#HOWEVER. the terms darkless and lightless stay. theyre cool.

[bengallemon]

(little experimental piece i did so i could figure out how i want to write isabeau, set some time pre-canon. technically au but its v ambiguous)

---

It’s raining.

The clouds – cumulonimbus, specifically – are coating the sky, an endless torrent falling from them.

Thunder rumbles and lightning strikes at random intervals, sudden lights and sounds coming from all around yo- that’s incorrect. The stimuli comes from above, the reason it feels like it comes from all around you is because your feelings are all over the place and it’s screwing with how you’re perceiving everything that surrounds you.

…

you were never good with storms, were you?

sudden sounds that feel deafening to you, coming with no warning, no way to understand or predict or learn about it because you were too busy being caught in your anxiety.

sudden sounds that feel deafening to you, coming with no warning, no way to understand or predict or learn about it because the schoolkids around you never understood what space or volume was.

or depth and area and circumference and diameter and radius or anything else for that matter.

…

You’re at an inn tonight, thank Change. Being caught in a storm like this on the road would be hell. Well, being in a storm is hell either way, but at least you all got to a secure place of shelter. A place of warmth and comfort and a quiet-enough room you can hide away in and pretend like you’re doing anything but hiding from yourself and this stupid crabbing storm-

You don’t know exactly where you all are, currently. Aside from being in an inn, in a relatively large town. If memory serves you correct (it has to, what else do you have?) your party is…

Somewhere close to the coast, but a lot further down than where you’ve ever been. Even Madame Odile hasn’t been this far down the country, and she’s been all over. (you stayed in the same two crabbing spots in your life)

There’s mountains nearby, that much you know. In all honesty, the lower half of Vaugarde is mostly a mystery to you. You never really got into geography. (you were too busy dealing with yourself)

It might have been a good idea, considering you’re now wandering all about the country with no exact clue where you’re all going. But that doesn’t really matter now. (even though you were never going to say you know anything anyway)

…

…

…

BANG

You stumble, trip and fall face-first onto the bed you’re supposed to be sleeping in tonight.

Crabbing Change you’re a mess today­

The thunder is always a surprise, a stupid damn surprise you’re never prepared for.

Your breaths are too shallow now

You slide off the bed onto the floor.

And cry.

And sigh.

You don’t know when the storm will end. Just that with every clap of thunder your heart stops and starts again, a cycle, an endless, repeating loop of panic and calm and panic and calm and panic and calm and panic and calmandpanicandcalmand-

There’s

something

against

your

cheek.

You think

it’s tears

you’re not supposed

to cry

but-

It’s leather. Cold, unnaturally icy to the touch. It settles against your cheeks and stays still. Firm. Gentle. Cold. You can barely feel anything else. Barely hear anything else.

You open your eyes. You don’t remember closing them.

Your heart is in your throat. You don’t even need to see to know who’s knelt down in front of you. Well, mostly standing, really. Only one of your companions wears leather gloves. Lightless, cool to the touch, roughened over untold years of travelling across more than Vaugarde, simple hand-stitching going around the edges, clearly done by an amateur.

Lightless eyes stare back at you. You’ve never seen them so close to you before. It feels like you’re lost in the night sky, tiny glimmers of something beckoning you further away from yourself, a visual siren’s song to the lost, promising a world away from your woes, red stars dancing in front of you-

It’s Sif staring at you.

Oh Change Sif is staring into your eyes HURRY BLINK LOOK AWAY-

You frantically blink and avert eye contact. You can’t speak. You can barely breathe with how hot your cheeks are getting, despite the leather still pressing against them. You can barely process that they’re speaking to you, static lost against your new flurry of emotions.

You jump and freeze again. Oh. More thunder, apparently. You stare at the hardwood floor you’re sitting on. A rich, dark brown. About the same colour as your eyes, even. How funny. You assume it must be very durable, considering it’s being used as flooring for a multi-story inn being hit with a monster of a storm.

Pretty deep brown, some panels a little lighter than others…

“It’s walnut.”

huh

You blink, looking back up at Sif, who’s blinking back at you. His hands are off your face. When did that happen? You blink again.

“The flooring of this inn’s walnut. Rich dark brown, pretty durable, pretty pricey… it lightens with age.”

17 words in a row from Siffrin? They were reasonably loud, too. Like, the normal volume for someone talking.

“The fact that certain panels in the flooring are lighter means they’re older than the other panels, meaning the darker ones were probably replaced.”

24 more words. Add on the 17 and 2 from before and that would be 33 words in the past minute.

You still can’t find any words. They’re standing fully now, looking on you from above, like an an- like a perfectly normal human being who just so happens to be above you currently, crabbing Change Isabeau-

Siffrin is staring at you, blinking. You blink back.

“… you feeling better?”

His voice is quiet again. It feels… musical, almost. A lyre being played in the surf, the tinkling of chimes in the salty air. The songs of the seabirds flying in, the people talking as they gather amongst the market stalls, looking over catches of fish and seafood, the shade away from the scorching sun.

Darkless hair weaved into waves, fluttering about in the coastal winds.

…

You’ve… never properly been to the coast. And you’ve never seen young people with darkless hair. That only happens with much older people.

“Isa.”

Oh right. Sif asked if you were feeling better.

You try to open your mouth and speak, but only a garbled mess of sound comes out. Your cheeks grow warmer, now with the embarrassment of fumbling your words in front of Siffrin. Good job, Isabeau. You’ve done a terrible job.

They turn to the side briefly, a gloved hand raising up to cover their mouth. A cough, maybe? It is cold and wet after all, and they were running through it for a little while before finding their current lodging.

He turns back to you and offers a hand.

“Get up and sit on the bed, at least. Hardwood floors aren’t that comfy.”

You get up. Your bones creak, even though you’re only twenty-four and in good shape. Insulting.

Siffrin does the maybe-cough thing again. You should check if they’re sick, later.

You sit on the bed. It’s comfortable. More comfortable than the walnut flooring. You can call it that, now that you know the wood. You should ask Sif about different types of wood sometime later, since they seem to know a bit about it.

You’re being poked again, in the shoulder this time. You’re tired. It takes a few seconds for you to register what is happening. It takes a few more seconds for you to turn your head, and even more to blink at Sif again.

They sigh, shadows dancing in their eyes.

“Lay down, Isa. Please.”

You blink and do as instructed. You’re… not sure what you’re feeling, aside from exhausted. You haven’t even done anything and you feel like you lifted a hundred kilograms thirty times. That would be a total of three thousand kilograms.

The pillows are cold and soft. You sink into them. You don’t move your legs. You will need to get up again soon, to go downstairs and eat with everyone else.

…

All of whom you’ve been avoiding since you got in.

That’s a problem for future Isabeau. Present Isabeau is currently enjoying the comfy bed he’s laying on, with heavy bones and eyes.

Out of the corner of your vision, you see Sif smile. It’s small, like flower petals in a clear pond of water. He says something you can’t exactly make out, and leaves the room.

Your eyes are heavy.

…

It’s raining. The lightless cumulonimbus clouds coat the sky, torrents raining down.

You’re warm.

It’s nice.

---

trying to understand how i want to write isabeau. he's obviously a smart guy who did a lot of studying, and he has the best emotional intelligence of the party (mira is second), but considering he was such a shy kid i pulled on my experiences as "the shy kid" (i was just autistic and hated people) a little bit.

also headcanon that isa isnt too fond of storms because. loud noises. sudden lights. he likes to know things and he cant exactly know storms. odile is v similar to me in that way.

anyway. ill be back. maybe with more writing. later.

ko-fi for any who want to chuck a couple dollars my way