#Useili | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diddlesanddoodles · 7 years

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GEMMA (Fantasy fluff)

CONTAINS: Anthropomorphic animals, magic, and humans hatching from Eggs. Yay!

PART ONE

“What’s taking so long?”

Amecius flicked his gaze up to peer over his newspaper to see the top of Useili’s head as the boy paced around the front of the cafe booth, having wholly abandoned his minced meat pasty. It sat sadly neglected on the small white plate with only a single paltry bite missing.

Amecius frowned at this, whiskers twitching.

After he had made such a fuss over it too, thought the textile merchant. Though his face remain unconcerned and placid, his tail twitched in annoyance under the table.

“It takes time,” Amecius replied lightly, soothing his natural loathing for waste by taking up his coffee cup to slurp at the rim, taking in a light sprinkling of the bitter black brew so it coated his tongue. Miss Penelope’s coffee was not to be guzzled. Besides being the most flavorful cup to be had on the north side of Hendleton proper, it was served at a temperature more suited to the melting of steel than a pleasant patron’s passive beverage. Setting the burning hazard back down onto the table, he snapped the edges of the newspaper back into straight attention before resuming his reading. “Korvisham Downs wasn’t built in a day, you know.”

Useili stopped his pacing to glance, perplexed, at the large tiger perusing the market columns. “...I thought Rorich was getting a Spirit Egg?” The Spiora asked, one thin black eyebrow raised.

Amecius’s lips quirked as he suppressed a smile. Even after five years, he still forgot that Useili was not from the world and there was still so much knowledge the little Spiora lacked that he as a native took for granted.

“It’s an idiom,” he explained patiently. “What I mean to say is that you cannot rush the ceremony or expect the Avemni to even consider it. Arumek is a stickler for tradition. So our dear Rorich will have to be patient.” He gave the boy a poignant look. “As will we. The Oratio Sanctum alone is fourteen stanzas long. Come, your pasty’s getting cold.”

“I don’t remember it taking so long,” Useili mumbled uncharitably as he rounded the side of the booth and slid onto the smooth wooden bench and scooting in small increments until he sat beside Amecius, two full heads shorter than the merchant. His head and shoulders barely topped the table even as he moved to plant his chin onto it, furrowing further into his petulant mood and staring blankly at the meat pie.

“Well, you were inside an egg at the time, presumably asleep,” Amecius reminded him. “And yes, the ceremony did drag on and on for a good while.”

“How long did it take before I actually hatched?” Useili asked, tilting his head sideways to stare over and up at Amecius in curiosity. Lowering his paper, the tiger considered thoughtfully, reaching back into his memory.

“Not long. At all. I think I was home only a few hours before you started busting out,” he said at last and then turned his amber eyes down to Useili. He smiled warmly and rested a large paw on the boy’s head, scratching lightly. “I was left quite surprised and unprepared. Everyone told me to expect to wait up to a week.”

Useili was grinning, noting the pride in his larger friend’s words. “I guess my nap was over, huh?”

“So it seemed,” laughed Amecius. “So it seemed.”

The relationship between a person and their Spiora was sacred, as everyone knew. However, there was so much more to being the guardian of a spirit egg than the normal facets that came to mind. Yes, the boost of magic was wonderful, of course it was fantastic that ones stamina was so fortified, and who could complain about the precision of magical articulation that a Spiora granted? No one, that’s who!

But it was never explained to possible candidates just how much the little buggers would claw and dig and wedge themselves into one’s heart, so deep they would never come out. In any case, what madman would want them to?

Like people, Spiora came in a myriad of sizes and shapes and colors and even ages. But they did not have beaks or feathers like the Avemni from which they came, nor did they have claws or fur like the Felis Folk, and they were sorely lacking the tell tale scales, spikes, and horns likened to the Drakire. The closest people of the world that the Spiora resembled were the Sapiens and that resemblance only went so far. They lacked tails for one and their only hair was that which grew on their head and occasionally on a male Spiora’s face. Only the bird like Avemni knew where the Spiora came from in truth, but the general belief and the one provided by historical and religious texts said that the Spiora were lost spirits, plucked from the ether by the Avemni and given to the world for her benefit.

Amecius was not one to fall for the sweeping regalia of religious poetry, but he was inclined to believe this one bit. He would not trade his Useili for anything in the world or ether or beyond. He was on the smaller side as Spiora went, with mocha skin and large red brown eyes and topped with a mass of tightly curled knobs of black hair. Useili was on the scrawny side perhaps, but was want to eat incessantly if not checked. And so his abandonment of the pasty had left Amecius slightly concerned.

“You should eat your pasty,” he told the boy again, turning back to his paper.

“...I’m saving it,” Useili replied flatly.

The tiger eyed him, unconvinced. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He was spinning the plate now. “Maybe I’ll want it later.”

A wicked idea idea came to the merchant’s mind and an equally wicked grin spread across his face. “Oh, well then if you don’t want it...”

He reached over with his large arm and plucked the small pastry from the plate. Useili’s eyes went wide and he watched Amecius bring the pie to his mouth.

“But it’s mine!” Useili whined, reaching up to grab onto his guardian's thick arm, little fingers digging into the red fabric, and looking as though he might cry. The tiger’s mouth remained open, pie paused mere inches from his lips. He raised an eyebrow at Useili and pulled the pie back away from his face.

“But you said you didn’t want it.”

“I said I didn’t want it now!”

“Well, I do want it now, so...” He opened his mouth again, long fangs glistening in the gas light of the cafe interior, tongue poised to received the treat.

“Okay, okay! I’ll eat it!” Despite his smaller stature and ostensible lack of significant muscle, Useili manages to actually pull Amecius’s arm, and the pie, away from his open maw. He had to use most of his own body as leverage, but the little guy did manage it.

Laughing, Amecius held the pie in front of Useili’s face and it was quickly snatched up and shoved into a more honestly eager, but much smaller, mouth. Munching loudly and with vigor, Useili was making short work of the pie and Amecius went back to his paper, very pleased with himself. But not before giving his small companion a friendly pat on the back.

“Try not to choke, please.”

“Hm-muph!”

Just as the last morsel of pie disappeared into Useili’s overly stuffed mouth, the door to the cafe opened with a melodic jingle and a tall Avemni walked in followed closely by a pale lithe Spiora, dressed in the traditional midnight blue mantle cloak of the Spiora and pinned closed by a familiar silver broach.

“Abram! Eli!” Amecius called amiably, waving the blue feathered man over. “Come have a seat!”

“Many thanks,” said the Avemni in return, motioning for his Spiora to sit first before following suit. Useili, mouth still engorged with pastry, half mumbled half garbled his own greeting. The pale Spiora pinched his lips together in an attempt not to laugh as he adjusted his robes as he settled. He began to fiddle with a handful of his long blonde hair.

“Hello,” Eli managed after a moment, his voice soft and airy. “Um, I think you might have some pie on your face...just there.”

Useili blinked innocently and then briskly wiped his hands across his face several times as he chewed and swallowed. He leaned over the table towards Eli for inspection. “Did I get it?”

“Yep,” the taller Spiora replied with a pleasant smile. “All gone.”

“Any news from Rorich?” The bird man asked as Amecius folded his paper up.

“Not as of yet, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I suppose it’s to be expected,” he sighed. “Arumek likes to be quite thorough when the candidate is Drakire.”

The merchant scoffed, noth bothering to feign the barest hint of surprise.

“What does he think Rorich’s gonna do to the egg?” Amecius asked with a hint of incredulity, crossing his arms and leaning back. “Eat it?”

“Arumek is old and superstitious and very much a product of another age,” Abram replied, glancing up as the portly short beaked Avemni proprietor of the cafe appeared at his side. He gave her a smile. “Hello Miss Penelope. How is your evening thus far?”

Miss Penelope’s green and turquoise feathers were not as bright as they once were in her youth, but were well groomed, straight and proper. Her eyes were a bright sunny yellow that matched her short beak and tail feathers.

“Quiet and a bit slow, I admit, but perfectly pleasant, Master Abram,” Miss Penelope replied, her winged appendages laid neatly across the front of her colorful apron of embroidered flowers. “May I interest you in some tea or coffee?”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” Abram replied. He turned to his Spiora who was already looking excited at the prospect. “Some tea, Eli?”

“Yes, please,” he smiled brightly and eagerly.

“I’ll return shortly then,” Miss Penelope replied turning to disappear behind the curtain that separated the front of house from the kitchen.

Abram turned back to Amecius. “Poor Rorich. He doesn’t deserve the scrutiny I know they’ve turned onto him.”

“He’ll endure whatever they have to throw at him,” the tiger assured his winged friend. “Should have seen him when he left for the Coven this morning. Looked like he could conquer the world with the fire that was burning in his eyes. So long as he leaves with an egg, he won’t care what they chant at him.”

“What kind of Spiora do you think it’ll be?” Eli asked curiously.

“Who is to know?” Abram answered with a wistful air. “I doubt even the attendants know. Arumek may, I would think. Enough to know which egg to pair with who.”

“I bet he’s tall,” Useili supplied with an excited grin. “Like Lord Berhum’s. And strong.”

Eli frowned. “If he is as tall, I hope he’s not as mean spirited.”

Amecius chuckled, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Who ever heard of a mean spirited Spiora?”

Eli blushed and looked down into his lap. “Well, we’re hardly infallible. I’ve met plenty of Spiora who were perfectly wicked.”

Abram patted Eli’s shoulder in sympathy, recalling the certain individuals to whom the young man referred.

“Poor guardianship, I call it,” Amecius replied, sipping at his coffee. “No fault of the Spiora’s if they get saddled with an idiot.”

When a Spirit Egg hatched and the new Spiora emerged, they were wholly reliant on their guardian for everything, like any newborn. Despite some being born fully grown and quite large, they knew nothing of the world or its ways. Most were born without any recollection of their time before the egg, but occasionally, a Sporia would have vague recollections of places and people and events that they could not account for and was the main basis for the belief that they were lost spirits. Of another world.

Some hatched with the ability to speak, some took a long while to find their words, and it was not an unheard of occurrence for a Spiora to never speak at all. Within the first hour, they new being would imprint themselves onto their guardian and from that moment onwards, it was that person’s job to protect, provide for, and teach the young Spiora. In return, the Spiora became an invaluable conduit of focusing their person’s magic and their potential to rise and succeed in society. They were the great equalizers of the world. Not everyone could become a Spirit Egg Guardian, but a Spirit Egg Guardian could be anyone.

That is, if the Avemni Coven chose you as a candidate. A secretive and indecipherable process if there ever was one. Folks grew up dreaming of receiving a black scroll one day. Amecius recalled when he received his own scroll. He recalled the overwhelming joy and the equally overwhelming terror that it brought. At the end of all the pageantry and questions and endless ceremony, he returned home with a large cream colored egg, speckled with dots of red and orange and streaks of brown all secured in a wooden crate and padded with thick rolls of cotton and straw. And then he had Useili a few hours later. The memory filled him with warmth and he could not suppress the smile it brought to his lips.

“Eli didn’t speak a word his first year,” Abram remarked as the conversation continued on, glancing at the aforementioned boy and smiling.

“Yeah, that’s right!” Useili said, looking at his friend with open curiosity. “How come you took so long to talk?”

“I did try to speak a few times,” Eli replied, shifting in his seat. “But the words in my head got all scrambled when they tried to come out my mouth. It was really frustrating.”

“And you were such a scaredy cat!” Useili laughed.

“Shy,” Amecius corrected. Useili had a habit of being careless with his words and he was making strives to amend the behavior whenever it occurred. Useili would turn into a pouting mess if he knew he had offended or hurt his friend. “The word is shy, Useili.”

“Shy,” Useili repeated dutifully, smiling at Eli. “Right. How come you were so shy?”

Indeed, Amecius did recall first meeting the skinny boy. Abram had stopped by his shop for some fabric to have some clothes made up for Eli little over a week after his hatching and the poor thing had all but hid behind Abram’s wing the entire visit, despite Useili’s friendly attempts at drawing the new Spiora out to play. Eli was as friendly and pleasant a Spiora as he had ever met. But he held a pension for being meek and unsure of himself, clinging and looking to Abram for validation of nearly one of his words and actions. Abram had made great strives in teaching him to be more self reliant and independent, but Amecius had the feeling Eli would stay a duckling, dutifully and loyaly following Abram wherever he went.

Miss Penelope returned then with a small tray of two steaming cups of tea, a pot of cream, and a cellar of sugar. Eli was quick to start scooping spoonfuls of sugar into his tea cup while Abram shook his head with a resigned smile. To his own tea, he added but a splash of cream.

Just as Amecius and Abram settled into a pleasant conversation regarding business and the state of the markets, the cafe’s door was pushed open violently, the melodic jingle of the bell above the lintel inconsequential against the loud slamming of the heavy wooden door.

“MIND THE DOOR!” Screeched Miss Penelope’s voice from the back of the kitchen. However, the newcomer only looked momentarily abashed for the noise and was quick to shoot back a breathless apology.

“My most fervent apologies Miss Penelope!” The Drakire’s cheeks were flushed and his green eyes were wide and bright. He held something round and large, wrapped in a green wool coat, and clutched securely by both his red scaly arms. Grinning wildly and flashing his many pointed teeth, the newcomer made his way quickly to their table. “My dearest friends! The night is clear and I am made whole!”

Amecius was grinning and making to rise and congratulate his friend, having no doubt about what Rorich held wrapped up in his coat, but Abram’s scandalized voice caught them both off guard.

“Rorich! You brought the egg with you? Here?” The Avemni’s feathers were flared, giving the normally lithe and thin framed Abram a decidedly round and fluffy appearance.

“And just what is wrong with my cafe?” Miss Penelope demanded haughtily from the kitchen’s entrance, holding a pitcher.

“Oh, no nothing wrong at all! I just mean that...” Abram sighed and turned his ire to Rorich who was standing beside him with a dumbfounded, if not slightly guilty, expression. “You should have taken it straight home and have it swaddled up with hot water bottles and blankets!”

To his credit, Rorich did look quite guilty and ashamed. He seemed to clutch the egg a little more securely and looked down at it. “Oh. Of course. I just wanted to share the news...”

Despite understanding the truth to Abram’s words, Amecius was much less worried. He understood the Drakire jeweler’s intense joy. The man had been practically bouncing when he had received the black scroll, the glittering silver writing informing him of his candidacy and consideration for the guardianship of a new Spirit Egg. He spoke of nothing else for three weeks and the nervous energy had fueled the creation of several gorgeous pieces of jewelery including an emerald silver lace necklace, several glittering rings, and a high rimmed diadem fitted with an inlaid crest of iridescent opal. In the shape of an egg...

“You could have sent a messenger!” Abram reprimanded, his normally mellow voice cracking as it hit a high octave. As an Avemni, he was very vocal and downright neurotic in regards to the care of Spirit Eggs. Though he had declined joining the Coven for more materialistic and self satisfying pursuits, he still held the instinctual protective nature of Spiora that was a hallmark of the Avemni. “In any case, we must get you and the Egg to your home and stored properly.”

Rorcih looked a little relieved. “You’ll help me, then?”

Abram stood from the table, holding himself high, long beak erect and proud. “Of course, I will. I’d be remiss in my moral obligations otherwise.” His blue head swung around to Amecius. “We all will.”

The tiger gulped the rest of his coffee, wincing only a bit as the still quite hot beverage ravaged the inside of his esophagus before settling like lava in his belly. “Of course,” replied the merchant, patting Useili’s back and motioning for him to follow. Useili did not appear to need any encouragement as he looked almost as excited and eager as Rorich, staring at the wrapped egg. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“It’s not too cold,” Abram was saying in thoughtful contemplation. “So you couldn’t have done any lasting damage, but we need to get it settled and warmed up. A chilled Egg takes longer to hatch.”

“What color is the egg?” Useili asked, leaping off the wooden bench after Amecius to stand closer to the Drakier.

Rorich smiled cryptically and turned his body and the Egg away from the curious boy. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

Useili visibly slumped and whined. “But we’ve been waiting aaall daaay!”

Amecius reached into the small purse at his belt and dropped a few coins onto the table. “Thank you Miss Penelope, the coffee was lovely.”

Eli was the only one still sitting at the table and he was trying valiantly to quickly gulp down the hot tea. Wincing with each overly sweetened gulp. Abram was at his side the moment he noticed and gently pulled the cup from his hands and said to his quietly, “We’ll get you some more tea, I promise.”

Eli sighed.

“Alright,” replied the blonde Spiora woefully before standing and following after the others, but not before throwing back a longing glance at the abandoned tea cup.

……………………

Rorich was banished to the chaise lounge in the corner after the third attempt to insert his authority over the settling of the Egg. Abram was full swing into his mother hen temperament and would not allow Rorich so much as touch it once he had relinquished it when they arrived at his small flat. His land lady, Mrs. Devonshire was quite indifferent to the reverence of having a Spirit Egg in one’s home and Abram displayed no shame in voicing his displeasure at her half lidded, dull expression as he attempted to impart the great significance of the event.

“All it means is that that one’ll be shoving off and I’ll have to find another tenant,” she remarked flatly. “You boys have any idea how hard it is to find a tenant these days? If they ain’t a womanizer, they’re a drunk, and if they ain’t any of them then they’re ‘prolly a politician or a lawyer. I won’t be standing fer any’a that now. This is a respectable house!”

Amecius had to take the Avemni by the shoulders and steer him up the stairs to keep him from retorting. Eli scurried on after them.

Rorich’s flat was not large, it was down right tiny, but it suited his needs. Rather, it suited his needs before he became a Guardian. Now it was far too small and it had only a little to do with the four other people crammed inside. A plush ottoman that had seen better days was shoved in front of the fire place and the Egg carefully placed on top. When the green coat had been lifted away, there were audible gasps.

“It’s...beautiful,” Abram remarked, wide eyed and awestruck. Eli nodded silently in agreement and even Useili was stunned into silence. Rorich stood off a little, preening with pleasure and pride. The Egg was on the smaller side, but not much smaller than Useili’s egg had been, Amecius mused. However, it was the colors that were striking and entirely unusual. The smooth shell was a molted tiffany and indigo with freckles of white, almost like stars set against a dark sky. “I’ve never seen on with such a vibrant shell.”

“Wow,” Useili murmured appreciatively as he walked around the ottoman, admiring the bright colors. “I thought all Eggs were white.”

“Most are white or cream with some variance in the color markings. I’ve never seen an inverted colored Egg,” Abram supplied. “I hope you can forgive me for saying this, Rorich, but how in the world did you end up with such an auspicious Egg? I would imagine Arumek would be quite peculiar about placing such an Egg and he makes so secret about his feelings towards Drakire.”

Rorich did look offended, but allowed the insinuation roll off his back. “I can’t speak for Arumek or the Coven, but he did not say anything to give me reason to believe this Egg was any less or more than normal.”

“Truly?” Abram asked. “Well, far be it for me to question his choices. I’d grow mad before I could ever decipher the meaning behind his actions.” He sighed, and turned to the Drakire. “I am happy for you, Rorich. I really am. It’s a splendid specimen.”

“I take it back,” Useili said after his careful study of the Egg’s shell.

“Take what back?” Amecius asked.

“What I said about it being tall,” Useili replied. “She’ll be short. Shorter than me. But pretty.”

Amecius chuckled, rubbing his chin and shaking his head. “So you decided the Spiora’s a girl then, eh?”

“Yeah,” the dark haired boy replied, sounding oddly convicted in his words. He turned to Rorich. “She’ll be a girl. And she’ll be pretty.”

The Drakire was beaming. “Of course she will.”

They set about wrapping every available blanket and coat and shall and even table cloth over the Egg. Or rather, Abram did and shooed away any and all help. Rorich’s flat lacked the hot water bladders that Abram would have preferred, but the thick layering of fabric would do. A small section of the Egg’s shell was left exposed at the top to allow viewing and checking for any cracks that would signal that the hatching was upon them.

Eli had settled himself on a small chair on the far end of the fireplace near where Amecius was standing, twirling an ornamental paper-mache ball in his hands. “Do you have a name picked out yet?”

Rorich shrugged, as he stared at the bundled up Egg. The fire light flickered red and yellow in his staring thoughtful eyes. “Not really. Admittedly, it slipped my mind entirely.”

“It’s been a forgetful day it seems,” Abram quipped in a teasing jab.

“Better hold off on giving it much thought till after the hatching,” Amecius suggested. “Some pick their own names.”

“Like me!” Useili chirped, moving to stand next to Amecius.

“Like this one.” The merchant patted the boy’s head.

Eli looked surprised. “I didn’t know you picked your own name, Useili.”

“Yep,” affirmed Useili with pride. He titled his head. “Well, actually, I didn’t pick it. Not really. It’s just my name. Always has been I guess. I don’t get visions of before the shell, like some Spiora, but I do remember my name.” He paused and a curious expression pulled at his features. “And water. Lots of water.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Eli replied in a regretful tone, turning the paper ball over in his hands. “But some say that it’s not fun to remember stuff before the shell. So maybe it’s not a bad thing I don’t remember anything. Even my other name.” He brightened then and smiled over at Abram. “Besides, I like my name.”

As the evening drew into twilight, they had all settled around the Egg, nursing cups of tea. Eli was very content as he sat in the large wing backed chair drinking his overly sweet tea. Abram and Amecius were giving Rorich various tid-bits of advice concerning the rearing of a Spiora and Useili was trying to keep his eyes exclusively on the Egg.

Just in case it she was like him and hatched early.

“You’re going to go blind staring at it at this rate,” Amecius chuckled when he noticed how intent his little Spiora was staring at the shell. “It’s not gonna hurry up and hatch because you will it to.”

“It should hurry up and hatch,” Useili grumbled.

“I’m as eager for her to hatch, but I must ask,” Rorich said with an amused tilt of his head. “Why are you so intent for it to happen this moment?”

“Because if she hatches now,” he replied. “I’ll get to see. If she waits, we won’t be here and I won’t be able to see.”

…………………………………………

There was a flash of horrible pain that ripped pieces of her apart before the dark nothing that followed grew colder and the pain subsided to an unpleasant memory. After a time, even that memory began to lose its potency, small pieces of it being sanded away gradually by the flow of the universe. Soon her other memories followed suit until she was a blank as the nothing that caressed and buffeted her through the ether. Thoughts congealed and clumped together in a confusing mess until one thought or notion or feeling bled into the next without end or beginning or meaning.

A blossoming of warmth and light and she felt hands, large and warm, wrap around her middle and pull her down slowly, gently, through the void. Down she coasted and the cold was replaced by warmth that inched up her sides, around her feet, and above her head, encasing her inside. She curled into a tight ball, warmed through, and suddenly very sleepy.

So very sleepy…

“Calm,” came a voice. “Rest your wary spirit and be calm. You are renewed, little one.”

And she slept.

……………………………………………….

Cramped. She felt very cramped. And hungry. Hungry? Yes. That was the word. Hungry. Her middle gurgled in a way that felt familiar, but without any real context. Yes, she was hungry. Why was she hungry?

Oh, she was so cramped! Her shoulders hurt and her neck was aching and her but was asleep. Out. She wanted out. She became aware of her hands and she reached out, picking at the hard thing in front of her. When that did not yield a satisfactory result, she curled her hand into a fist and hit it. And it gave. Only a little bit, but the hardness broke. Small cracks spider-webbed away from the impact area and let in light. And air. And smells. Familiar and yet unknown. She picked at the cracks, pulling a piece of the thin hard stuff out with a finger and then a hand. She gripped the edge and lifted up and a large section of it came loose.

“A crack!”

“I already told you, Useili, it’ll probably be another-”

“No! Really! I see a crack!”

“What?”

“Dear God, he’s right!”

“WHAT?!” Sounds. She could heard sounds. Voices? Yes, voices, she decided. Those were voices. Excited voices. Loud voices. She hesitated, suddenly scared. Why were there voices? Why were they so loud? She made a sound, an uncertain sounding mewl. Nervous. She was nervous. And unsure.

“Come on, you got it,” came another voice. Soft and urging. Gentle. It sounded nice. “Just a little more.”

She braved another push at the hard thin walls and there was another crack, louder than the others, and the warmth of the inside was sucked away. Cold. It was cold now. She didn’t like it.

“Almost there, love.” There was an odd fluttering in her chest. Not unpleasant. Another push, another crack, and more light and sound and cold air and smells. So many smells. Fire and paper and...tea?

Tea. What was tea?

She lifted her head up to ease the ache in her neck and she heard the collection of voices around her all laugh. She turned her head to see, but there was only dark. And then something lifted off her head and she winced against the fire’s light. She could feel the waves of heat from the flames battling the ambient chill of the room.

And there was a face. Wholly unfamiliar, but he had very pretty eyes. He looked odd to her. His head was long and his jaw was square and he was red, but under his chin and neck, he was yellow. Not bright yellow. Creamy yellow. He was smiling, lips pulled back and his eyes squinting in unbridled joy.

And she could not help but smile back.

“Hello, love.” His hand was on her head, petting softly. It felt nice. Really nice. She opened her mouth but the words got stuck. Her mouth felt clumsy and unused. She frowned and tried again, murmuring and testing her mouth and lips and vocal chords.

“H...heh...lo.”

“She spoke!” he cried out exuberantly. “Did you hear? She spoke!”

“What...what’s wrong with her skin, Abram?” asked a voice, small and unsure. She turned around and saw others standing about. They all looked strange to her. The two smaller ones a little bit less so, but they were looking at her in an odd way.

Why were they looking at her oddly?

“Hm. I am not sure, Eli. Let’s have a look.” A tall thin blue creature bent down close to her and flinched. His small dark eyes starred at her and she mewled uncertainly, pulling back from him. He blinked at her. “Vitiligo. She has vitiligo.”

The tall blue one stepped back. He was looking at her oddly. She didn’t like it.

“It’s not something bad is it?” asked the nice person. Her person. She turned to look at him, the fear in her belly melting away in an instant. Out, she still wanted out. As the tall blue one spoke, she wiggled inside the remains of her confinement, breaking more pieces off. Her person noticed and helped, picking up the pieces and setting them aside as she broke free. When most of it had been cleared, he wrapped something around her. Soft and a little bit fuzzy and very warm. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her free, cradling her smaller body against his. Safe. Warm.

“No, it’s a mutation of the pigment in the skin,” replied the tall one. “I had a cousin who had it. It’s completely cosmetic. But...I have never seen it in a Spiora. I mean...their bodies are made from magic, so why would it?”

“I think it’s neat. And it matches her hair! See? I told you she’d be pretty.” One of the smaller ones with dark hair and large friendly eyes was standing next to her person smiling brightly. She blinked at him and then buried her face in the nap of her person’s neck. Shy. She felt suddenly shy.

Hungry. She was still hungry. Her belly gave a small gurgle and she murmured something. Not words, but implying want.

There was aloud laugh from the other end of the room that startled her.

“I know that sound,” said the largest of the people. He was fuzzy all over and orange with stripes. And his smile was nice. He waved at her. “Best be getting something in that little belly, Rorich. If she’s takes anymore after Useili, she’ll start gnawing on the furniture next.”

“I did not chew on furniture.”

“You tried to eat the sideboard. I’ll show you the bite marks when we get home.”

“I don’t remember that...”

The tall blue one was suddenly at her person’s side. “I’ll get her something. Just sit down with her. The first hour after hatching is very important.”

Her person leaned his head down so his chin rested on her head. “Thank you, Abram.”

Her person sat down, still holding her in his arms and she felt so comfortable. She murmured in pleasure and nuzzled her face up into the underside of his jaw. Felt his chest shake with a laugh and he nuzzled her back.

“Affectionate little thing, ain’t she?” said the fuzzy one.

“She’s perfect,” said her person and she hummed appreciatively. “Absolutely perfect.”

“What about her name?”

Her person pulled her away from him and she looked up into his eyes. “Do you know your name?”

Name. Name? Name...nothing. When she thought of her name, there was a void where she was certain it should be. She shook her head. No name.

“May I give you one?”

Give? Gift? Gifts were presents, good things. She liked good things. She nodded. Yes, she would like a gift. A name.

“Gemma,” her person said. “Your name is Gemma.”

……………………………………………………………..

Gemma ate three bowl of porridge, a peach, and five mints before falling quite thoroughly into the throws of a food coma. Rorich wrapped her securely into some more blankets and sat her in his lap, watching her snoozing little face. The new Spiora was a little smaller than Useili, but more so in height than weight. An unkind person might have even called her pudgy. Her tawny skin was marred by lightly peach colored blotches all over body; hands, legs, abdomen, and even her face. Almost like spots. And her short hair lacked any pigment whatsoever, falling about her face in white translucent clusters. Despite her irregularities, Rorich took to little Gemma as hard and fast as anyone did to their Spiora and he watched his new charge sleeping with such a look of joyous contentment, Amecius was almost jealous.

After demonstrating a clear inability to satiate his incessant curiosity over the new Spiora, Useili was planted next to Eli in the wing backed chair and instructed firmly to sit, eat some porridge, and shush.

“This moment’s not about you,” Amecius told him firmly but gently. “Let Rorich and Gemma get to know each other. There will be plenty of more chances for you two to play.”

Sensing he had overstepped his bounds, Useili did as he was told without complaint and contented himself with talking excitedly, but quietly, with Eli about their future shenanigans.

As he gently rocked Gemma in his arms, Rorich could not keep a persistent and insistent thought from his mind. He would have to call on his father within the coming weeks. Within the first week would be best as waiting any longer might give offense. Lord Beckwith would be at his summer home here in Hendleton with his wife for the season. Possible ways in which his father would take seeing Rorick’s Spiora did not make him feel an ounce of regret over her appearance. She was adorable and round faced and small and just...perfect. But he did feel righteous indignation on her behalf on his imaginings of what his Lord father might say about her. He was careless, cruel, and blunt with his words. Wealth such as his granted him the liberty of an unchecked vocabulary and the authority to wield it.

And then there was the matter of the money. With a Spiora, Rorich would receive a cash award from his Father, but it was far too easy for him to imagine Lord Beckwith reneging the offer on the grounds that his Spiora was faulty. The promise, made to a bastard son some ten years ago, could easily be construed as being in jest. A way to get his do nothing son to become more than another title-less urchin. His father did not view his profession as one befitting someone of his lineage. A silly idea, Rorich thought. He adored the craftsmanship and elegance of cutting and setting jewels into carefully crafted rings and necklaces. And with a Spiora, he could branch his business further into charms and enchanted items, embedding spells and magic into the pieces. No Jeweler in Hendleton had a Spiora. But now he did. Even if his father never allowed him to see a penny of the promised award, Rorich was certain he and Gemma would do just fine for themselves.

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