#look man those were dark times my previous main interest was cr and the one before that was hs

[arolesbianism]

Every now and then I get haunted by my past as a dr fan because someone mentions it or smth and lemme tell you the worst case scenario is if they bring up v3 in an even slightly positive light because nothing will make me start giving a shit abt dr again except for my burning hatred of that damn game, I just spent like 30 minutes ranting to myself about how much of a nothing character Kokichi is in the bathroom after showering just to vent it out because if I don't rant abt v3 every now and then I'll explode and kill someone

[drabbleitout]

Chapter 4: Clowns to the Left, Jokers to the Right

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Myghal was starting to wonder what “Ira having a good time” entailed.

Yet, the more he thought on it, the more he realized it was probably for the best he didn’t know. Either way, being in a tavern wasn’t on the list.

Ira disregarded the crowded bar and sat them by the back window, away from mostly everyone else which took the skill of a true misanthrope considering it was packed. The table they found was barely big enough for the both of them, in the corner, and near the nook entrance of the kitchen. The smell had Myghal’s stomach growling.

Ira was leaned back in his chair, hood on and boots cross on the window sill. His hands fidgeted with one of the thin sleeve darts that Myghal discovered were sewn into the hem of his cloak. It twirled between his fingers with careless elegance. The only bit of his face visible was his usual unimpressed frowning mouth.

“Anything I can get you gents?” a young boy in an apron asked, pausing briefly with a tray of drinks hoisted on a shoulder.

“I’ll have the chicken.” Myghal offered him a smile but his face changed as little as Ira’s.

“With the neeps and tatties?”

“Uh, yes?” Myghal had never heard of either of those, but it was enough of an answer as the barhand looked to Ira.

“And you?”

He didn’t as much as offer a snarl. The barhand turned away towards another table. The small tavern was a tight fit in the muddy village outside of Galenia. Smashed between a cobbler and a candle maker, it was the only main attraction.

“So, who should we ask first?” Myghal rubbed his hands together.

“About what?” Ira growled.

“About the dragon. That’s why I wanted to sit at the bar, to get elbow to elbow with locals and see if they’ve heard any rumors.”

“A dragon?” Myghal jumped as a chair clattered down at the other side of the table. It was spun about allowing the tall woman dressed in a vest and slacks sit with her arms draped over its back. She had devious eyes, lips pulled into a crooked grin from under her wide-brimmed cavalier hat. “Name’s Kee,” she offered a hand out to Myghal.

“Nice to meet you,” He shook it, “I’m Myghal.”

“And who’s this charming manifestation of midnight dangers?” She boldly stuck her hand towards Ira, leaning across the table.

“Get any closer and I’ll take it off at the wrist.”

“Heel boy,” Kee laughed, settling back into her chair. “You’re an odd pair, ay? Not from around here, that’s for sure.” She nodded towards Ira’s boots. “Asking about a dragon, what’s that then?” She gave her attention to Myghal, situating on his side of the table. “You really looking for dragons?”

“Yeah, have you seen any?”

“Gods, I need a drink.” Ira murmured, twirling to his feet and slipping off. He stepped behind a patron and disappeared into the crowd.

“No’ alive, anyway.” Kee had turned to watch him go but kept speaking. “No one’s seen many of them since, gads, a hundred years ago? May I ask why the interest?”

“It’s a long story, but we need one of their eyes.” Kee stared at him, eyes blank as if she had just entered a room and completely forgotten why she was there. Her brow knitted, head tilted, and she came back to herself with a scowl.

“Just its eye?” He nodded, “what kind of goon wants a dragon’s eye? You making something?” she laughed, glancing over her shoulder. “Are you in with the Jakes? Making some of the drugs?”

“No. We need it for… well—”

“Hazewash.” Ira announced, both of them jumping having not heard him return. “Here, no one else seemed to worry rats were eyeing it,” he slid a plate of chicken and two piles of mashed mysteries to Myghal before flopping down in his chair. The dark wine in his cup hardly sloshed. Kee eyed him, glancing to Myghal as she leaned back in her chair.

“You’re no’ making hazewash. You’re no’ a witch.”

Ira hummed, kicking his feet back up in the window as he took a sip. Myghal stared down at his plate, sure he recognized one pile of mush as potatoes but wasn’t sure of the other.

“Hazewash needs a dragon eye? Don’t believe it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you study at the Imperial Court of Faraday?” Ira had lost his bite and was now condescendingly acidic. “Myghal took up the spoon that was shoved in the potatoes, unsure how he was supposed to use it on the chicken, but chiseled at some of the yellow pile. “By that choice of hat, I’m going to go on chance and say no.”

“No’ a witch.” Kee matched the hateful smile, “But something tells me neither are you.”

“Myghal,”

“Hmm?”

“Am I a witch?”

“Yeah. That’s why you wear that creepy cloak.” He tried what he guessed were the neeps, and instantly smiled at Ira. “They’re turnips.”

“Would a guy like that lie to you?” Ira thumbed at him, peering over his glass at Kee. “I need to make hazewash for my exam.”

“Trying to get into the Emperor’s entourage, ay?”

“So badly.” Ira had that smile again.

“Do you know about any dragons, Kee?” Myghal used his hands to take pieces of the chicken. “We’d really like to know if you do.”

“Maybe,” she crossed her arms on the chair’s back. “Need some payment. How much you pay is how much I’ll tell.”

“Figures,” Ira sighed, glass resting on the table as he pulled his feet to the floor. “But if I pay you, and you don’t know where a dragon is, I will make you a public decoration at the main gate.” He said this as if explaining the weather. Reaching into his cloak he pulled out the smaller purse of coin, letting her see it. “Do you know where a dragon is?”

Kee sat there, eyes on the coin, silent and still. Myghal worried that she didn’t know. She clearly hadn’t known Ira, challenging him the way she did, but he feared her bluff had been called and was sure Ira would hold up his end of the bargain.

“An old man who works a mountain orchard west of here says he’s seen one near the top of the Barren Tips. Says it makes a ruckus on the full moon.” She went quiet again, stare locked on Ira. He set the coin between him and Myghal, leaning over taking a swipe of potatoes on a finger.

“What do you think? Sounds like a tall tale to me.” Myghal watched him sit back, surprised.

“That actually adds up some.” He paused in thought, making sure he remembered correctly. “The Ophtenka always attacked on a full moon, so if there is really an orchard farmer, and he says it makes noise on the full moon, that sounds right.”

“What’s an open..penka?” Kee’s face soured.

“Witch talk –mind your half of the conversation.” Ira ate the potatoes off his finger, scowled and leaned in on an elbow to whisper. “You think she’s telling the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“So, we shouldn’t kill her?”

“We shouldn’t kill anyone.” Myghal glanced around.

“You said your name was Kee? What do you do for a living, Kee?”

“I’m a witch, as much as you are. But on days off, I’m a smuggler.” Her feet took her weight as she leaned over the table, “But the only part Imperial you are is as stolen as that coin you’ve got. Just like them hawk feathers, ay?” She gave a humming laugh, “Hawks were outlawed after the Empress was murdered by a Hawker. Ain’t no one in the Empire going to have you wearing hawk feathers.”

The air grew cold.

Ira pulled off his hood to give her full view of the feathers and his glare. Pressing back his chair he leaned closer, locking eyes and lowering his voice.

“You lost your leg in the siege, didn’t you?” he tilted his head with a nod to the floor. “Foreigners didn’t go quietly when you took their homes, did they? Riots tend to get out of hand even for the Imperial Guard. But you did what he asked because you were his good, little soldier. And he liked that about you, so he enchanted you a leg, didn’t he?” There was something sour about the sweetness in Ira’s tone, like poisoned nectar. “You were important, so he had you fixed up with a metal limb that almost feels right.”

Kee’s eyes narrowed, the smile melting from her face into something hurt and angry.

“But it wore on you. Those people did nothing wrong and you know that. But you thought it was behind you, that he wouldn’t ask anymore from you. And you were wrong,” Ira nodded. “He kept asking and you had nothing more to give. So, you ran. You ditched. You abandoned your post. And, now, he wants his leg back.”

“You’re not from the Empire, are you?” Kee hissed, rising to slide her chair away. “You’re not with the Imperial Court. You’re an assassin. You killed Empress Sarika, didn’t you?” Myghal pressed his plate aside at Ira’s glare, feeling as if he were watching two dogs; hair hackled, teeth bared, ready to fight. “Are you the Hawker?”

“How would you like the left to match the right?” He pulled at his dagger, Myghal shoving it back into the sheath.

“Alright, enough.” He placed a hand on Ira’s shoulder never seeing his eyes so dark. “We have our lead on a dragon. Let’s pay her and go.”

“What do you think they’re going to do to you when they find you?” Kee ignored the glare and Myghal.

“I have a pretty good idea already. And I’m sure when they get that leg from you it’ll feel the same. He won’t forget about you. He won’t give up and let you go. He can follow that magic like a dog to scent. If I were you,” Ira slid the coin purse towards her, “I’d find someone else to enchant it. Lose the scent and the hounds.” With that he stood, tossing his hood back on. Myghal followed him to the door, regretting looking over his shoulder finding Kee behind them.

“Well, you’re a witch, aren’t you?” She exited as they reached their horses.

“Let’s just go,” Myghal whispered. Ira turned as he freed Berma.

“Now you want to believe me?” He shook his head, mounting as she scurried down the steps. “You’re a maze of turned around ideas, aren’t you? An Imperial turned smuggler.” She shushed him, making a short, swiping motion in the air.

“What if I take you to that old man with the orchard, help you find that dragon?” She had steel nerves, grabbing Berma's tack as if that had any control over horse or rider. “Even if you don’t know enchantment, you’re a witch, you know someone who does, right? Maybe we can strike a deal.”

She was crafty, head tilting with a fearless smile. But, just as shocking, Ira hadn’t pulled away or moved Berma. He checked over his shoulder to Myghal. If she knew as much about the farmer, and where he was, she was their best lead. With a shrugging nod, Myghal saw no reason as to why she couldn’t help out.

“If there is an orchard farmer, and if there is a dragon, and if we get the eye, I may be able to help you.” Ira managed to still sound threatening. But it didn’t hinder Kee, grinning as her hand reared back giving a sharp clap against his leg. Ira jolted, lips pursing.

“You’re a belter! What do I call you?”

“Rook,” Ira  gathered the reins, backing Berma away. Kee’s face went slack, watching him with a faint sway in her stance. Ira motioned down the road, “we're following you, smuggler. It’s a deal, remember?” She glanced to Myghal, as pale as if she had just seen death. Almost tripping on her own feet, she hurried over to untie a brown quarter horse.

“Right,” she hopped on, moving the hanging rapier to get both boots in the stirrups. “Galenia isn’t far. We can find him there.” Her horse paced anxiously, turning one way and then another before she directed them down the road.

“You could, you know, not scare everyone.” Myghal shook his head as Berma passed, Ira grinning ear to ear.

“I could, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Looks like you picked a busy time to show up,” Kee called back, almost lost in the chatter of the crowd around them. The walls blocked them from the sun, Myghal taking the chance to steal a glance up to the battlements were guards paced. They were towering, sandstone walls, banners of red fallen from each crenel like draped tongues. Each was embroidered with an extravagant but clear design of a crown.

The deep rhythm of drums bloomed into a mixture of swaying strings and the joyous chant of voices. The traffic also slowed. Sunlight spilled down from the other side of the arch, a group of young women throwing fistfuls of yellow and orange blossoms into the crowd. Large strips of fabric had been hung from one roof to another over the road, providing shade and decorating the sky with the theme of warm tones.

“Welcome to Galenia.” Kee had to yell to be heard, riding beside Myghal.

“Is it always like this?” He laughed, glancing over as someone tapped his leg. He was passed a single stemmed, orange daisy. The little girl who had given it to him giggled before rushing to the person behind Nepi, giving them one as well. “Thanks!” He called back, unsure if she could hear.

“Not always this busy, no,” Kee answered as he turned back. “This is the Festival for the Mother of the Empire. It’s a spring thing,” she waved at the air as if searching it for something. “It’s the biggest celebration of the year.”

“Mother of the Empire?” Myghal glanced ahead to make sure Ira hadn’t left. Berma was in front of them, the dark pink flower standing out from his black cloak. “Is that a Goddess?”

“No,” Kee laughed. “Well, depends on who you ask. She was the Empress, the Emperor’s wife.”

“Who was killed by the hawk?”

“You’ve got it. But this is a celebration of her life, what all she did for the Empire. She was a beloved woman.” Another shower of petals fell over them, “You couldn’t find a living soul in the Empire who disliked her. She looked out for the poor, the lesser off, and kept her husband in line. After she died,” Kee shrugged, “they were forgotten again.”

“So, why would anyone want to kill her?”

“I said inside the Empire. Outside of the Empire, any Imperial is an enemy. My guess is they wanted to start a war. Which would’a happened, if the Emperor knew who killed her. That’s why there’s such a high reward on the Prince. You find him, you can find who’s responsible. The Emperor would probably make you a Lord for that.” She knocked the back of her hand against his shoulder, “There, that’s Empress Sarika!”

She pointed ahead, to a fountain inlaid in the side of a building. Myghal leaned in search of a person, a reenactor, or a tomb, but found a statue. Traffic slowed to an almost halt as everyone paused to look or bow. They inched along, chatter lowering to silence.

The large statue was of a woman, realistically carved of brown soapstone, seated above the elongated fountain of white tile. Berma slowed to a stop, Ira twirling the flower between his fingers before tossing it into the pool. It floated alone among the babbling ripples. He stared at the face of the Empress, people moving around him as he took his time. Then, just as slowly, he lifted two fingertips to his forehead, bowing and dropping the salute in a low hook.

If Myghal hadn’t seen it himself, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Berma moved along and by more habit, Nepi strolled up to take their place. No one else threw their flowers, placing them instead on the fountain wall or at its sides. Myghal dropped his with the others, finding himself lost in studying her face. She was thin, chin lifted with a strong jaw and a sleek nose. There was something about her, familiar, as if he had seen her somewhere before. Had she visited their council? Was she an ambassador? Had he seen her among their elders?

In a daze he pressed his fingertips to his brow—

“What are you doing?” Kee grabbed his wrist, tugging it away as she nervously laughed, “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

“What?” He nudged Nepi forward as she pulled at him. “What did I do?”

“Saluting like that. Don’t do that. The guards will think you’re mocking them and you’ll get tossed out.”

“It’s a salute?”

“You just do things without knowing what they are? Yes. The Emperor's salute. It’s supposed to mean loyalty in thought to the Emperor, but no one but the guard really use it. Unless you’re trying to pick a fight.” She laughed, nudging him with an elbow. “Civilians don’t do that, so… don’t.”

“Oh, alright.” He stared at Ira, wondering what it meant. If he hated the Emperor, why salute the Empress? Or was it as sarcastic as his entirety? Was that the reason for tossing his flower as he did? Even as loved as she was by everyone, did he hate her as much as the Emperor?

Leave it to Ira to hate a motherly, charitable person.

“The farmer always sells on the square,” Kee moved up beside Ira now that the traffic had thinned. People swept into open stalls and shops, road splitting off and widening. “He’s the only one with apples so he’s not hard to miss.”

Myghal was still stuck on Ira, the salute, the Empress. He couldn’t make sense of it –not that he had any luck before in unscrambling the shadowy conundrum of the cloak and hood. He was like distant stars in the sky, to look directly at them you saw nothing, but watch from the corner of your eye and there he was.

“Myghal,” he stopped at the stall, not remembering getting down from Nepi. Ira stood beside him, eyes darting to the owner in signal. It finally caught up to him that they had been discussing the dragon.

“You’re sure it’s a dragon?” He asked, hoping it was congruent to the conversation.

“Pretty sure,” he was so old and thin Myghal wondered how he brought his apples down from the mountains. “My grandfather used to tell me stories of the dragon on Barren Tips. He was a sheep farmer, you see, like his father and them. Used to eat his flock. I was smart and grew apples. Dragons don’t eat apples.” He laughed at this like a tireless joke.

“What was that you said about the full moon?”

“Oh, I hear it. All screams and barks like nothing I’ve ever heard. Saw it once, was pretty sure.”

“What did it look like?”

“Great winged thing. A shadow, with a long neck and tale.”

“Antlers? Horns?” Myghal asked gaining a scowl. “Was it long and thin, like a serpent?”

“No. Great and big, like a dragon. No bird or snake like it. Far too big.” Ira looked at Myghal, expecting and waiting for a verdict.

“It doesn’t sound like an Ophtenka,” he glanced to Kee who took a step away. Ira grabbed her sleeve with a blind snap. “But, that doesn’t mean it’s not a dragon. It can’t be far if he lives near it –no offense,” he gave an apologetic glance to the old man, “but if he brings apples to town he can’t live far from here.”

“You can get there by nightfall,” the old man patted Myghal's shoulder. “And it'll be a perfect night for it!”

“Of course,” Ira grumbled, “It’s a full moon.”

“Oh…” Myghal hadn’t considered they’d have found their lead so soon, and possibly a fight for their life to go with it. By the idle pause, Ira seemed to be considering the same. “Well, we better stock up.”

“You’re in the perfect place for that.” Kee reassured, passing him a sympathetic pat, “I’m sure you can find everything you need here.”

“Then let’s hurry up,” Ira sighed. “If we need to get there by nightfall we don’t have a lot of time to waste.”

“Want me to look after the horses? You’ll be able to get what you need a lot faster.”

“You?” Ira scoffed.

“I’m not going to run off with them! We had a deal, remember?” Offended she snapped at him. “Besides, I know who I’m dealing with. Heard enough bedtime stories about you.”

“It will be easier to go about this crowd with out them,” Myghal gave Nepi’s reins over to her. Ira remained cemented in place,

“Where am I going to take them, to the Emperor?”

“Give me your sword.”

“What?! No!”

“We trade until we’re done.” Ira held out a hand, egging her on with a wave of fingers, “My horse for your sword.”

“Be glad he isn’t asking for your leg.” Myghal shook his head. With a dramatic sling of her head she turned, unfastening her sword and handing it over.

“If you trade it for anything, I will ruin you.”

“Charming,” Ira tied it to his belt beneath his cloak. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen if my horse goes missing.” He gave up the reins and turned.

“What about Nepi?” Myghal smirked, “you’re not going to make a threat for him.”

“If something happens, you better hope you can keep up with Berma.”

Ira gave up on lecturing Myghal. It was clear he wouldn't listen, or refused to break any habit. He was going to do whatever he wanted, either way, and Ira concluded he didn't have the breath to waste anymore. If it was a real dragon they were facing, their chances of survival were slimmer than the rapier on his hip. He worried more over haggling for supplies. Myghal stayed out of it for the most part, or, rather, avoided it.

Ira noticed the way he busied himself with people rather than searching for items. At first, he assumed it was nerves, but later discovered it was more the way he was than anything. He kept drifting off, rushing out of line to find someone to interact with in the crowd. Someone’s dog or child. Almost getting himself killed to catch someone’s falling tower of packages. Helping an old woman reach what crowds wouldn’t let her access.

Every time Ira turned around, Myghal was in someone else's business.

"Ira," Myghal leaned over his shoulder, whisper a worrying contrast to the bustle. "Can I have a few coins?"

"What did you break?" Ira expected to turn and find Myghal frowning but found a gentle smile instead. He had those bright eyes, excited and warm. Ira slipped a few from his purse, barely setting them in Myghal’s hand before he darted off.

Finishing with buying enough rope, Ira stepped aside to search for him. He noticed Myghal at a stall further down the road, buying food. It was odd considering Ira had previously gotten enough to last them to the mountains and their possible trip back. He had also just eaten. As to why he bought an apple, a slice of bread, and jerky, Ira had to know.

What is he doing? He decided to follow Myghal who hurried off in the other direction. He left the square. He left the market. He left the festivities ending up in a quieter, older area of the city. Backstreets became dirt instead of brick. Windows shuttered or boarded. And everything reeked of urine. Myghal trotted on, winding his way down to an alley that looked more fitting for dumping a body than a lunch break.

Ira slowed, slinking towards the alley entrance hearing voices. Pressed to the wall he peered around the corner.

Myghal had found a pile of garbage, some thrown out table that had become a kingdom of strewn forgottens. Crates, broken barrels, tattered sheets, and countless bottles. He was crouched before it, opening the linen his goods were wrapped in. Tearing off a bit of bread he held it out towards the garbage pile. Rage boiled up, Ira starting to wheel around the corner, when a small, dirty hand drifted out from the rubbish.

"It's alright," Myghal smiled, head tilting as he watched them. "Aren't you hungry?" He leaned closer.

The little fingers snatched it from Myghal's hold, retreating into their hovel. He chuckled, as warm as ever, tearing off another piece. "See there?" Another hand reached out, larger, thin and frail. A woman leaned out from the pile, wrapped in rags with a sunken face smeared in dirt. "Here, there’s plenty."

Myghal didn't scowl or flinch at their condition. He didn't grimace if their hands accidentally touched. He didn't even belittle them in his offering with fake smiles or pity in his eyes. His smile was genuine, completely him, and it only brightened as he offered jerky next. "This will last longer. Go on, you can have it."

The mother stared at him, wide eyes beginning to run with tears as her shaking hands took the food. Her son emerged from his thin blanket, sniffing heavily. A child, mostly bone, his keen eyes caught sight of Ira and looked.

Staggering back from the corner, Ira pressed his back against the wall. He didn’t understand. Growing up on the streets of Felmire, no one had ever given him a scrap of anything. People sneered and kicked as if he were some mangy, wild animal when he was just a boy. He had seen people drop scraps to rats and care less than allowing any street urchins to have it.

Yet, Myghal... Myghal used his share for strangers.

If Ira had met Myghal sooner, would his life be different? Better? Was now too late? He leaned his head back against the wall, letting the air out of his lungs and shutting his eyes. Did it matter now? Scraps and smiles wouldn’t do them any good facing down a dragon.

"I know you're mad," Myghal was there, pleading. "But just take it out of my part. I've still got some left, and I can cover the extra. I'll take an extra job. Maybe someone needs some firewood cut around here or something." Ira grimaced trying to clear his thoughts, like mentally swatting flies. “I know the coin won’t last forever, but if a dragon is anything like an Ophtenka we might not even have them time to spend—”

"I'm not mad." The words came out gradually, one at a time, opening his eyes to stare up into the blue sky.

"Wait... you're not?"

"No," Ira wanted to say something more. Something about what Myghal had done, but he wasn’t even sure what he would say. Or, really, what he even felt.

"Are you sick?"

A chuckle broke from Ira, helpless and biting, "Yes. I am."

"Do we need to go find a doctor?"

"Don't worry about it." Ira stepped off the wall, huffing as Myghal pressed him back against it. The smile was gone, eyes dark and brows low keeping a heavy hand against Ira's chest.

"What's wrong?" It was a strange way to sound caring, low and dangerous.

"Nothing."

"It's something. Are you really sick? You don't have a fever do you?" The hand moved up to Ira's face, trying to check. He panicked, a twisting, bolt of a feeling shooting through his chest. Knocking Myghal's wrist aside he slipped away.

"It’s nothing! I was… worried. That’s all. You ran off and I thought maybe you saw that smuggler take off with our horses.” Myghal didn’t let the stare go so easily. It took him a moment to give in. “I’ve got enough, I think. At least for if we don’t survive this.”

“Let me have that.” Myghal took the bag with an effortless tug, shouldering it. “If you’re sick, the last thing you need to do is haul all this around. Dead or not, if we’ve got to fight this thing you need to be at your best.” A finger prodded into Ira’s chest, that dark look still in Myghal’s eyes. “If it gets worse, we call it off.”

“What? No. Myghal, I’m not really sick.” Ira scoffed, following him. “Are you listening? We’re getting the eye. I’m not waiting anymore.”