Submission (#7240) Approved

Knife hasn’t been inside of Kyendi’s borders for a few years. He truly misses traversing the trailing ruins and winding rivers. The lofty peaks and secluded buildings are great for extended stays when he wants to get away from other Elnin, though. Gathering a task list of research interests inside the ancient hillsides to keep his mind busy for a couple months has always been one of his favorite ways to pass swathes of time, normally during periods where he has no wish to be found.

Business meetings have occupied his every waking thought for too long. He needs the time away—desperately.

Glancing over, Knife keeps track of his traveling companion. He’s still a bit unsure where he and Anatoliy stand, especially now that he’s completely bought out the kittom’s work contract, but he’d seemed to want to come on the trip, so Knife isn’t going to say no to someone mostly silent to travel with.

Despite his own desire to get away from anyone and anything, something about Anatoliy’s presence is soothing. The kittom has been quiet as a mouse the majority of the trip thus far. A simple thank you here or please there has been the extent of almost every single one of their conversations. With anyone else it might have been awkward, but somehow he wants to make this trip memorable for Anatoliy.

Checking in with the butler who services his residence on one of Kyendi’s many floating islands, Knife draws his traveling pack against his chest; though the middle aged Elnin’s familiar enough with her employer by now that she knows not to take Knife's stuff without explicit instructions. Anatoliy gives the prim Elnin a wide berth.

The small bamboo cottage is just as well taken care of as it always is. A fresh pot of steamed tea has been set up on the main table’s dais, two sets of fine china surrounding the frog-shaped pot. Slow-setting aprehension starts to fill his gut at the twin cups, but he pushes it down.

It’s the first time he’s brought a guest here.

Feeling slightly apprehensive for reasons unknown, Knife directs Anatoliy to the side room. The shoji doors have been kept well greased. A spare futon has already been folded in the center of the diminutive room.

“Feel free to use anything from any of the rooms,” Knife starts, eyes tracking the kittom as he slowly approaches the cabinets and ornamental vase. “But this is where you’ll be staying. Let me know if you want me to stay out.”

Anatoliy looks back at him, ears twitching. His cool gaze lights a path across Knife’s face, then hand; ah, he’s still got his grip wrapped around his bag strap, and he really should go put it down in his own quarters.

“The tsukeshoin is equipped with writing materials and various things to keep you busy if you get bored,” Knife informs the kittom. “Make yourself at home.”

Anatoliy hums, paws moving to open the shutters of the window above the desk.

And with that Knife leaves his companion to get settled in. He crosses the main room, feet pattering across the tatami near-silently. He’ll leave the tea to cool for a bit before he tries to rouse Anatoliy with it.

It’s quick work to get his own meager supplies unpacked and dispersed. His bed is raised off the floors just enough to be able to slide the bag underneath when he’s done with it; clothing, research instruments, leisure items, and toiletries all tucked away. Knife sits on the covers for a moment, collecting himself.

It’s strange, having someone here. Knife’s used to the small dwelling being devoid of sound and movement, but there’s an almost palpable awareness that rings in his mind whenever he hears a scuffle or small bang.

The weight of Anatoliy’s occupancy in Knife’s space feels like a physical object. Even in the small time he’s been here, the warmth that’s bubbling up is all-encompassing.

As much as he doesn’t like admitting it, Knife’s been lonely. The careful barriers he’s erected after so many years in his line of business has made it hard to let go of his own instincts.

Drawing open the shoji on his own window, Knife lets the breeze filter in to clear some of the stagnant air. It’ll invite in some pesky bugs, of course, but he’ll just have the room sprayed down later. He takes a moment to look out onto the surrounding area. Orange-yellow light refracts and bounces around the trees and rocky outcrops from the bursts of crystal shards, and it's almost blinding.

For now, he goes back to the main room and pulls a byobu partition to stop the draft from entering. It’s decorated in long, swirling patterns of smoke and scaled beasts, blues and whites mixing together in decadent, watery tides.

The tea on the low-sitting black table has stopped steaming by now, and when he checks, the temperature leeches a mild warmth into his palm. Knife’s just pulled out a cushion to sit on when the door to Anatoliy’s room is tentatively pulled open.

“I see you’ve found the spare clothing,” Knife murmurs, eyes tracing the lines of Anatoliy’s blue and black yukata. The obi he’s pulled on is a midnight color, with gold threading stitched onto it in a starlit pattern. Even though the kittom probably hasn’t had much (if any) experience in wearing one, he’s seemingly pulled on the inner lining well enough. It settles something in his gut, infusing a strange sense of belonging. Yes, Knife thinks, something strange. Perhaps me. 

Beyond his form, Knife can make out the skyline from the window, various shades of orange and green reflecting off the other floating Sunshard Isles around them.

“Does it…” Anatoliy starts, before cutting himself off.

The poor thing tilts his face down. Silvery locks fall down across his eyes, hiding his features from sight for a second. Though Knife knows the kittom isn’t necessarily shy in many regards, interpersonal talks are still one of his weak points. In his experience it’s best to wait for Anatoliy to collect his wits.

He starts again.

“Do I look alright?” Anatoliy asks. He’s picking at the hem of his sleeves.

Knife smiles, “You look great.” It seems to bolster the kittom’s confidence, because he brightens, and steps into the room fully. “Now come, let me pour you some tea. I’ve been looking forward to relaxing for weeks.”

Anatoliy giggles, then seems embarrassed for doing so. Aah, I’ll get him out of his shell someday. Hopefully.

The pair sip on their tea in relative silence. Knife had informed his butler ahead of time to prepare a much sweeter tea than he’d normally take, but he knows Anatoliy detests bitters. And anyways, it’s nice to spend some time with another Elnin that isn’t out of some sort of financial or moral obligation.

Despite their previous relationship—in which Anatoliy was employed by Knife whenever he had the kittom’s contract—they’ve settled into something softer. More genuine. Like real friends, not just someone you had to be around if you didn’t want a paycheck or a knife in the back. Maybe both.

Lost in his thoughts, Knife only comes back to himself when he feels a tug on his pants. He startles but relaxes at the sight of his inky pomu. The sleek, black fur almost blends in with his clothing. His little troublemaker, having popped out of his shadow for reasons unknown, chirps at him. Anatoliy stares at Knife’s pomu before his own stalks out of the kittom’s shadow.

The pair of pests dance around each other, picking at the mats and hopping around the table. It’s calming, knowing that even their pomus are comfortable in each other’s presence.

Looking across the table, Knife finds Anatoliy watching him. The kittom’s got both hands wrapped around his own teacup, and he takes a quick gulp that fills the silence.

A gentle breeze sweeps through the house. Ruffling a couple silky threads of silver, Knife watches as Kyendi’s air blows his companions hair astray.

“Once we get settled in, I’ll take you to see some of the waterfalls in the area,” Knife breaks the silence.

Anatoliy hums, drinking once more. “Is it cold this high up?”

“A little,” Knife says, and leans back. “The altitude of the Isles turns everything up here a little chilly, but don’t worry; I always keep some wet suits here. But we can always do it tomorrow if you’d just like to rest for the evening.”

Anatoliy seems to think about it for a little bit, swirling the last few dredges of his tea in a calming, steady sway.

After a couple seconds, he says, almost shyly, “let’s just stay here for tonight.”

And the small smile—tentative but genuine, as if he’s not used to asking for things and actually receiving them—on the kittom’s face is all Knife needs to give his own grin, and answer back, “Alright.”