#sigghhhssss. theyre special to me

[tunastime]

Tha asskkkkkkssss

Since we are all dying about it could I get some Songbirds and Snakes :3 *pushes our ocs together*

"it's just how I remember..." / watching the rain fall (1134 words) (x)

Rain patters against the clay and wood roofs. Sheltered in the small patio alcove of their second story room, Archleah watches, the cool, wet air blowing across their face. The city, if one could call it such, was quiet aside from the rain and small chatter below, clear aside from the wafts of smoke that occasionally broke through the grey, late-afternoon air. In the breeze, the plants at their feet in their clay pots and the trees and the kept vines on balconies blow gently and soak in the much needed rain of early spring.

Archleah sighs a calming breath. In that same breath, they feel a tingling up from the base of their spine to the nape of their neck, hair standing on end. They shiver, swallow, turn with a confused expression.

The Serpent raises his eyebrows, smiling with their eyes as they squint. He blinks at them like a contented cat, tilting their head just so. As they wander quietly to the banister beside them, Arch turns their eyes back to the horizon. Warmth shudders up the space where electricity skipped across their back and shoulder blades. Magic—locate person, maybe.

Without the mask of the Serpent, the broken skew of their jaw is much more pronounced, casting an interesting silhouette as Archleah looks him over. If they forgot themselves, they could almost call it knightly—saintly, that helm. Thunder rumbles, low and basey, in the distance.

"Fancy seeing you," Archleah hums, leaning against the wooden banister of the curving porch. The rain has just started to make muddy footprints in the back garden of this hostel, where nobody can quite recognize their face. Dressed in loose, soft clothing, the normal, stately form of the Scarlet Magpie has been reduced to that of a mere traveler, with a well-used breastplate and well-burnished axe. What was it that a friend had said one time? Right. They were just Archleah. "I would have dressed appropriately if I knew you were coming."

"I'm not allowed to visit you unannounced?" they hum, tilting their head. His eyes, that deep, two-lidded gold, stay stuck on the horizon above the tile roofs, potted plants, black gravel streets. Archleah watches his jaw work as he seems to drag his tongue over the front of his teeth, tasting air.

"I like to make a good impression," Archleah says, leaning into their palm. "As your charge it's my duty."

They smile, letting their features soften as they watch the side of the Serpent's face. His eyes slide over as he seems to feel the gaze on him, and as quickly as their eyes meet, they narrow into slits.

"Cheeky," he grumbles, frowning. "I don't know why you like to watch so much. Or what. What are you seeing with those bird eyes?" The Serpent leans suddenly scrunching his nose as they meet face to face, snake-like eyes flicking over their expression. They grin, resisting the urge only just to knock their foreheads together. 

"Trying to figure out what you're doing here in this town in the feywild," they shrug, not backing down from the eyes of their steward on them. Seemingly satisfied with their answer, he draws back, casting their gaze back to Archleah as a whole, shrugging slightly.

"Touche."

Archleah snorts, the easy smile of before still lingering on their face. It feels easier than not to carry it most days, throw it around at every funny quip or interesting thought. What a funny thing the Serpent could be. And they didn't even know it half the time. 

“Just having some quiet time,” Arch says.

They let their eyes wander back to the rooftops as the Serpent falls silent. The rain makes puddles in the creases of the roofs, catching in carved wooden gutters and funneling down into rain gardens below, thin layers of gravel and sand and pea-stones, well rooted plants and shrubs drinking in the extra rain. The air smells and tastes like stone soaking in lakewater, like grass stretching for its own drink of rain. They take a long breath in, smelling petrichor. The Serpent makes a small sound in the quiet, leaning their folded arms against the banister. 

"The rain is just how I remember," they say softly. Arch raises their eyebrows. 

"Yeah?" They ask. When the Serpent hums in the back of their throat in response, Archleah smiles, leaning against their palm, chin in hand. "Tell me about it."

"Do you want to hear?" The Serpent says, tilting their head. 

"Yeah, of course," Archleah says. They straighten, taking in another long, deep breath of wet air. They can feel it in the back of their throat as they watch the roofs with their hands on their hips. It was the greatest comfort the forest could offer—even the sticky heat welcomed them like an embrace, reminding them of home. "Why don't I put on the kettle?" 

They turn back to the door. In the same movement, they catch the eye of the Serpent, slitted, yellow eyes following them as they move, as they pull their hair back from their face. They blink, owlish, studying the Serpent's expression. Even with a crooked jaw and a furrow to their brow, he looks at them with a softening, pleased look so right for his face. At least, as pleased as someone like the Serpent, like themselves, could offer. It always had a touch of his rueful nature, no matter the occasion. It’s one of the things Archleah liked the most about him. It was predictable.

“What?” they ask, trying to hold back a grin. “What’re you staring at me for?” 

The Serpent shakes their head. “Nothing,” they say. “Just… thank you.”

Archleah shrugs, just the smallest movement of their shoulders up and down, almost imperceptible if someone isn't watching close enough. The Serpent scrunches his nose, turning back to the cool rain, shoulders sinking as he watches. Archleah studies them for a moment, the way they relax, sink against the banister as they let their weight burden the railing. Arch tucks the stray hair behind their ears, opening the door into their small, warm room.

“You’re welcome,” they say, an affection coloring their tone. “I’ll bring you out a cup, hm? Then you can tell me.”

The Serpent nods. Curled over their elbows and against the dark wood of the landing, they look smaller than Archleah has ever felt him be. It’s a slightness that comes from knowing the person behind the facade of a god.

“Do you mind bringing me a coat?” The Serpent asks. Archleah hums.

“Of course, my serpent,” they say. They don’t see the Serpent smile and crush their cheek into the curve of their own shoulder, but Archleah sure feels the warmth curl in their chest like two hands cupping their heart. Thank goodness someone’s holding it carefully.