Welcome to Gaia! ::

“Wait here, Malikai pumpkin dear. Mummy will be right out. Do try not t’ get yourself into any unnecessary trouble this time, hmmm? Be very, very good and the wait will be over in two blinks of a tuckered eyelash.”

His mother twittered when she talked, placing extra emphasis on sporadic syllables so that her sentences sounded something akin to the warbling of a very large, round, especially cheery bird. Her face was a vibrant, sunset pink that bled into the shock of bright orange that dominated her untamably thick, waving hair — the color of which Malikai himself had inherited and shared — and her features, along with all the rest of her, likely, could be sketched up by organizing various-sized circles atop one another. In one arm, she carried several swaths of colored silks and lace along with a sewing basket complete with a wide variety of instruments therein. With the other hand, she carded her fingers lightly through the large puff that was the hair at the top of Malikai’s head.

“But Mum—Ma,” he objected with only a pinch of fuss at the treatment. He was eleven now, after all, and fairly certain being petted like small animal wasn’t treatment befitting a proud soldier in the making — not that either of his parents agreed with him yet that that was what he would be. But he knew better. “I don’ wanna—”

“Ah-ah-ah, tch-tch-tch,” his mother interrupted him with a quip and several clicks of her tongue. “What do we do when we’re displeased with somethin’?”

Malikai’s shoulders sank a fraction. “Be sweet as snow-sugar frosting, weather the weather ‘til it’s better, and remember the sun rises for all o’ Seren’s children so tha’ we might have something t’ smile about no matter what…?”

“Good boy.” His mother beamed and caught a single finger beneath Malik’s chin, tilting it up as she leaned down and pressed a kiss hard enough to his cheek that it would have left a full lipstick imprint had she been a lady affording of such niceties. Malikai was lucky enough in this instance that she wasn’t. “Now, stay in th’ area, and mind yourself, y’hear?”

“Mum—”

But then she was patting his head again with another hushing click of her tongue, shooing him off, and starting up the grand, white-marble steps leading to the doors of one of the largest and most needlessly ornate houses Malikai had ever had the pleasure of seeing the outside of. He had never been permitted in, of course, and was soon — as ever before — left to ‘mind’ himself in the equally intimidatingly large courtyard and grounds of, if he remembered correctly (which he often didn’t), the Wymaroth household. One of the permanent (or so he assumed) servants of the grounds, who had seen them to the door to begin with, had assured his mother that his presence would be permitted (read: tolerated), in the courtyard and within their gates, so long as he didn’t cause a ruckus.

Once alone, however, the vastness of the empty space got to him, leaving him restless and uncertain. He disliked waiting in noble’s courtyards. Often, they would see him to a servants’ quarters where he could at least be with other children of his relative social class. When left to his own devices, though, the enormity of it all had a tendency of swallowing him up, making him feel very small. And very alone. He edged along the outer edge of the house.

The grass, spelled to ripple a soft white-gold, looked almost too elegant to tread on in Malikai’s eyes, even after having seen the trick on several other estates. The softness of the soil, too, forced him to pick his way carefully — a very different sort of balance to negotiate with his mechanical leg than the cobbled soot streets surrounding his home. Meanwhile, his eyes darted endlessly from one sight to the next, ever amazed at how much detail could go into such a place from the latent magic that seemed to be inlaid into everything to the expansive architecture of the house and everything surrounding it.

He soon located a white-stone path leading through an elaborate garden which was on first glance already clearly many times larger than his entire house, but likely stretched further than he could see. After starting down the path out of curiosity — attention darting from winding arches to poised statues to brilliant arrangements of various flowers, some of which he didn’t recognize, let alone know the name of — he heard the tittering of voices. He blinked, curious, and hesitated only a moment before moving further, through another series of arches laden with coiling vines, over a gazebo and on to where he could see a cluster of children ahead, standing about what looked to be a decorative bridge over what was (likely) an artificially-dug brook through the gardens.

He hesitated again.

“Come on, come on.” A boy’s voice — older than he, probably, but not by much — impatient and sharp. “Get in you lazy little sod—”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to mess her fur up.” Another in the company, slightly older still, guessing from the depth of his voice alone, and far more amused. “Do you brush that thing every day?”

“I just want to see if she can swim,” the first quipped, ignoring the question entirely.

“She’s so fat,” the third and smallest in the group piped up. “I bet she would float even if she couldn’t.”

“Her fur might get so heavy when soaked that it’d drown her.”

“It’s no heavier than the water around her — how would that pull her under? Besides, she’s got a collar on. I could lift her out if I needed to—”

It was about then that Malikai approached close enough that the attention of the three boys turned abruptly from what was, on closer inspection, a very plump, long-haired, quivering bouken on a studded collar and leash, over to him. As the sudden focus of three pairs of golden eyes and varying expressions ranging from surprise, to confusion, to mild disgust and disbelief, Malikai froze, and swallowed. All three were near alabaster white with only the barest hints of gold flecking their skin like stardust, ears long and delicate, hair flaxen and straight as a newly ironed ribbon. Clearly noble children — if any of the surrounding circumstances somehow failed to already get that point across.

“Er,” Malikai began. “Hullo. I—”

“Hello,” one of them — the eldest — said, seeming to enunciate with particular emphasis and earning muted snickers from his two younger companions. Brothers? Malikai wasn’t sure, though they looked similar enough to be, and he blinked.

“Hullo?”

“Hello,” the middle one said, this time earning louder snickers from the other two, a half laugh from the eldest.

“I…” Malikai shifted his weight more to his good leg, rubbing at an elbow. “Yes. That’s wha’ I—”

“And what are you supposed to be?” the eldest asked, taking a step forward.

“Um. Malik — Malikai,” Malik said.

“You’re a ‘Malikai’?”

“I am—my name is, tha’ is,” he said. “My name…is Malikai.”

“Malikai,” the older boy repeated. “And what you doing in our garden, Malikai?”

“M’sorry.” Malik took a step back. “I’ll—”

“No, no, no,” the other cut him off. “Come, come now. Where are my manners? I am forgetting myself, truly. You have my sincerest apologies.” The boy touched a hand to his chest, moving to stand straight with the formality of a salute. “I am Jerhami Wymrith.” He gave a shallow but practiced-looking bow, white wings stretching and fanning out as he did. “This…” He gestured towards the middle child in height, “…is my younger brother, Valen. The youngest…”

“Trinnedyn.” The smallest boy — who still couldn’t have been but a year younger than Malik at most — stepped up, giving a similar, small bow.

Malik relaxed a fraction, a tentative smile edging at the corner of his lips. “It’s nice to meet—”

“Aren’t you going to bow?” the eldest, Jerhami, said, and Malikai blinked.

“I…er…”

“It would be rude, not to,” Valen said, frowning. “My brothers bowed to you.”

“Well…um—”

“Do you not know how to bow?” the youngest, Trinnedyn, asked, giving him an obscure look as he did.

“I—I…sorry,” Malik repeated, placing a hand to his stomach uncertainly as he had seen the other boys do. He proceeded to lean stiffly forward, trying simultaneously not to lose his balance.

“The other hand goes behind your back.”

“Not that one. Your other, other hand.”

“You can’t look at us while you do it, that’s disrespectful. Keep your chin down.”

“Bend with all of your upper body, not just at the gut. You really look like a peasant, then.”

“And best you bow lower than us, it’s only right. We’re nobility, after all. And you’re…”

“Not.”

As they barked their ‘advice’ at him, the commentary hopping from one boy to the next like a ball being tossed around for amusement, Malikai’s face burned, his body fumbling, stumbling, and all around failing to take in all the information that rapidly, let alone make the motion look natural. Finally, just when he almost thought he was succeeding, his mechanical leg sank a fraction too much into the soil, tilting him off balance, and he yipped, two underdeveloped, downy-feathered wings popping out behind him and fluttering wildly in an attempt to steady him, arms similarly windmilling the air.

The likely comical results were met with a round of laughter.

After catching his balance — barely — Malikai’s generally teal skin bloomed a hot orange-pink in his embarrassment. “Sorry, I—”

“No, come, come — we’re sorry,” Jerhami said. Though the c**k to his smile and overall unfriendly look of amusement suggested otherwise, Malikai did his best to ignore that bit and attempted to take the words at face value. “We couldn’t have expected you to be any good at it, after all, but we do appreciate that you…attempted, in any case. We were about to play a game…”

“A…game?” Malikai perked up slightly, a bead of hope that perhaps finally, all awkward introductions aside, they might do something fun.

“Oh yes.” Jerhami’s eyes flicked to his brother’s, the unsettling amusement in his expression heightening. “A game. You see, this here is Nabbenna, Valen’s whore-bouken—”


“She’s not a whore,” Valen quipped, frowning.

“She gave birth to a litter of twelve, and at least half of those were sired from that mutt thing with Eowyn heritage—”

“That doesn’t make her a whore—”

“We were going to teach her how to swim,” Jerhami said, turning his attention sharply back to Malik and ignoring his brother’s look.

“To…swim?”

“That’s what he said,” Valen grumbled. “Are you particularly hard of hearing, or do you really so dim that need to have everything repeated to you twice?”

Malik frowned and opened his mouth.

“Shhh, shhh-shhh,” Jerhami said. “Be polite, Valen. He’s our…guest.” The look his younger brother shot him suggested that he wasn’t buying the assertion for a moment, but it was quickly passed over. “As such, perhaps he should do the honors.”

“I don’t want that touching her—”

“Did it sound as though I asked what you wanted?”

“But she’s mine, and—”

“I don’t think,” Malikai began uncertainly, barely loud enough to be heard over their gibbering, “…that she looks as though she wants t’ swim…” Both brothers paused to face him with blank, unmoving stares. “That is…she looks…a bit scared, t’ me, I think, an’ I don’ think bouken can swi—”

“You don’t think,” Jerhami repeated, voice flat.

“No,” Malikai said. “I don’ think th—”

“You’re quite right, you know,” the older boy cut in. “You don’t. Think.”

Malikai frowned. “I—”

“Are you a bouken expert?” Jerhami asked.

“Well, no, but—”

“Do you speak to bouken, then, is that what you speak, is that your…one, gleaming talent in this world, to speak to and interpret rodents, bouken in particular?”

“Er…no, b—”

“Do you think you’re more intelligent than I?”

“Um…”

The youngest frowned. “He asked you a very simple question.”

“You think you’re smarter than my brother?” Valen added.

“No,” Malik hastened to add. “No, I—”

“Do you think you know more than I do?” Jerhami cut in. “That I’m stupid and you can presume to educate me on matters I’m not aware of? That we were just so fortunate that you happened along to graciously sweep away our ignorance so that we might better understand our pet?”

“No, tha’s not what I—”

“You think you’re better than I am,” Jerhami stated, stepping up to stand before Malikai and looming at least a head taller than he, his wings outstretched and flicking in challenge. “Better than my brothers?”

Malikai shook his head rapidly, a cold, uneasy feeling gathering in his gut. “I don’t—”

“You’d be right not to,” Jerhami said. “Because you are not. Quite the opposite…” He tilted his head, golden eyes flicking down Malikai now with barely-masked disdain. “I think…that you are about about as fat and stupid as our bouken. Perhaps more so.”

Malikai opened his mouth.

“Say it,” Jerhami cut in.

Malik frowned, confused. “Say…what?”

The older boy rolled his eyes, lip curling back a fraction. “Say that you are fat. And stupid. Tell me and my brothers. Now.”

Malikai’s gut lurched, the cold, sinking sensation therein twisting lower into something approaching nausea. His shoulders bunched with tension, his throat tightening in on itself, and the corners of his eyes stung, though he couldn’t make himself face the other boy’s gaze. After several failed attempts at words, he finally managed the tiniest shake of his head. “I don’t…want—”

“Throw the bouken in the river.”

“No, don’t—” Malikai lurched forward, reaching out, but seconds later found himself gravely regretting the outburst and stilling in his tracks, seeing as he was, again, the full focus of three pairs of unforgiving eyes. His shoulders sank. “Please,” he murmured, “don—”

“You were giving us an order,” Jerhami said.

The sting in the corner of Malikai’s eyes intensified, the edges of his vision beginning to blur as he swallowed. “No, I—”

“And now you’re telling me I’m wrong?”

Malik whined.

“First you mock us, then you presume to be more intelligent than we, and then you attempt to command us.”

Malikai squeezed his eyes shut. “M’sorry…m’really, really sorry—”

“Perhaps. But you will be moreso in a moment. I have an idea for a new game.” Jerhami glanced back to his brothers. “Valen, remove Nabbenna’s collar.”

“But—”

“I was not asking,” Jerhami quipped, and behind him, Valen frowned, but begrudgingly complied, loosening the studded pet collar and then handing it — leash still attached — to his littlest brother. Trinnedyn brought it over, and Jerhami took it, eyeing it and thumbing over it thoughtfully before looking back to Malik. “Lift your chin. If you’re going to look and act like a fat, stupid bouken, you might as well dress like one also.”

Malikai shuddered, posture stiff, face burning, and tears only barely managing not to spill — so far. When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper. “I don’t…want to wear it…” He should never have come out into the garden.

“You see, peasant…the crucial dividing point here is thus: I. Did not. Ask. And quite honestly, I do not care what you want, either…” When Jerhami reached with the collar, lifting it towards Malikai’s throat, Malik turned his chin aside, shaking with some combination of shame, anger, and fear as the older boy fashioned the leather strip against his skin. But he knew, knew for a fact from experience that angering noble children was never, ever a good idea, and could hurt more than just him in the end.

The collar was too small, of course.

Made for a bouken, it barely made its way around, and when Jerhami went to fasten it, the buckle pinched at Malik’s skin. He winced, cringing, but forcing himself not to jerk back. “It isn’t big enough,” he said. “It hurts—”

But then it was clasped.

Tight and just short of choking, the dyed pink leather bit into his skin, making every breath an effort, and Malikai reached up in spite of himself, scrabbling at the collar with his fingertips as though pulling might somehow loosen it. As he did, Jerhami took a step back, handling the leash, and then yanked. Already unsteady, and unprepared for the sharp force, Malikai yelped, stumbled, and fell to the grass.

“Now there,” Jerhami said with a slightly more satisfied lilt to his tone, “…is a much more appropriate vantage point for you, don’t you think, peasant?” On the ground, Malikai coughed, wheezing and then giving a choked, whining sound as he pulled at the collar, fumbling for the buckle. Just before his fingers reached it, it was yanked again. “I asked you…a question.”

Malikai gripped the leash, and yanked back. Unprepared for the abrupt rebellion or the force of the tug, the leash temporarily jerked free of the noble boy’s hands, and Malikai scrambled back in the grass with it, coughing and reaching again for the fastening to the collar. “Stop,” he said, voice weakened by breathlessness and broken up by an open sob, tears now spilling visibly down his cheeks. “I don’ want t’ play anymore,” he blubbered, trying and failing to get his fingers to work the collar open, the buckle too small and tight. “I don’ want t’ play anymore—”

When Jerhami approached, toeing the leash with his boot and then lifting it again, Malik gave up on the collar and clung to leash nearer to the base to help mitigate the force of any future yankings, his shoulders shaking as he cried.

“M’sorry—m’sorry, I want…t’ go home…please…I don’ want t’ play anymore…”

Malikai shook. Still on the ground. Still collared. Still pathetic, however much he might wish it to be otherwise, and when a fourth noble child appeared, he visibly cringed, shifting back across the grass a fraction of an inch and wishing to sink into the ground entirely. With one hand still clinging to the leash in case Jerhami tugged, Malik swept the spare one across his face, trying to remove evidence of his simpering while at the same time trying to seek out the source of the voice.

A girl, he realized, eyes widening a fraction in surprise — though he had no reason to be — and cheeks pinking out to his eartips in abrupt, further shame, if possible, that she had happened upon him in these circumstances. At ten, voice alone did little to give gender away, and hers had been just as well-groomed and forceful as any of the boys. Her hair and dress, though, of course gave her immediately away. She was very, very pretty, and Malik shifted uncomfortably across the grass, reaching again for the collar in an attempt to get his clumsy, round fingers to work the tiny buckle with more success.

Meanwhile, the other boys in his company shifted their weight, exchanging looks and a brief murmuring of words too quiet for Malik’s ear to decipher. Valen opened his mouth first.

“Not one for—”

“A boring one,” Jerhami cut in, relinquishing his grip on the leash but tossing it just-so so that it hit Malik in the face on the way down. He was fairly sure that wasn’t a coincidence. “And it just ended. Our apologies for not including you, dear cousin, though it likely would have bored you anyway…”

“We were teaching him to bow,” Trinnedyn piped up. “He didn’t seem to know how.”

“Didn’t seem to know much of anything,” Valen murmured.

“You are welcome to take him off of our hands, if you like,” Jerhami said, tone turning deceptively casual as his gaze flicked over the girl in company. “Perhaps you’d do better with handling him than us. You have had so much more…practice with the lower classes and exposure to their oddities, after all.”

Malikai’s gaze flit back and forth between the girl and his previous ‘company’ like cornered prey trying to decide which pack of predators was more dangerous. To his immense relief, the girl seemed as though she might be on his side, though the clash between what was being said and what wasn’t being said but instead apparently communicated through a series a subtleties far beyond Malik to pick up on as they happened made comprehending the situation all the more difficult — if not impossible.

He knew, though, when Jerhami’s expression flicked abruptly from some combination of casual and disinterested to something else. His shoulders shifted back, posture stiffening and eyes narrowing, but he held his ground for several long moments, as though debating. At length, he gave a barely perceptible grimace.

“I have failed at nothing, cousin,” he said. “I merely know my place, and as such understand what is beneath me — perhaps you should take note. Additionally…” He stepped up, approaching her, though in a notably casual manner — his eyes flicking about as though wary someone or something else might appear if he came off too threatening. What, Malikai couldn’t begin to guess. “You are young still, so I am happy to generously forgive you a few errors…but learning to pick your pick your battles, your enemies, and your allies…” He grimaced vaguely in Malik’s direction, “…is an incredibly useful skill. I would recommend honing it in the future, for the sake of this family…and yourself, for that matter. For now…enjoy your new pet, for whatever he’s worth.”

Malik winced, face flushing all over again with an embarrassing degree of heat, though he couldn’t help but relax his posture a fraction as Jerhami stepped away, ordering his brother’s along after him like trained soldiers.

“But her collar,” Valen fussed. “I just got—”

“Have mother buy you another. You don’t really want it now, do you? After it’s been on that…”

There was some muted mumbling of that being a reason why he hadn’t wanted to remove it to begin with, but their voices were rapidly fading as they moved off, out of sight, leaving Malik to swallow. Then, remembering himself, he scrambled to the side a bit, struggling several times with his leg before finally managing to work himself upright. Face burning, he brushed the dirt — or what of it he could — from his clothes, and gave his best attempt at a bow, collar and leash still, unfortunately, hanging from his neck.

“I—I—m’sorry. M’sorry — I’m — I should…thank you, an’…and y’ didn’ have t’ do tha’, but…if…if…” He swallowed again, wincing and curbing the need to choke, words more difficult than usual under the circumstances. “You’re really lovely—um, amazin’, that is…sorry…I owe you…”

“Nnh—” Malik opened his mouth to agree, but then shut it, realizing only just in time that agreeing verbally would largely defeat the purpose of agreeing to begin with.

So, instead, he held his tongue, wincing silently and feeling the heat radiate from his cheeks as her more narrow, dextrous fingers worked open the collar. When it finally snapped free, he only just managed not to cough again all over her, drawing several hefty breaths instead and immediately reaching up to rub his fingers over the red-pink imprint on his throat as he nodded rapidly.

“Much,” he murmured eventually. “Much, much more — thank you, m’sorry…if I got you into trouble, I didn’ mean to, that is…if it is that they’re mean later I — I shouldn’ of come in t’ th’ gardens t’ begin with. They just didn’ tell me elsewheres t’ be, or show me t’ th’ servants’ quarters and…I — well, I was curious, but I shouldn’ of wandered an’ I really, really didn’ mean t’ cause trouble, miss…um, miss — well, I dunno your name, but I’m—I’m Malikai. Dorran. My ma, she works here, or was gonna, or is t’day leastways — for your family, or mayhaps theirs, I dunno really. I c’n get outta the garden if that’s what th’ problem was…I wasn’ tryin’ t’ cause no harm, I mean it…” Gaze flicking once to the collar again, he cringed a fraction. “And you could give tha’ back t’ them if’n they wanted it…though y’ wouldn’ have to, I wasn’ meanin’ to tell you you should, just that…well…”

He rubbed his neck, giving up on finishing that sentence in any manner that didn’t sound far worse off aloud than it did in his head.

Malikai nodded at the last question. “She’s in the house, though I wasn’ permitted in. Sometimes she takes me with her when she comes t’ work for a lady or such. Part t’ let me see more o’ the city — she thinks the air here is healthier, for one — an’ part ‘cause sometimes, if she’s stayin’ a longer spell, she’ll have me t’ help her with some bits o’ the simpler stuff, needles an’ thread wise…she’s a seamstriss…of a sort, I s’pose. Most o’ the time she’s a baker, where we live, but when she can get work for a lady, she does it ‘cause the coin’s better, though she doesn’ like it so much as cookin’…”

Realizing his company, Malik flushed, sputtering and hastening to add:

“Not t’ say tha’ she doesn’t like workin’ for ladies. I’m sure she likes it a great lot, and she’s honored t’ have the opportunity, and none have been have been cruel or unfair or nothin’ — only generous as ever…” ‘…so far as I know, leastways…’ “She just says sugar an’ flour are more forgivin’ than needles, and easier on th’ fingers, too…and that few things can make a person smile like a well-fashioned sweet. Do you like sweets…?” After glancing to her, he flushed again and rubbed his neck — not out of hurt, this time, but raw abashment. “Not that I’m sure you don’t get plenty o’ your own here, if’n you wanted ‘em…lovely, and all sorts o’ colors. Ma’s might be simple on occasion t’ look at, but so far as I’ve ever tasted, no one beats ‘em on a tongue test…”

As they approached the house again, closing in on a side opening hidden mostly by garden formations — which Malikai assumed to be at least one entrance to the servants’ quarters — he rubbed his wrists and afforded her a sheepish grin.

“Not that I suppose I’m likely to ever see you again, Lady Laesara, but I’ll thank Seren anyways, for the chance t’ just see you once. It was a blessin’ I won’t forget. Swear on my honor.”