#yeahahah babey!!!!!

[roraruu]

wip: friends

twilight au with no context 

Python’s always glad when he isn’t assigned to nightwatch. Usually, he sneaks off to the local tavern for a few drinks. Tonight is no different, save for the fact that Forsyth and Lukas are with him. The booth feels too squishy and tight with the two of them on either side, making sure he’s firmly locked in. They don’t want the young wenches coming back around their encampment to scream at Python or to drag his drunken ass back home. 

The waitress comes back with another round, spreading ale in front of them. Before he can reach out and sneak a glass between his hands, Lukas deftly pushes it away from him. The knight in red is obviously keeping count and already knows that Python’s a lightweight.

While Lukas and Forsyth discuss the problem of witches and the vampires, Python stares at the foam at the bottom of his ale glass, longing for another taste. He’s already bored out of his mind: if he was alone, he’d more than likely already be with a girl and be drunk, a whole level above sitting between two knights yammering on about how sad and poor that these women have become witches.

Python’s on the opposite side of the court. They wanted power, they got it for a price and that is all she wrote. He stares into his empty glass, thirsting for another drink. He eyes Forsyth’s full mug, and wonders if he will notice if he just sneaks a sip…

“Good evening gentlemen.” 

The conversation stops as Silque steps towards their booth. She’s in her white cleric’s robe, but there’s a cowl over her neck and shoulders and gloves on her hands. Overdressed. Could a sister enter a tavern or was there a holy law against that? Pythons sneaks a glimpse at Forsyth who looks as though his eyes are about to bug out of his head. ”Hello,” he stumbles over. Python snickers, and raises a few fingers in greeting. This will be fun.

“Lady Silque, I didn’t realize that you were coming out tonight. We could have escorted you.” Lukas says.

“I had some house calls to make tonight. And I needed supplies for the church.” She says over the din of a whining fiddle and stomps of feet.

“Care to join us?” Forsyth asks, fully returned to earth at last.

“I think I will pass.” She says, eyeing the glasses of ale. “It seems as though you all are celebrating.”

“Just to another sunset.” Python adds in brusquely. Forsyth jabs him between the ribs.

Silque turns her dark gaze towards him. Her lips curve into a warm smile. “That is truly something to celebrate. Life is precious.” 

Forsyth forces a laugh and eager agreement and out comes a cacophony of pleads for her to join them, that Forsyth will buy her a round or something to eat. She smiles politely.

“I have already eaten, and I’m afraid I don’t drink. But I thank you all the same, Sir Forsyth.” She says. “Although I do need to purchase a bottle of wine from the tavern keep.”

“If you don’t drink, then why are you buyin’ wine?” Python finds himself asking. Lukas gives him a warning look, but echoes his question. 

“Yes, I find that interesting too.” He says. “May I ask why?”

Silque nods and thinly smiles, plying their curiosity. “It will be an offering to Mila. I plan to make a pilgrimage to her nearest house.” She says. 

“Do you have an escort?” Forsyth. Ever ready to play the noble knight. 

“Yes, that would be wise, what with all the bandit incursions and unrest.” Lukas. Prepared for every minor mistake.

The cleric’s brow crinkles slightly. “No, I had planned to go by myself.” She says. “I had never had a problem before.”

“There are witches here now, and who knows what other undead creatures.” Lukas speaks again. “Allow one of us to accompany you, it would give us peace.”

“If you insist.” 

The archer rolls his eyes lamely. He can already see Forsyth jumping out of his skin to play the hero again. No doubt, Python would love the few days of silence and quiet, but the thought of having to hear Forsyth drone on about how “unbelievable” and “shrouded in melancholic beauty” the shrine was. It’s a hole in the ground that’s covered in moss, nothing more, nothing less—

“Python. What do you say to an excursion?” Lukas says.

His head snaps up. “Me?” He asks sharply. “Why should I go?”

“Your resistance to magic is greater than mine or Forsyth’s. Besides, I’m sure Lady Silque would be a wonderful influence on you.” Lukas says. His gaze falls on Python with sharp severity, as if he’s staring into his soul. He knows that look, telling him “pack your bags or go back to the training encampment”

“That is, if you can find the time to leave your camp.” Silque adds. “You have a different duty than my own. And if you wish to join me.”

He feels Lukas and Forsyth’s eyes on him and he sits back against the wooden boards. “Fine.” He says. “Leave tomorrow?”

He can already hear the double lecture coming from Lukas and Forsyth. Gods, his head will be aching until sunset. Then again, something about her is… different, almost attractive. Not in the typical way of dark eyes and a sultry smile. It is almost magnetic, predatory, like the gentle smile and holy aura is a mask, or something akin to the seemingly-gentle looks of a snowy fox. 

He wonders if there is anything hiding behind that smile. Her lips turn back up slightly, the smile not reaching her eyes so that it looks forced. It goes over Forsyth’s head for certain, perhaps even Lukas’s scrupulous gaze, but it doesn’t go past Python’s. He’s got the trained eyes of a hunter and a loveless man; he knows a fake smile when he sees one.

“Yes. That is amenable to me.” Silque says. “I’ll come to the encampment and we can leave then. The shrine is southbound from here.”

“Fine.”

Silque bids them farewell, heading to the bar to order a bottle of wine. Forsyth already begins his soon-to-be hours long lecture on how to treat Lady Silque while he is away with her. But Python ignores the drone of his voice and watches as she graciously takes the bottle of wine from the tavern keep into her gloved hands. She draws the scarf up and around her head, hiding her face.

---

Python lays in his tent for a while, listening to the quiet patter of rain against the canvas. It doesn’t come in, thank Mila, but it wakes him sooner than he’d like to be. 

He knows Silque isn’t… like them. She’s far from it, from the way she carries herself. In his mind, he tries to recall the hazy memories of childhood fairy tales. None stick, blending together to bastardizations of witch princesses and undead knights and necrodragons. 

He rolls over, tugging the scratchy wool blanket to his neck. She’s not a witch, she praises the Mother with every other word out of her mouth. Is there some inverse to a witch perhaps? If there is, he doesn’t know of it. 

But she’s not dead either. She’s not like a Terror, but she’s not… Human. She plays a good game of acting like it, but there is something about her that is so… inhuman, otherworldly.

Too many thoughts, and too early in the morning for them. 

He sits up and rubs at his eyes. He can already feel a headache coming on and it’s barely sunup. He grumbles, throws back water from the skin by his bedroll and reaches for a pack. He throws the blanket and whatever provisions he’s got hidden in here—just some hard bread and old cheese. In the corner, he finds a half finished flask and hides in the waistband of his trousers. He’ll sorely need it if he wants to make this trip. He assumes she’ll be praising Mila all the way down the valley.

Python stretches out, rolling his neck and throwing the bag over his shoulder. He pokes his head out of the tent and already sees Forsyth sitting up by the dying fire pit. He grumbles as the knight gets up from his seat. He’s barely out of the tent when Forsyth is on his way over. He stretches out again as Forsyth opens his yap.

“You’re not to make a fool of the army or our platoon!” Forsyth coarsely reminds him. 

“How am I supposed to enjoy myself then? This is like a mini vacation for me.” Python says as he walks towards the water well. He pulls up a bucket, dunks his head into the brisk water and pulls it out quickly. He can hear Forsyth continue to nag under the water. 

“It is far from a vacation Python!” Forsyth squawks as he shakes away the rest of the water. The knight grimaces as cold droplets hit his face. “There are witches out there and they could kill you in a split second!” 

“Gee, way to instil confidence in me—“

“This isn’t just you crawling back from the tavern, Python. If something happens to Lady Silque, you are responsible for it.” He says, his voice dropping to a beg. “The Mother would be furious if one of her daughters died to a witch!”

“It won’t happen,” Python says, patting Forsyth’s shoulder. The knight reaches out, taking Python’s shoulder. “Besides, she’s probably got some holy spell about her protecting her from sin and all that shit.”

“It’s obviously not working if she’s supposed to be protected from sin…” 

“Hey, I just like to have fun.” He says, pulling his hand away. He turns straight into Lukas, with Silque behind him. The cowl is around her neck, hiding her face. Must be religious wear.

“Good morning.” He greets to the both of them. “Python, Lady Silque is ready to depart.”

“You sure you wanna go in the cold and rain?” He asks.

“Yes.” She says firmly. “There is a cleric covering my patients but only for a short time. I must be as quick as possible.”

“Fine. I’ll be ready in a sec.” he says, glancing back to Forsyth. He leans down, watching the wide-eyed knight and picks up his bag. Again, he feels that magnetic attraction come back, surely something of her own concoction.

He hauls the bag onto his back, fingers finding his bow and quiver. He nods to Silque. “Lead the way Lady.” He says, smirking when he hears Forsyth grimace. 

Silque forces another smile and thanks Lukas warmly. She turns on her heel and begins to depart from the camp, their boots slopping in the mud.

“Thank you for accompanying me.” She says, glancing over her shoulder. Python slinks behind her. 

“No problem.” He says, more focused on the scarf around her face. It is made of thick material, almost like wool. It is dark blue, and embroidered with silver, the thread swirling and curving to make a design that his eyes can’t quite register. The edge of the scarf falls over her shoulder, the edge swaying against her back. One of her hands, still gloved, rests on the flap of a leather bag. It sloshes quietly, the wine inside.

He’s not a fan of religion or the Mother. Knows little of her tenets or holy texts or rules. He thinks this must be some form of modesty or religious wear as silence falls between them like snowflakes. The cleric clears her throat slightly, as if to get his attention before speaking again. “Sir Python, being blunt—“

“I’m not a sir.” He says. “Just Python.”

Silque pauses, continuing to walk ahead. She doesn’t turn her head this time. “Python, we should not be friends.”

His brow raises. 

“I heard what you said, about being a sinner.” She says. “While I thank you for taking care of the witches near my church, I do not want to associate with anyone—“

He feels it again. The aura of inhumanity. She speaks like someone from ages past. Hell, she acts like his great grandmother, what little he can remember of the old bag. 

“I got you.” He says. 

“Do you really?” Silque asks, turning around. The rain hits her face, sparkling against her skin. She looks almost like a Mila Idol, as if carved from marble and blessed. She looks… holy.

“Yes.” He says. “I have little intentions of being friends with you.”

Lie. He’s curious about what she is. Who she is. 

“I am glad we understand each other.” She says, turning back around. The walk is silent and his boots squash against the mud. 

---

The shrine is not far down into the valleys of Zofia. By the afternoon, the rain gets a little thicker, making it muddy along the trails. They slip, boots catching. Their clothes are soaked, bags too.

All of this for some stupid offering. He’s glad she doesn’t want to be friends. 

He’s waiting at the top of the hill while Silque searches for the entrance. He pauses, focusing on the edge of her scarf. The sun is going down and she loosens the cowl a little. His brow furrows when she comes back up to the top of the hill. 

“I’ve found the entrance, come on.” She says.

“What about your scarf. It’s coming undone.”

Her brow furrows as she touches the end. Realization floods her eyes as she pulls it back over her hair. “There.” She says. “Come on.”

He follows her down the hill, watching as she wrenches open the large stone doors. His brow furrows as she lets go of the knocker and steps inside the shrine, letting a worried breath escape her lips. He watches as she breathes a sigh and descends the dark staircase down. It looks like a crypt almost, a mausoleum to the departed souls that once lived close by. It’s freezing gold. Silque lowers her cowl and removes her gloves. Her baby blue hair is damp, turning a darker blue, almost indigo. 

He can hear hooting and hollering down below. Inhuman, gurgling sounds like a guts processing food. He looks at Silque who simply hurries forwards, the sounds of her shoes echoing through the hallways. 

A Terror moves out from a crypt. For a moment, it simply stares at Silque, who pays them no mind. And even stranger, they pay her no mind too. They look past her, like she is one of them. But when the Terror’s eyes focus on him, a guttural hiss bubbles up and echoes through the shrine.

He pulls his bow, quickly nocking an arrow along the indents of his weapon. With less than a breath, he shoots the Terror in the head, knocking it backwards against the old floor.

“Gods, what are you?” He snaps at her. Silque’s brow furrows now, more emotion than he’s seen her show in front of Lukas and Forsyth. “That thing didn’t even look at you!”

“I am a cleric of Mila.” She says slowly, almost repeating it to herself. “I’m under the holy protection of the goddess.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He says lowly.

“I do not care what plies you or not.” She snaps back, hurrying back down the staircase, into the glow of the shrine room.

Python cusses, makes sure the Terror is dead and pulls the arrow out of it’s decaying head. He follows after Silque, watching as she pulls off her leather bag and prepares to make her blessing.

---

Python didn’t realize he had fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to the sight of a Mila Idol. His eyes lazily flicker around the room until he hears the doors go again. He reaches for his bow, snapping up.

Silque slips in, a smear of blood above her lip.

“Oh, Python.” She greets. “Apologies, I did not mean to wake you.”

“You’re bleeding.” He says. 

“Oh?” Her brow furrows again, fingers grazing her upper lip. She stops and wipes it away with the back of her hand. 

“What happened, where did you go?” He asks.

“I just stepped out for some air.”

“And what? Did you hit your face or somethin’?” 

“Yes, I just…” her voice falters as she steps further into the Idol Room. “I needed time to think and I wanted to apologize.”

“Why?”

“I said that we shouldn’t be friends, not that I didn’t want to.” She says. “I find you… difficult to be around.”

“Not the first person to.”

“But you are doing work for church. Therefore I am indebted to you.” Silque says, the tips of her fingers raw. “I propose that we try to at least get along.”

He finds himself nodding. “Fine.”

“I am glad we understand each other.” She says, bowing her head slightly. Her hair sways again as she stands to full height. So strange, her emotions are like whiplash. He could play it off as a woman’s heart being fickle but it’s nothing so simple. There is something off about Silque, and he needs to know what makes her… different.

[batmanego]

*moves my nose around to hear the silly crunching sound* yeahahah babey