#i do love peeling pomegranates and what I love even more is feeding fruits to my friends

[youngster-monster]

lily of the valley - sweet

Razel brings him a peach. Cayde cuts it in even halves and hands him the one without the pit just so he can watch him sink his teeth into it, juice dripping from his lips down his chin.

Razel brings him enough apples to feed a small army, looking a little worse for wear — it’s harvest season, and the volunteers can usually go home with the fruits too beaten up to be kept for long. They each eat one standing there. Cayde teaches him to peel the skin in one long unbroken spiral. Razel hands up with scraps he feeds Colonel when he thinks Cayde isn’t watching. He makes a pie with the rest and shows it to Cayde with flour stuck in his hair and egg yolk on his cheek.

Razel brings him an orange he pilfered from Hawthorne’s snack stores, probably, and they feed each other quarters while they laugh, hiding behind a half-dismantled ship in case she comes looking for them.

Razel brings him a mango, and Light knows where he found that one. Peeling it is messy, cutting it even more so. Cayde feeds him pieces off his knife and laughs when Razel pokes him with his sticky fingers, batting his hand away when he tries to steal more fruit and still giving him a little more, just to see the way he smiles at the taste. It’s a little like watching the sun rise until it’s almost too bright to look at.

This knife used to be for emergencies, for stabbing people before they could stab him. Nowadays emergencies are closer to this — his best friend running to him with food he’s eager to share. He misses the electric taste of adrenaline at the back of his throat, where inner circuits meet open air, but he likes this too. The sweet taste of fruit on his tongue and Razel warm against his side.

He peels the little sticker off the pomegranate Razel brought him and sticks it to Razel’s cheek. He huffs and rubs it, halfhearted in his attempt to get it off, if anything only sticking it more surely to his skin.

They dig their fingers in the fruits rather than try to open it cleanly and wipe red juice on each other as they laugh.

“So, what do you think?” Razel asks, the same way he does every time he brings Cayde something like this. Even if Cayde has eaten it before. Even if they’ve eaten it together before.

“It’s good,” Cayde replies, the same way he does every time.

What he means to say is, I love you. I’m happy I’m here with you.

He thinks Razel gets it anyway.

#writing #April Bouquet #destiny 2 #cayde-6 #my ocs #razel

[scribblesnblues]

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        “This isn’t what I had in mind,” Francine said through clenched teeth.

        The mortal caravan was as dull as the color of their horses. Their camp was basically lifeless. Outside of their three covered wagons surrounding a crackling bonfire, their horses relaxing a comfortable distance away, there was nothing that piqued her interest. If someone wasn’t beating a dust-covered rug, they were carrying tinder to feed their fire. If they weren’t stuffing their faces with fruit (my fruit, she thought angrily), they were lounging about like cats, stretching themselves across decorative covers without a care in the world. How was that better than what she was doing before?

        “Now, now, sister, do not let their placid life fool you,” Tes said, sliding down beside her. “These are strangers to our parts, visitors to our home. What secrets of theirs do you believe are waiting to be explored?”

        “They smell like bone chewers,” Francine grimaced.

        They sat on the far edge of a wide clearing, close enough to see the caravan, but not too close to be seen themselves. Which, by all means, was a bit hard. For Tes, he had a nice pair of horns, as all satyrs did, that spiraled behind his ears like a pair of snails’ shells. But for Francine, she had to be a bit more inconspicuous, as she had a rack of antlers, small and worn, but growing by the day. Because of this, she had no other choice but to flatten herself against the ground, hoping that the tall grass dense undergrowth would, at the very least, make her look like a grazing deer. She didn’t like it, obviously. If she had the chance, she would let her hair grow out, and bury them underneath a cloud of dark brown ringlets, until all that could be seen were their pointed tips. But, alas, not even the tallest strand, no matter how long she stretched it, could reach past the first prong.

        The only good thing about the situation was that they didn’t have to do it on an empty stomach. Every now and then, Tes slipped her the seeds of a pomegranate and even pieces of its flesh, but it only settled in her stomach. It didn’t stop it from turning, especially the longer that they sat there, watching and waiting. It was agonizing.

        “You are bored, sister?” Tes asked, throwing away the unappetizing peel.

        Francine scoffed. “If I wanted to sit back and watch someone do something uninteresting all day, I would have gone back to Father.”

        “And you do not wish to see him right now?” Tes asked, quirking his brow.

        Francine looked away. Picturing her father’s cold, pale eyes, and feeling the heat in his words crinkle her skin, made her stomach clench as if she had swallowed a stone.

        “No,” she whispered. “Not yet, anyway.”

        Tes drew silent, then nodded in understanding. “I see. Well, then, let us say ‘hello’ instead.”

        Francine laughed at first, believing that he couldn’t possibly be serious. Say hello to whom? The mortals? Father practically skinned her alive when she brought one in front of the family. If he found out that they talked to others, without his permission, he would explode. But when she saw her brother rise to his hooves, perplexity twisted her mind, quickly followed by morbid panic.

        “Are you mad?” she hissed, flattening herself further against the ground, to the point she could taste the earth. “Get back down here right now before someone sees you!”

        Tes’s eyes flashed in mischievousness. “Oh, sister. Father is not here, and there are no spies watching us from the trees. Certainly, you are not afraid of these mortals, are you?”

        There were a few things that could upset Francine, two of which were guaranteed: getting wet and challenging her bravery. Whether or not it was true she had no fears, or it was the ignorance of youth that made her believe that no one could say. But when Tes planted his foot across the line of her patience, it wasn’t surprising when Francine shot up, eyes aflame and fists shaking.

        Tes grinned. “I suppose not. Come on.”

        The two of them approached the strangers with varying levels of confidence. Tes strode up with his shoulders squared and a smile that could melt away a blizzard. Francine’s arms hung and swayed by her sides with a glower that could crack stone. Her feet dragged against the grass, her walking gradually becoming slower the closer that they got, but she had to admit, deep down inside, some part of her was interested in meeting the mortals. They were a strange folk, with their weird tapestries and laid-back attitudes. Normally, mortal visitors walked on eggshells whenever they were in the Wild Woods, and for good reason. At any given moment, they might stumble onto her, and who knew what dastardly plan she had in store for them then?

        “Greetings, friends,” Tes said. “How do you do on this lovely morn?”

        The man by the fire lifted his low-brimmed hat from his face, and a smile filled with worn, yellowed teeth spread across his face.

        “Oh!” he exclaimed. “It’s you! I thought that was you over there. With my sight, I can’t tell anymore what’s a person and what’s a talking tree stump!”

        Francine wanted to ask how she resembled anything like a chopped down tree, but she was suddenly struck with an even greater question. “Wait,” she said, looking between her brother and the stranger. “You two know each other?”

        A deep, red blush crept up Tes’s neck and the stranger nodded, completely at ease at both of their presence, something that at that moment, Francine never thought she’d experience. It was already weird enough whenever she felt the eyes of her family on her, watching her every move like hungry lions or bored children. But as more mortals came over, attracted to them like moths to a flame, she was overcome with an intense need to fix her flaws. She picked the leaves from her hair, repositioned her stance, even threw away her cloak to stand beside her brother at her full height. She heard Tes stifle a chuckle as she rubbed mud from across her cheeks, but held back her fists. She would get her revenge, as soon as the eyes left from her face.

        “Welcome,” an elderly woman said, dipping her graying head toward the two of them. “We have waited for your return with bated breath.”

        “Th-Thank you,” Francine said, smiling uncomfortably. She shot a glance at Tes, a look that read, What is this old bat talking about?

        Thankfully, her brother wasn’t cruel and didn’t keep her in a state of confusion for too long. Reaching over, he took the first man by his shoulder and pulled him into a tight hug. “This is Brother Bertrand and his family. They come from outside of the Woods, by the Rolling Plains, but pass through our home once every year for their pilgrimage.”

        Francine nodded, keeping one eye on the encroaching elders, but one thing still didn’t make sense. “But how do you know them?”

        Brother Bertrand answered for Tes. “A long time ago, when I was but a lad, he saved me from a lion. I owe him my life, and I make sure to walk down this area whenever we visit to offer my gratitude.”

        “The pleasure is all mine,” Tes said, then turned to Francine. “Brother, this is Francine, my sister. She may not know much of you, she’s always… busy.”

        Now Francine wanted to punch him but was distracted when Brother Bertrand walked toward her, placing his hand on her cheek. She back drew rigid. His palm felt rough, like flint, against her smoother skin, and although his eyes were watered down from their probably once-bright brown, there was something in them that made her feel as if they could cut through her like knives.

        It reminded her of the way that the Elders would watch her, as if knowing something but refusing to say it.

        They reminded her of Father.

        Francine stepped away. Tes’s smile fell and went toward her, but Brother Bertrand held up his hand.

        “This one’s a fighter, my friend,” he said. “She has no interest to listen to talks from old men. She wishes to play, no?”

        Francine looked at Tes. There was something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite understand. Sadness? Emptiness? Disappointment? He had the gall to be disappointed with her, when he was out there, running around with the very people that she had just gotten reprimanded against? She wanted to be angry, at him, at the mortals that stared at her. But all that she could come up with was to clench her fists. Her heart was beating too hard in her chest for her to think to do anything else.

        “I have to go,” she said and turned around to stiffly walk into the trees.

        Behind her, she heard Tes calling her name, but she ignored him. The last thing that she wanted to do was go back and see Brother Bertrand, or rather, let him see her.

———

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