#cough medicine gives bristle the big brain thoughts

[bristledthistled]

Sun needs to find him some eldritch horror to date. That boy needs some unfathomable abomination to rizz him up.

Sun needs to gaze into the void and have the void wink back at him

frightening nightmare monstrosity that resides in your mind, or easily accessible boyfriend.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Cat in the Cradle: is the witch really going to give up that easily, having been thwarted once by Obi?

Prompts are currently closed while I catch up. I will announce when I am open! :)

A/N: An installment of Our Place in the Stars.Takes place after Nightmares.

Content Warning: This entire series has allusions to ahistory of sex work and involuntary servitude. This chapter is no different.

He wishes he took Miss’s orders to sleep a little lessseriously last night.

For now that his fast has been broken, with so few hoursto boot, he is delirious, disoriented, and dizzy. The motion of his hands andhis mind no longer work in perfect concert with the other, the distancebetween one place and the next is longer than his memory.

But the draught had done it’s duty, lulling him to slumber deeper than he had any right to.

(“Take this,” Miss says, pushing the steaming mug intonumb hands. The brew is black. Nothing good ever came from a medicine that wasbrewed to black. “It will help.”

Eyeing is dubiously, he takes a delicate sniff, thenrears back, nose traveling up his face to escape it. “Can I take it tomorrow?”

“Obi,” she huffs. “You haven’t slept through the night indays. This will help.”

He peers up at her from under the veil of his lashes, ather puffed up cheeks and her tiny body forming a barrier between him and thedoor. Then back down to the drink.

“I’m fine, Miss,” he smiles, every beautiful tooth baredas he holds the cup back towards her. “Our walk was very refreshing. I think Ican sleep just fine without it now.”

She crosses her arms, staring down at him.

Wilting, Obi cradles the mug against his chest. Takes in the potion again. Hecan already taste the bitter that hovers in the air, the particular mix ofherbs meant to numb his brain to something approaching quiet. It looks like ascrying mirror, it is so thick, like something a traveling nomad would brew to tell him that he would soon come into a fortune if he would part ways with just a little bit more gold. 

A little twigthat the strainer didn’t catch floats about its depths.

Oh well. Nothing to be done about it. “Down the hatch,”he mutters, and tilts his head back to take it whole.

Ye gods, what is inthis? He only manages about half the draught before his tongue rebels, throatclosing against it, and then he’s coughing, liquid spraying as the mugdisappears from his hands. Swallowing, he bends over his knees, gasping betweeneach wrack of breath that escapes his body.

Miss is already sitting on the bed next to him. “See?”she tries, patting him on the back as he rubs the moisture from his eyes. “Itwasn’t that bad!”

If he could sit up straight, he tell her with his facewhat he thought. As it is, he has to find his words.

“Au contraire,” he wheezes, wiping off the liquid drippingfrom his chin with the back of his sleeve. “It’s worse.”)

But if his men notice, they don’t say anything. Makiricertainly doesn’t, instructing him in passing to oversee the security for the meetings.

So he does. Just… alone.

(“Are you sure, commander?” Jirou asked, leaning inclose. “I can send one of those idiots to take care of sweeping the meetinghalls.”

Obi thinks of Hiro, with his round, boyish face and hiswide smile. Of Kune, with his new wife and a baby on the way. Of Shinto, hissoft voice and brass laugh. Each and every one of them didn’t sleep for two nights in a row after he told them about his first days in Laxdo.

“I’m sure.” Obi claps his second on the shoulder, smilefirmly in place. “Though if I’m bewitched again, it’s your responsibility getme the best scratching post and only the finest collar.”

Jirou grunts, crossing his hulking arms in disapproval,but he says, “Would you like it to be belled or spiked?”)

It’s not a hard task, not in this city, where a glare ora pointed look is enough to send any busy bodies scrambling. After scatteringthe third anthropologist and the second historian from their hiding places, he thinks that the wingmight be close to ready.

Though, he muses, rounding the corner. He might have totake extra precautions from keeping that biologist from returning to her study spacethat shouldn’t have ever been a study place in the first place.

(“But it’s quiet here! And all the study rooms in thelibrary are taken. I’m working on my thesis,” the woman whines in a way that reminds him too much of Suzu,piling one paper on top of another so slowly that he might tear out his ownhair. “Are you sure I can’t stay? I’m only taking up a corner!”

Obi smiles through grit teeth. “Only if you desire to beturned into a mouse. There’s a Samese witch here, you know.”

Her lips press together in a thoughtful manner, the roundlenses of her glasses making her grey eyes enormous. “I always wondered howtransfiguration affected the body. If it existed, I mean,” she mulls, hands staying upon her task. “Doyou think it is even possible to make something the size of a human intosomething as small as a mouse? I imagine I would have to be turned intosomething of like size, maybe a wolf. There’s so many bones in the human body,though. Do you think they break to condense into a smaller form? Or fusetogether? I wonder if the internal organs mo-”

He really should have known not to give her that option.“Mistress Kazune,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please leave. Now.”)

The room at the end of the hall is the last, and most obnoxious.The carved teak has been primed to shine, the glossy surface of the tablereflecting the centerpiece of evergreens. Circling, he runs his fingers underthe edge, ducking down to check the legs of each chair and each cushion, when asudden blast of cold air sends the curtains of the far wall billowing.

Skin prickling, Obi bristles, crossing over to close thebalcony door. For a city so northward, so obsessed with every burner going at all times,you would think they would only open themselves to the out-of-doors to thespring, but it is a constant battle to explain to his Miss’s maids that doorsand windows lock for a reason-

Clucking his tongue, Obi pushes aside the curtain,grabbing hold of the knob.

“Leave that open, if you will. The air is so stagnant in theserooms. It’s like no one ever uses them.”

Obi has not spoken Samese in years. Has not evenpracticed the syllables on his tongue. But, as Garrack and Shidan and everyscholar he’s ever met is so prone to pointing out, his memory is excellent.

Slowly, he cranes his head, looks over his shoulder. It’snot often that someone is able to sneak up on him, but if anyone were to, itwould have to be-

Them.

Between her two hulking guards, the red of her veils burnagainst gray stone. Her other guard, the giant dog who stands as high as themeeting table, sniffs at the floor. Eyes following, Obi hopes that it is not inspiredto take a piss. It would really be a hassle to put the maids through securityagain on such short notice just because of a little puddle.

“Thank you. It is… refreshing,” she says, hands claspingtogether. Then, with a twist of her head, her voice lowers. Carries authoritywhen she says to her companions, “Leave us.”

Back drawing up straight, Obi’s shoulders go so tightthat it is pain. And her guards don’t so much as answer as grunt, turningtowards the exit. Obi moves to follow.

“No, no.” Something in her voice trembles, sounds amused. “Not you.”

It’s nothing short of an order, though, and while he hasnot been- been that since he was aboy, his joints lock up, rooting him to place and staring helplessly as thedoors close behind the two behemoths. And he wishes, just once, that Miss washere. Or Jirou. Or even Makiri. That someone was present that would rescue him,too.

The touch of a wet nose to the back of his hand bringshim back to himself, eyes coming back to focus on two brown eyes and a lollingtongue staring up at him.

“And what about him?” he asks, voice as dry as a two daytrek across a desert.

The dog licks its great maw, tail giving two quickshakes, and then it- it licks at hishand. Like a connoisseur of flesh. Like it’s testing if he is going to need a little seasoning before enjoying a mid-day snack of escaped-slave a-la-mode.

“Her,” the witch corrects. “What’s wrong? Does the littlekitten not like the big dog?”

She laughs, pleased with herself and Obi’s jaw ticks asher pet nuzzles at him, sliding its nose underneath his palm.

“Come now, it’s a joke,” she tsks, patting her leg, andhis assailant is immediately called away. “I’m very funny.”

Subtly turning his hand towards his trousers, he rubs offthe lingering sensation. “As you say.”

She hums, floating towards him, and his heart gives threeloud bangs inside the cavern of his chest.

“Don’t.”

Obi pauses, blinking, and he- he takes stock of himself,tries to figure out what he has done, and-

His left hand flexes around steel, the tip of his pinkytouching leather behind his back. His heart still races, though, his mind stillscreaming danger! so he lets themlinger, lets them hold that reassuring cold of tempered metal still tucked awayin his belt.

“You,” she sighs, dipping her head to catch his eyes. Heturns them further away. “You’re one of ours, aren’t you?”

His lip curls, fingers wrapping around a hilt. “Never.”

Arms crossing, she straightens herself and he can feelthe weight of her glare like a physical touch. “No need to hiss, kitten. I knowyou belong to her.”

Blinking, Obi forgets himself, head snapping in herdirection, but she’s moving away, looking towards the window at the snowfallblanketing Lyrias.

“Still, though,” she comments, voice distant. “You are a brave little one, living so closeto the border. It would just take the wrong set of eyes and a greedy hand tocarry you back.”

A cold sheen of sweat spreads across his face, and it’snot like- not like he didn’t know that. Not like he didn’t weigh thepossibilities when he followed his Mistress from the safety of the south to theuncertainty of the north, but still- It’s been years since the wars. Yearssince someone has seen another with a face like his in these lands, and- “Noone here knows.”

“Kitten,” she looks her shoulder at him, and he’s madebreathless, the light striking through the material of her veils just so he cansee the white of her eyes. “Everyone knows.”

The cold sickly feeling spreads, eyes watering as ifpunched straight to the nose. “Then why? Why,” he swallows, words battling fordominance between the world he was born to and the world his mistress insistedwas reality. But, despite Miss’s insistence, her tempered demands that he believeher and not them, he can think of no better word. “Why enchant me?”

“Ah, that… embarrassment.” She sighs, rolling hershoulders. “That was not meant for you.”

Obi stares, lost, then whispers, “Then why her?”

She hums, and fabric ripples as she moves, as she comescloser. “She makes herself too small. Like you.”

He’s not expecting it, though he should. He’s far too outof practice, unable to stand still any longer as those above him take him into appraisal, holding hisjaw between forefinger and thumb, turning his head one way then the next,prying back lips to check teeth and pressing on the skin below his eyes tocheck for yellowing. So when her hand appears, still gloved in that thickfabric and so near to his face, he roots himself to the ground. And waits.

After several breaths, his eyes slowly flutter open – hehadn’t even known he closed them – and he- stares at her. At the way her handhovers between them.

“Your witch,” she says slowly, carefully. “She treats youright?”

Obi rears back. “My mistress,”he hisses, “is only kind. Even if I were to deserve-”

He cuts himself off, biting his tongue. But it’s toolate. He’s revealed too much. Stirred up too many memories of that day in theforest, of how she bowed to his failure, asked him to fail her again-

Her hand lowers. “And why would you deserve it?”

Brows furrowing, he blinks at her, trying to figure outwhat she’s about, why should would ask him to state the obvious. “I’m cursed.”

She tsks, breath strong enough to move her veil. “Nowthat’s some lie.”

He stares at her. “But- in Wati-”

“Wati.” Shespits out the name like it’s a blasphemy, drawing herself up while he shrinks.Even though she is no taller than Miss, he is like a boy before her. “Thatcountry of heretics? Why would you go to such a place?”

Gaping, he stumbles over his words, “It wasn’tintentional. I just crossed the steppes and-”

A noise, not unlike the grumble of an aggrieved camel,vibrates from beneath the veils. “What gives warmth to this world?” she clips.

It’s a struggle to remain standing, to not follow the urge to sit at her feet,to retain and recite like the schoolboy he used to watch through open windows in the summer, but that’s not what she wants. He doesn’t think so, atleast. Obi’s lips part and, for once in his life, he is unsure of whether tospeak.

Palms smacking together, she raises her voice. “I askedyou a question, kitten. What gives warmth to this world?”

His mind, the sure thing that it is, goes perfectlyblank. “The, ah, sun?”

“Yes!”

Obi jolts at her enthusiasm, the way she claps her glovedhands in praise instead of as a method for drawing his attention. And issomewhat shamed with that pleased little warmth that blooms in his chest.

“The sun gives light to this world,” she says, her voice softening.“Grows the plants that the animals eat. Melts the snow at the end of winter.And what color is this sun?”

“I- Uhm.”

“What color are your eyes, kitten?”

Swallowing, Obi shakes his head, backs a few steps awayand- and this can’t be happening. This has to be some sort of dream. Some sortof new nightmare. She can’t be serious.

“You have eyes like a leopard that are the color of thesun,” she says earnestly, closing the distance he creates. “Why would that becursed?”

His mouth parts to answer, so sure, so very sure that sheis wrong. That he is right. But he can’t. Not before a Red Witch, of all people.

“My- my Master. When I was a boy. He kept me hidden, toldme I would only do harm if I left his house.” Not that it stopped him fromtrying. The marks that etch up and down his calves are proof enough of that. “BeforeI- I left, he said I was damned. That’s why the temples wouldn’t have me.”

“Sit, boy.”

He stares at her, so lost, so disbelieving. “But-“

“I said sit.”

It’s been years since he was so easily beckoned, but hedoes what she wills, tumbling to the ground, legs barely crossed, and she- she joins him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes try to latch on to anything but the color ofred.

“Look.”

There is nothing else to latch onto, so he does.

“I feel warm just looking at you. Blessed,”she says, so simply. Like she isn’t tearing down and putting back together hisentire world. “Just like when I stand next to your witch. Though I am starting to see why the two ofyou found the other.”

His mind rebels. Screeches and spits. No matter what she said, he still has his memories. He knows the way people’s eyes fell from his when he looked upon him is the truth. The way the others scurried from his path is not a lie. It isn’t his imagination that remembers the whispers into ears and the exchange of coin - the goldthe same color, they said, as his eyes. 

Whata lucky find, they murmur, touching his chin to tilt his head back. Hewill bring so much more of it.

“But my Master-”

“He lied to you,” she interrupts. And her words arefinal. Law. Touched with the heat of anger. “He was selfish. Kept you from oursight. All of them did.”

He shifts, uncomfortable, until the slippery slide of herglove touches his face and he jolts, staring straight into the veil.

“If we had known-” She clucks her tongue, thumb smoothingdown his cheek, and he’s been a man for years – years longer than he shouldhave been – but it takes every last bit of his will not to bow forward, to not buryhis face in her lap and let her soothe whatever hurt she could find. “If we hadknown, you would have been brought to the coven, been given a true Mistress.And oh, how we would have spoiled such a face as yours.”

His shakes, and- this room is cold, suddenly. So cold.“But I-”

“Hush,” she commands, a single finger to his mouth. “You would have beeneducated and dressed well, never knowing cold save when you went outside toplay. Been given a bed of your own alongside the other little boys blessed justlike you. And we would have protected you, little one. We would have made sureyou were safe.”

“I-” His voice chokes out and he shakes his head to clearit. “That sounds… nice.”

“It’s the will of the gods that we witches shelter you,”she says, so certain. Like she didn’t lay every single dream of his since he wastaken from his parents at his feet. “That a foreign one found you that is proofenough, hmm?”

To his everlasting horror, his eyes blur, leaking withouthis will, but he can’t look away. So he simply nods.

“So lucky,” shemurmurs, almost to herself as she runs her fingers through his hair. He’s followsthe touch, helpless. “That’s the reason your Master kept you like he did,child. He was trying to keep that luck for himself.”

He weak, so weak. And it’s that weakness that makes himask, “But how can I be lucky if I can’t-” Heat prickles his face, the beginningof a blush more mortifying than him purring like a housecat on his mistresseslap, but he pushes forward. “I can’t- be touched. Even by those that I want totouch me.”

The snort, he is not expecting. “Spirits,” she mutters, headtilting towards the ceiling and the boreholes of stones above them. “You sendme here to find an unimaginable treasure in this desolate place and it is ashorny as a young buck in the spring.”

His lips twitch, but then he flattens them, mustering upsomething like a glare that only makes her laugh more.

“Kitten,” she sighs, moving closer. “You don’t seem to becomplaining right now. Are you sure you can’t stand to be touched?”

He stares at her, uncomprehending, but then her handmoves again, carding through the bristles of his hair and he- his eyes pulsewide, mouth falling slack.

“All wounds can be healed, little one,” she cooes, thesilk of her gloves brushing his temples, smoothing down his neck.

He stares. “But-”

“Your woundscan be healed.”

Obi shakes his head, the whole world trembling beneathhim. “That’s not- it’s not-“

“That doesn’t mean they go away,” she whispers, takinghis hands between hers, thumbs rubbing along the lines of his knuckles. Across the memory of pain. “Woundsscar. Especially ones that have been left to fester. But that doesn’t mean theywill never close. You just have to stop picking at them.”

His mouth opens and shut, unsure of how to work. Unsurehow to pass the enormity of what he’s feeling, so he says, “You’re not going todrug me again, are you?”

All at once, she sags, the weight of her palm heavy inhis lap as she slaps the other to her forehead, but his chest- it feels lighter. He thinks he just made her laugh. Hehopes he did.

“That enchantment wasn’t meant for you,” she says, flat.“But the spirits work in mysterious ways.”

His lip twitches. “Is that a no or-”

If he could see her face now, he is certain he would haveearned himself a full glare. It’s a wonder that this knowledge doesn’t terrify him.That he finds himself breathing so easily when it would be nothing for her tostrike him down. “I don’t think either of us would survive that humiliationshould it happen again.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then he remembers whatit had felt like, waking up on his mistress’s lap, how warm she had been, howsoft and giving, and the exact way that his heart had shattered with the simpleknowledge that he could not bear it.

“Unless you would like more gifts of catnip. I heard that it can be particularly daunting to keep the stockrooms in the pharmacy stocked in the winter. Really, your King should learn how to better manage his roads-“

Flushing, he bites back, “Point taken.”

Humming, she says, “Glad to know we’re on the same page, then.”

He eyes her, words carefully chosen. “It may be one ofthe few places that we are.”

Her hand clasps his, fingers wrapping the back of hishand and she squeezes. Hard. “Come early tonight. To the ritual. I will haveyour brothers show you what should have been yours.”

Before he can answer, he has a face full of dog, it’sgiant paws crawling up his thighs and great pink tongue lapping at his cheek sosuddenly he nearly topples over. It’s the shock of the door banging open thatkeeps him upright, that keeps him from scrambling away from the cumbersome thing,and he turns his head, wide eyed and shocked to find Lady Haki and Lord Makiri staringat him.

The great dumb creature, having done its duty ofembarrassing him further, leaves him, barking twice at the newcomers as ittrots up to the Arleon heirs.

“Ah,” the witch says, clapping her hands together. “Excellenttiming. I was just about to teach your young kitten here the secrets of uswitches. I’m glad you stopped me.”

“We are eager to continue the exchange.” Mistress Haki’sface is cool, composed, but he sees himself reflected in the tail of her gaze,the look she casts over him concerned. “When we heard you came early, it wasdecided that we need not wait.”

“Very good, very good,” The witch hums, a pleased noise,smacking her lap and levering herself up. “No need to waste any more precioustime.”