed. What did it matter what the girl did? She had no real role in his life, and likely never would.

He returned his attention to his hair, unweaving each braid until the entire mass of it sat loose on his head. And it was a great mass. It unraveled everywhere, coiling out in every direction as though each strand were fighting for dominance of his scalp space and then the world beyond. Detraeus shut his eyes and strung his fingers into the base of it as best he could, shaking loosely to relax the pinches and tension on his skin where the braids had been. It felt good to let it out, regardless of how unruly it was. As a child, it had always curled free. A great, mangled bundle of chaos.

Martrae’a had taught him to braid it. A slow process and a great leap of trust on his part when he had eventually let her touch it, but now, it was habit. The braids kept everything tidy, out of the way, and far less conspicuous. Some days he considered hacking most of it off, but in the end, never did. As much of a hassle as it occasionally was, his hair had been with him through everything to date, and his ability to take care of it now, along with the rest of him, was a quiet source of pride. So, he kept it.

Shaking his head and letting his hands drop to his sides, Detraeus stood, and moved to arrange his writing supplies. He had kept up with his studies in private, and felt satisfied with his progress. Slow, but notable. He recognized all of the shapes of the alphabet and had, from context, pieced together many of their sounds and even the occasional word. His script had also improved greatly in both form and speed.

Tonight, however, no sooner had he sat down and lifted his pen than he got a clattered knock on the door. Detraeus pursed his lips and ignored it. He had paid his rent, and knew no one in the area other than Casseth who had no business calling on him this late to begin with. Whoever it was was likely knocking on the wrong door and would tire of it soon.

Another bang.

Detraeus scowled. “Leave,” he barked. “I’ve no interest in company.”

Of course, it was Casseth’s voice to answer from the opposite side.

Detraeus’ shoulders bunched, his brow pinching together and then teeth gritting at the tail end of Cas’ commentary. He knew Casseth would make good on his promise, though, and thus, he disgruntledly conceded to stand and move for the door. He debated reaching for his tunic on the way over, hyper-aware that he was still shirtless and unarmed, but something kept him going. Eventually, he would have to contend with the world’s reaction to his body and its markings as they were and he knew it. Though he wasn’t ready to do so on the large scale, yet, how better to start small than with Casseth?

So, he answered the door, propping his weight against the frame to fill it and meeting Cas face to face with a brooding look, folded arms and raised eyebrows paired with an expression that said, ‘Alright, I’m here. And?’

Catching onto the angle of Cas’ stare, Detraeus tensed, posture growing visibly more rigid and eyes narrowing even as he braced himself for unwanted commentary. “Can I help you?” he asked, expression daring Cas to question him, though he clung privately to the hope that he would leave said questions be and simply state what he’d came for.

Detraeus blinked, wholly surprised, and it took him a moment to adjust, the tension in his posture instantly easing out. At being labeled a ‘friend’, his face warmed a fraction. Though Cas had said it before, it still surprised him, on occasion, that of all the warmer and more pleasant individuals out there available to spend time with, Casseth — for all his gregarious good nature — still considered him a friend.

“You would probably have more ‘fun’ without me.”

Detraeus’ blush darkened at that, fanning out across his cheeks even as he huffed. “What’s that have to do with me?” Clearly, whatever strange, fleeting interest Araceli might have had in him in the past had left. Perhaps he’d driven her away himself, after what he’d done to her ‘boyfriend.’ He grimaced at the thought. Figured, he supposed.

A day later, despite all his grousing and internal debates, Detraeus found himself dressing for a ‘fun’ night at the ongoing festival. Though Casseth had specifically cautioned that bringing his bow would not be a well-recieved party gesture, Detraeus kept most of his blades on his person, simply tucked out of sight. As he made it out of his residence, he felt naked without Avarice, but forced himself not to turn back, and focussed on the sights instead. The evening sun dipping down towards the horizon. Brilliant, elegantly painted paper lanterns lining the streets and shop fronts in many places. And music.

Though he rarely had a chance to indulge in it, Detraeus had always loved music. Found it peaceful, and inspiring. The rowdy, boisterous, dancing music of the festival was not exactly that — certainly lending itself more to frivolity and gaiety than deep thought or relaxation — but, in its own way, it was still pleasant, if a bit loud.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of town, Lithian sat on the edge of Araceli’s bed, the last rays of evening spilling in through her open window and onto the floor of her second-story room.

“It looks lovely,” he said smiling. “Really. You’ll every man and half the women in the vicinity fighting for your hand and a dance. You’ve nothing to be nervous about.”

Lithian frowned and stood immediately, moving over to step up behind her and eye her reflection as she did. Despite being a good four years younger than her, Lithian had shot up in height over the six years he’d known her, going from a small, scrawny eleven-year-old boy, to a seventeen-year-old who towered only one inch short of a full foot above her. Over a head taller, overall. In the mirror, it looked especially striking. He reached up, touching his hands gently to her shoulders.

“It’s a scar…one you’ll live with the rest of your life. But it is part of you, and it does nothing to make you any less beautiful. Anyone who thinks otherwise doesn’t deserve you to begin with…” Lifting one hand, he brought it up just beneath her chin, barely nudging it upwards. “Come on,” he said. “Chin up. Stare the world down. And anyone on Magesc would be lucky to have you. Ready to go face the music and have some fun?”

Lithian watched Ara, noting the way she looked around when speaking of Detraeus and tucking the information away as a point of curiosity. Her sudden interest in the oblivionite seemed strange to him, since it had only been recently that she’d begun to tolerate Cas’ company, and he still remembered vividly what it had been like years before, during their first introductions to each other. It didn’t help that he knew very little about the man overall, other than what he’d heard from Casseth, and from what he had heard — particularly the most recent event with Ara’s previous relationship partner — Lithian was wary of him. He sounded, if nothing else, violent, and prone to a terrible temper, which only added to his confusion about why Ara would want anything to do with him.

Shoving those thoughts away for inspection at a later date, though, Lith turned his attention to the moment and smiled at Cas. “Come on, then. If he said he’d show up, I’m sure he will, and if he doesn’t, there’s no stopping us from enjoying each other’s company anyway, hm? You’re the one who’s going to have Eowyn all to yourself for a while…how about a round of desert liquor on me? I’m sure at an event this large someone will be selling spirits…”