Marmorea Aurum - Tender Heart [-3-]
Returning home, to reconnect and indulge in romantic fashion
Patching wounds | Amorous affection
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Carefully, claws pull the heave of the thick jacket.
Limbs bruised and bloodied slick, they pull themselves from the sleeves, wrists dragging for reprieve as they lapse to tired thighs. Another slow breath takes its place through a wavering shiver - drawn hoarse as shield the battered fatigue. Senses drawn cross-circuit, Warren's vents huff through each tempered breath. Barely settling the frazzled nerves that cross conscious to skin; a numb him centering back where damp fabric clings to skin.
Malaphin returns to his side, and Warren guides his ruined braid aside.
Their touch soothes as a hand finds his sternum, easing him to sit straight as the short blade of the scissors slides across his side. An interlay of directions murmurs in the tense silence, broken by the wet metal snips that frees wounded skin of illed fabric. Mentions held gentle; a reassurance kiss pressing to a tender vent as a strip of fabric is abandoned into the near pulled trash.
"Need another burst?" whispers against skin, claws gentle as they roam over the tender pangs that echo over their own - Malaphin's spikes rattle in mirrored agony.
"Just enough to tide me over, get all of them removed," pulls back as Warren returns to sit numbed - ignoring the wound in his side, the splintering of one ankle and a fractured wrist for the decoration of metal and glass shrapnel following his spine.
Blood-dug past his shirt and driven deep into his muscles - each flex brings him bites of pain, caught in the back of his throat as he waits out the chimera's touch. The antiseptic touch to soothe his clenching jaw. Just not enough - only brought stable where they can properly tend to the rips and fractures. "I don't have enough to heal all of this," Malaphin relents, words bitten back as claws cradle a woozy skull. "I need to call for some material, run you a bath while I heal everything else. Okay?"
Warren grunts. "Just make it quick," a grimace.
Cradling his head in his merely bruised palm, he finches.
Holding himself there, waiting out as the chimera's words become mush to his auditory senses, the world still continues to spin - the carpet becoming noise beneath his nauseous sight. And his stomach turns, clenched in empty gasps.
The trashcan bumps his heel.
But Malaphin makes it back; a hand cradles his temples. "Just hang in there, starstruck." Warren feels the bed heave beneath him, and reaches around to find hold of the chimera's hips - lying himself into Malaphin's lap, pulling himself into the soft thighs as hands return to his back.
Another fabric snip - metal winding over his back, breaking the fabric down from where it had become charred to his skin and the fragment edges.
Teeth rest against knuckles - his busted hand curls around Malaphin's back.
"Ready…?" Malaphin's voice is calm… soft as it echoes down into direct commune as their nerves interlace. The backplates chatter, raising as they follow the guidance of tending claws over Warren's back.
A nod - temple pressing at furred hip.
Claws divide around the entry of a jagged metal shard - a busted pipe from what the chimera can surmise - and press against skin. It drives a grunt at first, and a hiss as their other finds purchase. Pulling it as Warren exhales a snarl, deposited into trash as the drake's teeth finds purchase at knuckles. One down… their backplates chatter, pain transferred as they can only watch the beading white blood. From their quick count… at least twelve more large fragments. Numerous others… they still need to check.
Shaking transferred pain from their hand, Malaphin mends skin. Sinking the last burst of numbing agent down through the ossisgari's spine. "They said it'll be another half hour until the slates are ready," they cradle Warren's head in their lap, "I can temporary seal them until then...is that alright, starstruck?"
Warren huffs against Malaphin's thigh, hand gripping the stone embellishment as the chimera's hands return to his back, fixing to free another shard launched in a shrapnel explosion. "Yeah," his voice sits weak, exhausted, "they know?"
"They're looking for it - we're relieved until it pops up again."
"How the f-uhmn" he finches, biting his hand as Malaphin pulls another from his back, sealing the blood to blister under a skin mend. "How the fuck do they lose something that fucking big." His cauterized wounds are broken by each retrieved shard, holding fast as the chimera works.
"Hold on," Malaphin pauses, yanking off his shirt, bundling it quick to replace the growing wound that speckled Warren's palm. "Eight more, Divi," their voice courses between similar and a meld of others, panic held in restraint. They've experienced far worse.
"Fuck," Warren grunts, burying his face into Malaphin's shirt: and bites deep as another jagged shard is pulled from his back, settling his audible agony as it still courses between their senses. A scramble that draws concentration obscene, of feeling pain through palm and spine where there once was none.
Minutes after, as shards of blood metal and glass wait aside discarded clothes; Malaphin eases Warren into the bath.
He rests back as the chimera lays his head upon a towel wrapped pillow, hair manages into a reestablished braid as he breathes deep through as his chin wavers just above the waterline. In the low light of the bathroom, the curtain barely sings as Malaphin finds their own spot beside the tub, holding a wounded hand close as the energy behind to heal. Warren's legs fold awkwardly as his feet fold beneath the water’s surface, finding a temporary place as his body lies numbed. His tactile senses muted, runic tablets fizzle upon the surface around him, turning water opaque as it induces an accelerated healing response… It'll be a while until he can safely move.
"Mal," Warren looks over, still flushed as pain still echoes beneath his senses. "You got that chimera transferred… right?"
The chimera nods, returning Warren's hand for his other. "Took much longer than I had hoped… thought it would be simple after getting them choked on stun powder." A sigh breathes deep, "I'm sorry Divi," and leans in, beard brushing against sight. "Should've been there for you sooner."
"Don't be," he leans in, barely finding a clawed wrist to grip. "As long as people are safer, it's fine by me." Where both of their hands grip, he can once again relax. "How long do you think I need?"
"Three hours, at most to be certain all your muscles are healed correctly," the mending of a fractured wrist takes little time between Malaphin's palm, returning the hand as the other holds still. Taken grip as they adjust for a long-term sit. "How are your legs?"
"Surface level, mostly," Warren breathes, reclined as the chimera's hand feels him through the water. "One of my ankles, it's swollen."
"This one?" Malaphin's claws graze beneath the water, taking hold as the clawed foot lifts free.
"Yeah," Warren shifts, watching half-lid as the chimera heals his ankle.
"Your alchemia level?"
Warren breathes a sigh, "rarely low, my tethers had trouble regenerating after the dynam. Could've shielded my back but… wasn't able to generate long enough." Through a limp he rests on the edge of the tub, he projects his tethers through his wrist - they're short, torn."
Malaphin lies against the side of the tub, arms crossed on the edge as Warren removes his arm back to the waters. "We'll focus on that then, boost you up so next time you're overcharged. Can't risk it overwhelming you again."
"Yeah," Warren sighs, a pause as their breath and the whisper of the dissolving tablets fill the space. Malaphin adds five more - a package of them set aside. "So, how're we going to get it transferred," a glance.
"We'll figure out something," the chimera breathes, their time taken slow as the pair remains at the other's side. Drawn closer as they meet again naked on the bed, where a mended back is coursed by the chimera's claws. Affirming the satisfying heal, tracing along the spinal rifts as Warren cradles himself against the chimera. Holding each other close beneath the distant grind of the lower caverns, curtains pulled tight as the ambient chill ushers them closer, lingering as hand search, remove, replace to hips as Warren's curly hair curtains between their space.
And leans into a kiss.
"I love you, Mal," creases with a smile, accentuated as the gesture is returned. A palm digging up and into his hair, pulling him down to another fulfilling kiss.
"I love you too, Divi," Malaphin smiles as their temples meet, roaming upon the other as Warren straddles them.
Not yet. Not here.
And again, they kiss beneath the light that breaks through the curtains. Faces held as they find solace in the other's words, in comfort as energy expends from one to the other - wings brought to life as the afternoon light makes cover for the ambient glow.
As filtration air kicks in again, the Martian stone avenue lie unsettlingly vacant
Plants crafted and grown bathe lone in the overhead biomechanical lights as in the background heaves mechanical yawns. Urban echoes of an automated system chimes; an hour mark placated in the surrounding silence.
Where above the evacuated avenue resigns the electric amber glow, Nanomechanical bioluminescence staring from the high ceiling to the just as empty tiered walkways, reflecting over the gas-lit signage and displays made with transparencies and hologram projections. Connective of wires string between the tiers, dangling environmental lights between tapestry straits above the main chamber way – large enough to hold a PID with ease along the normal bustle of absent foot traffic.
Activities dissuaded by the cautioning interlays – an alert plasters in place among the displays.
Cautioning red sits in among the margins, an aberrant advisory replacing advertisements and store displays in a thorough tone calling for the sectional evacuation – long cleared for the lockdown. The area held painfully still save for the occasional huff of recycled air that furls artificial and natural plants to sway as, in the distance, the sound of contact on metal – a slight ping of noise almost inaudible. That is, save for the ambient tones, as each strike of metal shakes through the electronics as a chattering cry reverbs through the back-end street leading to the grand avenue.
A branching warble draws energy to flicker, lights brought to intermittent flux as the surge breathes through the nanotech circuitry that brings the architecture alive. And each shunting distant clatter draws closer as bodily steam breathes beneath light material as the area flickers between darkness and light, surging as the armored aberrant barrels through another display, the enormous form knocking metal support beams out of shape.
They bend from the contact of strides, electric surges sparking over the plated back as they crawl over the mismatched wreckage made as forward limbs strike out at the one drawing the ire of their aggression – he remains unarmed as he steps back on digitigrade feet, claws tapping against the tile floor. “Come on,” the ossisgari whispers as steam seeps beneath his clothing, breathing through throat and ribs – body glowing beneath the emergency lights as he steps back into the low avenue.
Warren’s shadows are muddied as through every breath of the dynam’s vampiric hulking form casts electricity to sing from their conductive shell, moving unhindered by the objects lied in their path. Chairs are crushed beneath the heavy weight, heaving itself over and flattening fences as reedy limbs are held withdrawn beneath its body. Protected by the electrically charged shell with short well armored legs tucked beneath, it sunders forth, reaching for the ossisgari before them as sharp claws lash out in the fading emergency lights.
A billow of steam halts the reach; a chattering of pain resounds.
His shirt remains pulled taut against his torso as claws click against the stone floor, fabric hooked against body by internal tethers derived from the rifts lining his spine down to the flicker of his fibrous white tail beneath a fabric belt. The tethers hold it in place as the exhaling steam pushes him out of the reach of spindly limbs once more, dancing out of the grip of lashing claws as white steam puffs from mouth and the vents that line his throat. Exhales that precede his limber movements as he pivots, feet sliding as the aberrant tries to sweep his legs as it charges towards one side; Warren retains his attention towards the hostile charge as it stalks a few meters away, well aware of his proximity to the target zone outlined by his partner above him – shrouded by darkness and an aura dispersal.
Careful, Warren directs the aberrant to further chase him into the open as the emergency lights finally give out.
It leaves him the sole beacon of light in the tunneling urban sprawl, a brilliant glow of steam keeping the target’s focus on him as he continues to dodge the quick claw lashings, driven by instinct as he barely adverts his attention. Reflective eyes glow beyond their dark sclera sight, a muting blue that darts and follows every motion made by insectoid legs. ‘Mal, how much longer do you need?’ he requests through the Jacob’s organ.
‘Five, at most,’ Malaphin bites back, glancing over the railing as wood ash and dusted mineral shards continue to simmer in their archaic pyre – an amber glow sits fringed with an echoing vibrant hue. It’s messy, but efficient as the expert alchemist can only watch as Warren lurches out of the way of another vicious strike – claws find their mark as the pain echoes through the empathetic link. ‘Need more time to burn if it’s to work instantly,’ they cast with a sneer.
‘Right’ Warren sighs as he walks back through the middle of the avenue, casting a courteous glance towards where his partner remains hunkered as the aberrant rounds themselves past a structural pylon – it gives him enough time to blow out his congestion steam as his heat remains high, brushing sweat from his draconic sight as steam puffs with every exhale. ‘Just be sure the vixtueri is ready for us when they’re out,’ he watches as electricity rattles over the dynam’s plates, charging. ‘They ready for it?’ he steps back, grounding himself as spires of white tethers spring from his exposed outer thighs – his attention turned to the glow of the chelicerate mandibles.
‘Command would prefer it incapacitated, to a degree.’
There’s a flinch in Warren’s lip. ‘I’ll see what I can do…’
He takes the brunt of the electrical charge as it spits forth, cracking through the air before it fizzles and fumes through his body and channeled outwards with a heaving breath; the surge blooms around them as less capable technology pops from the outpour of the charge. And the fear of a small fire sparks through his thoughts as the spires retract back to his legs, stepping back once more as the dynam keeps its distance. Circling, it shoves metal and obstructions aside, crowding out from beneath hanging tapestry with the same incoherent chatter and threatening hiss.
Angry – irritated.
Electric burn fumes cling to the air as they continue the circling waltz; a drafted distance retained as the electricity continues to echo over the aberrant’s shell as Warren’s steam continues to breathe down his back; muscles lapsing tense as the dynam pushes through the storefronts, stunt chitin limbs crushing glass, metal, and paper film beneath its herculean weight. Forcing Warren to break the formation, stepping back over into the central pathway as his claws click – vulnerable for another direct attack.
It’s not lost to the aberrant as their shoulders quiver, the multitude of limbs keeping it sheltered beneath the overhang tier as it steps backwards. Legs coiling, body hunkered down as less than a meter separates its sparking back from the ceiling spar.
Spindly arms reach as it hurdles towards Warren, catching his side as he just barely slips out of the way. Clutching against the gash he comes to a stop at the edge of the stone paved avenue, heaving steam as his head whirls – the dynam circles back, sprung on short legs as the avenue gives it ample room to adjust, knocking him to the side as he dodges one lash and into another.
Against metal and stone pain crooks through him as he hurries back to his feet, biting back the agony crawling through as the mess of wood and metal shards Рit charges again, the impact almost knocking him down. Quickly he works himself to stand still as steam billows down his back, heaving as the tethers in his thigh take hold of debris in attentive defense, pointing fractures towards the dynam as it begins it pull itself from the front of another caf̩. Stunned limbs finally break themselves from the structure, chattering and wails growing strong as it finally finds target in the darkness, taking grip of a defensive white tether just as Warren caught sight of an opening.
It yanks Warren down to the floor, pulling him by tethers towards the gnashing of an electrical charge as the mandibles bite – a shrill screech as metal punctures between shell folds, a punch delivers to a then shielding arm as it pulls away – fracturing bone as Warren withholds a scream.
Rearing back, inhaling deep, he crunches himself onto his back as his feet press against the underside of the threatening mandibles as it tries to rid of the metal shard – and he kicks with a billowing jet of hot steam.
It makes target with the soft underbelly as he fights off the stunned grip, leg freed as the tethers retract, backing out from beneath.
Rolling out of its shadow with another billow of defensive steam, he bites back the searing pain as he pulls himself up from the floor with a gasp – his arm hangs broken, limp. Skin fissures over the limb as the internal coils encase it in a projected cast, parts pulling it back to meet the spine tethers that rip through the back of his shirt.
Out of the way he scrambles back to his feet, steam gasping from mouth and throat vents. He darts back into the opening as pain still sings through his nerves. Steps in partial stumble as metal and glass still projects from his side – bleeding white.
‘Divi,’ he can hear Mal call for him; ignoring the worried chimera, his attention remains on the dynam as it pulls itself from the wreckage, body blooming with angry electricity.
‘Don’t worry,’ Warren calls back through the implant, ‘I can handle it,’ fibs as bones scrape against muscle and veins. Agony blinding his attention as he steps back from beneath the overhang, pace quick as the dynam bluffs a charge. ‘How much longer,’ he restrains the panic in his voice, the quiver brought on by fatigue restrained by the need to finish the job – to return it to a regional Monere station, safely removed.
Malaphin glances to where the sigil sits beneath the dusting of archaic fire – a hue still out of sync, still getting completely aligned. ‘Not much longer,’ heaves back, ‘do you need support’ speaks quick with concern as they watch Warren’s glow. At their side, their phone continues idle chatter. Tapped into secure channels.
‘Nah,’ the ossisgari smiles, blowing steam to furl his jacket, ‘you’ll take care of me anyway when this is done.’ He watches as the dynam pulls itself from the rubble, shaking out the sparks of electricity as a broken screen scratches over the plates. ‘How much time do we have before the forces start rolling in,’ he breathes, sight locking on the heaving steps – pained in the bursts of magmatic steam.
‘They’re on the wire,’ Malaphin grunts, looking back to the broadcast scanner view, ‘by the time we get the dynam out of here, they’ll be on us.’
‘Great,’ Warren heaves a sigh, struggling to keep his distance from the aberrant dynam.
‘You’re the one that suggested just a half-hour diversion,’ the statement is flat, as Malaphin holds their palms over the open flames as it begins to surge into a vibrant hue. ‘In position?’
‘Almost,’ Warren cants back, black-brimmed sight flickering between the dynam and the center gap – almost. ‘Will be going in to incap, spring it when I’m out of range.’
‘Got it.’
And he lunges forth, sliding himself beneath the startling limbs and the bite of the forefront mandibles as he dodges down to his back, sliding as his legs push up against the thorax plates. With as much strength as he can muster, Warren pushes it up from the ground as his good arm shoves away the aggressive fangs from his face – his fractured and rift wrapped arm presses up against the double-jointed head. Magmatic heat fumes through his body; channeling up and through his open forearm as his thigh tethers grip around the junctions of the aberrants heavy limbs – keeping him in place as steam builds up in his reservoirs.
His eyes glow with a blazing white as his features turn to snarl – swallowing the buildup – his bonespurs flare.
It burns through every pore in his body, steam heaving through the open gaps as his rifts billowing as the blazing steam is directed towards the soft underbelly as spindly limbs try to shove him away, pushing at him as they chatter and hiss. Struck with the magmatic heat, his body burns their grip as he remains in place by thigh tethers until the dynam ultimately rears back, recoiling and screaming – it hunkers back, trying to pull away in pain and lashing out.
A grimace contorts Warren’s face as he kicks himself away, watching as the portal-cast fire entombs the dynam as they wail – eventually hushed by the fire pinwheeling onto the floor.
Ash ink splash the area it once stood – all that remains of the spell.
Clutching his arm close, a scaled hand wraps around Warren’s center as the emergency lights flicker to life above them, casting them in red. Their hands meet on a charmed rod – the etchings fizzle as it remains held in their meeting palms as it begins to take their form from sight, a slow vanish from view starting to crawl up their arms in smoking wisps.
“Come on,” Malaphin whispers as their arms lock around Warren’s stomach, heaving him up to his feet as the vixtueri rod begins to take over their opposing shoulders.
Hurried into one of the least destroyed storefronts, barging past the unlocked door, they edge out of view of the avenue where armed forces would make their arrival – preempting as the overhead lights surge back to life, staring down the dusted stone and volleyed tiers. Warren heaves as he leans against Malaphin’s body as they come to rest against a glass-plated wall, blowing steam between teeth and the furling of his bonespurs. Ambient steam wisps along the side of his throat – partly taken by the fragmenting of the charged rod.
In due time it’ll take them both from sight – “What’s the duration,” Warren grimaces, wincing as the chimera takes his broken arm from his side as the internal tethering retreats back into skin – leaving it bloodied and in the care of the chimera.
“An hour,” Malaphin holds the battered limb against their front, “wanted to give us enough time to get back,” and the front folds of their body detach from collarbone to the crest of their pelvis – exposing the inner gold to nurse the limb, pulling it close with tendril latches as the charm’s smoke crawls over upper torso.
Their opposing hands remain met around the rod as Malaphin eases the ossisgari close, an embrace giving in as Warren rests his head on the other’s shoulder as the healing aura eebs. Even still, as their bodies continue to be taken by the charm smoke, Warren flinches, hissing as pain continues to surge through his arm, where bones are forced back into position, nerves brought to a comfort numb.
A kiss of teeth plants over the breath of his throat vents.
“Sorry,” Malaphin sighs; a usual procedure as the chimera remains unmarked by the battering they’ve once undertaken – less susceptible to any lasting damage as bruises sit welt beneath Warren’s shirt. Wounds sit worryingly purple and stained with dried latex-white blood over thighs, stomach, and chest, marked only by the tears in his clothing as he holds a hand against the amber metallics that mark the chimera’s sight.
Warren pulls their head against a breathing bonespur, “it’s alright,” he heaves, “just worry about that for now.” His voice is light, whispered as his vision casts an outward glance to the avenue as the echo of an advertisement plays – a radio chatters in the distance beneath the heavy resounding steps of a PID sweeping the avenue. In search of aberrant activity; a single objective, elimination.
Bodies only half taken by the vixtueri charm, their hands remain in grip as fingers entwine as they watch beyond the textile storefront, held tense as the rattle of armaments become apparent, nearby.
They sink down towards the floor, bunkering themselves down beside a shelving display as their legs are pulled to withdraw, out of sight of the entry view as they rest back against the fabrics. Through the pain, Warren keeps his arm within Malaphin’s chest cavity, drawn to heal as it clears up the ruptured blood vessels and the oozing of filling pus, stringing his muscles back into form as the nerves continue to sit stunned numb by the golden flesh as it prickles over his skin, anesthetizing as he waits.
‘Let’s slip out once its pass,’ Warren whispers through their connection, releasing a sigh as a palm slides down to his hip. Brushing furls of hair from his face, he rests back as beyond him the fabric indents.
A breath exhales through the chimera’s teeth, pulling back from resting on their partner’s shoulder. ‘Give it a little longer, they might still have a barricade at the main entrance,’ whispers between their thoughts – relaying an earlier recon. ‘Can bunker down at one of the corner pieces for an opening, or do you want to try a maintenance shaft?’
There’s a heave from the ossisgari, testing his numbed limb as the golden tissue begins a gentle retract, restructuring within the chimera’s chest. His arm remains blotched with the surface level damage beneath the guise, splotches of off-color decorating between his wrist and shoulder, centered at his elbow where the dynam struck. As his mouth draws into a line beneath the visage of the vixtueri charm, he keeps a hand contact with Malaphin as their legs finally vanish – charm in full effect. ‘Upfront approach would be best. They might have a few view guards up, and just section off the area. We can sneak out of one of the side-streets into another avenue.’
Warren can feel the shift as Malaphin moves to stand aside him – only able to sense the chimera’s location through the implant and the hand that latches around his wrist, pulling up to their feet.
‘I think two rows down rounds towards the next one. Should have places where we can dip into if there’s a patrol.’
Gentle thumbs press against the back of Warren’s neck.
Gripping, they ease down along the sides of the implant scar as claws press over the rifted skin as Warren sits hunched, posture sat relaxed at the edge of the bed as Malaphin tends at his side. Fully allowing his partner to manipulate his limbs over and back, checking the healing mend as palms plead over his wounds, fully sealing them with an alchemical press and the slick touch of an antiseptic sighs that ease through their hide. Soft grips continue to graze over his bruises, claws tracing along the healing skin as in the distance news plays in a neighboring room… another aberrant spirited away. Another mystery left unsolved for the local enforcement; another neutered panic made into morning headlines as the pair sat finally reprieved of their duties – finally given the go ahead to return home roughly within the next hour.
“Wonder how long they’re going to keep the bounty up,” Warren sighs as claws curl over his battered body, holding it extended as Malaphin continues to knead out the aftermath of blown blood vessels, nursing healthy tissue back into form.
“Not long,” the chimera sighs, “given the last couple, will probably drop once the next one comes around – won’t be our issue.” They shuffle, repositioning themselves as their furred legs extend, stretching with a mild satisfied huff. “How long will we have until we’re out again, a week?”
“Yeah,” Warren exhales, glancing over to the amber-point features that gloss over into features, then to where his shirt now lied over his bare thighs – it’s worth now only as a rag.
“Have they told you where?” Malaphin releases Warren’s limb, shifting attention towards the wound cutting into the ossisgari’s stomach – quickly mended with viscous white to prevent the spilling of gore. Their palms are gentle, coaxing Warren to lie back with his arms folded beneath his head – completely nude as he stretches out.
“No, they’re probably shopping around for somewhere to put us,” and Warren hisses as a claw cuts through the quick mending, releasing the withheld pus as a hand holds the rag against it. “Think there’s a couple shards in there,” he laughs with a grimace. “Hope we get stationed somewhere calm, want to do things outside of the job for once,” after a moment, he presses a hand into the crest of the chimera’s spine, knuckles balling against the stone-divided fur.
Glancing over, Malaphin’s hands remain occupied with the surcease of the bleeding wound.
Warren nods in acknowledgement; golden eyes shift back to the splitting white wound, ebbing numbing agent down as the blood is made to dissipate, vanishing under scaled palm presses. “I’ll draw them out,” they exhale, sensing the buckshot and numerous shrapnel shards beneath a temporary nervous sweep. “Looks like some of them have been encased.”
Lip flinching, Warren pulls his other arm over his face, fingers digging against his messy curls. “Go for it.”
And he makes a sharp inhale as a claw scrapes against once mended tissue, where an alchemical charge drags forth to seek the obstructions that bite into his body. It ebbs against the dark ink muscles bleeding white, coaxing them out with a magnetic current as the ossisgari’s fingers curl into fur, faintly pulling as the metal shard suddenly surges free. They’re struck with latex white blood as each piece is carefully removed, placed upon the remnant rag as the other palm continues a compress. Twelve in total.
Warren’s grip only eases as the chimera’s directed alchemy eases over the wound, energy pressing down even as he continues to flinch… that is until it fully heals, to where only a whisper of the damage remains on his skin. A brief stain of white, a mark of blood that is just as easily removed by the rub of water as he takes a quick shower.
Pulling hands through his hair, Warren allows his thoughts to drift and wander as he cleans beneath the shower spray. Ideas and imagery indulging in proceeding activities once they return home; from where they finally have the time alone, not at the behest of being on-call at every moment of the day. Fingers pull through his curly hair, ruffling through as water pours down his spine – a hand leans up against the wall, the other curling back through his hair.
Fingers press against the scar sat at his nape – and sighs, pressing against the subtle cretae bump. His visual appearance begins to obfuscate his ossisgari features as he remains leaned against the wall. Body tuning to a single melanin tone, his legs ease down to plantigrade as his height gently adjusts, claws retract to the mimicry of feet. Round ears replace the sigh of his bonespurs, where his bodily rifts and vents are made muted to the plane of skin, coaxed by the implant to cover up all but its own expressive scar.
Making a brief look to the mirror – he confirms it has also fixed his face.
Out within the hotel room Malaphin sits with their appearance altered only by their own volition, the scar covered by their braided ponytail as before them drafts up a pair of Operi charms. Between the air of their palms they derive the charms from the ripped remnants of a towel stolen from the bathroom, breaking it down into basic components as they hover exposed to the golden breakage in their chest. A hole bares and directs energy from the beating of their alchemical stone heart, a golden sight kept turned to the material as it contorts into the bone-white charms. Fabric fibers turn hard under the alchemical glare, etching with sigils that follow the twists of crafted spires.
All to cover up the scar in the back of their neck – for Malaphin, the scar and to buffer cornea bronze.
As the process finishes, conjoined charms set aside, the chimera’s appearance resets as they turn to pull on their clothing. Yanking on shirt, golden sight glances when Warren returns from the shower, “they should last long enough to get on the rail home,” sighs as they sit back on the remade bed, pulling boots tight. A final tap makes it draw firm beneath the ends of their slacks.
Picking one up, Warren self-confirms the structural etchings as he stands bare save for low-rise briefs, “the duration?” Still unaccustomed to reading the sigil markings that accompany the specific spell type – he sets it down, turning to dress himself in loose clothing for the journey up.
Sat back with a sigh, Malaphin watches as Warren pulls a tank top over his damp head. “About seven-thousand seconds,” they watch as Warren pulls on the thick jacket, exposing his implant scar as he wrestles his hair up into a messy tail. “Should be able to find something to make a condensed charm on the way there if security is still tight when we arrive in Melas.”
“Yeah,” Warren huffs, double checking himself in the reflection of the pulled blind windows that look out into the urban ravine – the afternoon light beading down through the ravine breakage above. “Not going to miss it here,” Warren turns back, reaching for the charm rod before a gloved grip reaches his hip – pulling him towards a playful smile. His fingers graze through Malaphin’s braided hair, holding down against nape as a hand pushes itself beneath his shirt. “Can’t wait to get home either,” he smiles, leaving a kiss as he pulls himself away to sit at his partner’s side.
Malaphin holds one end – the other end offered to Warren.
Taking his half of the conjoined rod, he nods.
“Amatus, subeo,” the chimera whispers, snapping theirs in twain as a fissure breaks along the middle. Half of it is held mirrored to Warren’s own charm rod as they begin to smoke, deteriorating along the spire twist as Malaphin holds the other half against closed eyelids. A reflection of the other’s movements, together they hold the charm rods in place as wisps of smoke past their fingers, shaded in the lowlight as the sunline pervades along the floor near their boots. It takes a few minutes for the rods to completely vanish beneath their fingertips, a confirmation of the long duration settling in.
Warren checks Malaphin first, making visual confirmation of the effect as there lies no trace of the scar left to their nape before bronzed eyes check his own – and places a kiss that draws Warren to sink, easing against the hand held against his spine. “Is the ‘luggage’ ready?” Warren asks back, lingering in place at his partner’s side.
“Yeah, got it all in order before working on the rods,” Malaphin moves, hand leaving Warren’s back as he picks up the bags set aside; one houses their lent tactical gear. Heaving the other over, Warren double checks their single carry on for the rail trip home as Malaphin runs through a final check of the hotel room. That nothing would be suspicious if left behind.
Warren’s anxieties resolved; he zips up the bag. “Shouldn’t be too long to dispose of it, Ava is just down the avenue, right?” He glances over towards the chimera returning from the bathroom – cleared in the confirmation only one towel would be amiss.
“Said they’ll be waiting in a café on the corner; might meet us outside, but likely will be inside.”
Warren pulls the transfer bag over his shoulder and tosses their shared bag over to Malaphin – all it holds is their primary devices and whatever spare clothing remains. “Wouldn’t mind grabbing a bite before heading to the station, so that’s fine with me.”
As they both depart, Warren hands off the keycard at the desk.
In the glow of artificial light where sunlight does not pervade, the high streets sit dense with foot traffic as they depart the sectional block, waiting as an industrial truck passes along accompanied by a pairing of armor PIDs before they divert to a bridge connecting the tiered walkways. It carries them over the urban ravine that lies so well down below, deeper than the suburban block as below industrial trains rocket pass Рthe vibration only whispers as an industrial groan echoes through the structure. Noisy. Too noisy for Warren as he only bares himself to flinch, shuffling the luggage over his shoulder once more as they make it to the two-story caf̩.
Cautious, Warren sweeps with the implant sensors and his own sensitive senses through the café atmosphere as they enter the queue.
‘Location?’ Malaphin keeps brief.
Following upwards, Warren’s head tilts. ‘Top floor,’ he glances to Malaphin.
After they collect their pairing of sandwich and salad, they head up to meet the regional manager to hand off the bag; Warren catches the woman’s sight before she motions them over. Setting down his tray, Warren slides the ‘luggage’ down between them, and excuses himself to get some water as Malaphin sits down opposite of Juliava – their personal bag set between their seats.
“So,” Warren sighs as he returns, setting down his drink. “Any idea who’s the replacement?”
“Not a clue,” Juliava sighs, finishing up her apparent second serving of flame-broiled kebab as eight metal skewers sit on the double-stacked plates. She leans on her elbows, picking at the skewers. “You both heading up to central? Fair warning security up there has been running tight since last month, more so since you dashed that dynam out. And left a mess.”
Warren withholds a smirk, swallowing his bite. “Figured, but Malik has prepped for that.”
“Everything in the case?” She taps the bag with her foot, sitting back with a mild disgruntled look – trying to figure if she could go for a third serving, Warren figures.
“Yeah, everything you lent us. Me and Malik will handle our phones once we get home, let central deal with it while we’re on break.” Warren glances over to the guised chimera, who’s quietly enjoying their own helping of food.
As they continue to eat, the regional manager parses through a hologram projection on her lap; work stuff, not related to them. It takes a moment for the conversation to resume as Juliava closes the clamshell of the device. “So,” glancing to Malaphin, “you got out of ICU quick.” A remark disguised by human terminology.
“Wasn’t the first time,” comes a dry laugh from Malaphin, glancing up from his meal. “Divi being there for me, has kept me going,” he hazards a look towards Warren.
The ossisgari sighs, “still gives me a panic each time, you know that, Malik.”
“I bet,” Juliava kicks back again, “can’t imagine what that’s all like – you know, dealing with that stuff.” Hazarding sympathy.
“I’ve gotten used to it, but I wouldn’t still be in this line of work without him. He’s my anchor,” Warren sits back with the remains of his sandwich. “If I remember correctly, you work with the PIDS, right?” He asks her, a grimoire unlike the dynams they’ve relocated.
“Me and a few others,” grimoires, she leaves out. “I like the machines, love upkeeping my rig as best I can before my girlfriend has to step in for me,” she laughs. “They’re noisy, just like the rest of the lower stratums, but I like it.”
Warren solemns a nod, giving himself time to finish his meal as Malaphin finishes theirs. “Hope whoever replaces us won’t give you any issues, Ava,” Warren smiles as he pushes the chair back, the pair moving to leave as they remain aware of the time already spent, and of the departure time for the late night train that’ll take them back to the central hub. “Was a joy working with you,” and he holds out his hand for a shake, reciprocated in turn.
“You enjoy yourselves,” the avian grimoire smiles, beaming a look between them. “Three months is a long contract period here; most only stay for about a months’ time. Your help is well appreciated – maybe we won’t have as many incidents here for a while, with all the security breaches located, might even have more time off myself.”
Another nod, and Warren picks up his and Malaphin’s shared bag. “Take care, Ava, send Eruina my regards.”
“Already let her know,” Ava calls back, taking a moment as they leave – Warren catches sight of her making the way to the counter for a third serving as they depart the café.
Their journey takes them along the tier towards the vertical transports; to take stairs and tramlines upwards through the tiers above, bringing them closer to the expansive night sky that lies beyond the ridge of the manufactured fissure that cracks into the landscape. A density of business crowds grows as they near the above-ground hub and the final security checkpoint as they await their turn through the queue - their napes left predisposed in the sightlines that they are unmarked. Their motions are casual; where Warren walks through the detector in a casual pace as he remains aware of the intent of such a device - the weeding out weaponry, to seek items of concern, for traces of magical enhancements.
It fully confirms the effectiveness of the implant nestled in their napes, tending to their full-body shifts that are necessary for the both of them - he awaits Malaphin at the other end, meeting the chimera halfway in a public display of affection as their bag makes it through the scanner.
Warren excuses himself and picks up their bag, eager to find the ticket booth and find aboard the rail that will return them home.
Beyond the next condensed chokepoint, the station lies expansive as they’re given space as other commuters spread out to meet their own terminals, seeking their own as they hold their tickets in hand and look over the directory set in place. It hovers above the ground set on screens and panels - their sights glancing over the departure times and the current local. Another 40 minutes until the train to Melas leaves; it draws a sigh from Warren, plenty of time to claim their seats as he makes note of the current queue.
Once they’ve finally claimed their cabin spot - previously reserved under Juliava’s registration, they make their way aboard.
Settling down onto the bed-bench with a sigh, Warren lets his hair drop down into a lowered ponytail as strands stick to his face.
“Finally,” he heaves, pushing their bag against the opposing wall as Malaphin locks the door - their guises remaining intact, kept in place with uncertainty as Warren pulls off his jacket and greets his partner at his side. “Can’t wait to finally get home,” he rolls over to lie on Malaphin’s lap, legs pressed to bend to keep enough room for the chimera to maneuver.
A hand digs through Warren’s hair, “going to nap for the trip?” Malaphin laughs, shifting to better take Warren’s weight. “Think there's better cushioning than my lap,” he chides, motioning towards the pillow embedded at the top of the reclining seat. In return, hands reach up to his face, fingers spreading against his bearding stubble.
“I know,” Warren grins, shifting for a better position; he’s stubborn. “But I -want- to lie on your lap.” It draws a smile from Malaphin – and Warren pushes himself up to meet a kiss. “It’ll just be for the duration, anyway. Should be plenty enough time to be… invigorated once we get home.”
“Guessing you already have something in mind,” Malaphin teases, fingers pulling through Warren’s hair, messing with the ponytail.
There’s a smirk, and Warren rolls over to lie on his stomach. “I mean, would be hard for us to do anything right now. No buffer in place – would offer to suck your dick but, knowing me I’d want to keep going.”
“Fair, fair,” Malaphin reclines, leaning away from Warren so the ossisgari can climb onto his lap, against his legs – Warren settled between them and rests on his stomach. “This is so much better to sleep in, the both of us,” he does remain still in a minor sit, leg hanging off the edge. After a moment, he pulls off his own jacket and lies it over Warren’s back, exposing the twirls of tattoos that lie over his arms within the visual display, a mimicry of the shelling that folds their innate appearance between externals and internal.
Folding himself down onto Malaphin’s toned abs, Warren entwines his fingers as he rests a sigh, letting his head rest on the other’s stomach. “Any ideas of what to do when we get home, outside of just going at it,” he softly chuckles, looking back.
“Didn’t Yilruth want to meet up,” Malaphin questions, an acquaintance of theirs in Melas.
Warren pulls himself to rest his head on a fist, “likely, since he’s been the one tending to the plants the last few months, no reason to decline it.” States with a shrug, “probably go out, take a walk, whatever we can fit in before they redirect us somewhere else.” There’s a pause as he moves to lie back down, looking back up with a small grin. “Ordered something to be delivered to the condo, might have some use by the time we get home.”
“What is it?”
“A tonic, a libido elixir that I’ve wanted to try out. Should give me a nice boost of stamina.”
Above them comes a ping – turning their heads.
[ Departing for Melas, estimated time of arrival 12 - 25 MCT ]
There’s a smirk from Warren, resting himself against the chimera’s stomach. “We’ll see how it goes once we get home,” he sighs, pulling himself into a bundle beneath the chimera’s jacket. Fingers pull lazy through his hair, breaking it from the ponytail as the tie is nothing but a knotted length of fabric.
“Sleep well,” Malaphin exhales, a half-lid smile beaming as he eases into place, resting as his sight glances to the window that sits opposite of the door connecting them to the narrow compartment hallway.
Gently, slowly, the station’s outer limits begin to pass the transposed sightline as the train gradually begins to pick up speed, granting them the starry visage of the Martian sky. It whispers through the junction locks that separate the encampment atmosphere from untouched landscapes, falling into pace as it finally makes it pass the last pressure seal. Enough time given to let electric hums bring a mechanical lull, coaxing towards the comfort of sleep as the train begins to whisper over its railing, coaxing passengers to calm.
With Warren sound asleep, eased by the smooth ride and the comforting warmth of body and jacket, Malaphin’s fingers continue to entangle with the ossisgari’s hair. Fingers finding gentle rest upon nape as the edges of faltering claws dance along the sigh of spine as they stare out the transposed sight.
Above them, the lights gently ease into an ambering glow – a fade not based upon the single cabin but rolling throughout the speeding train as it follows the rail-line path. The only surges of light comes from the minting glow of the safety lines every few hundred meters as it makes the trek, but just as gentle in the blooms as it beats with the train’s electric hum. Moments of mere lighting that does nothing to deter Malaphin from finding his own peace, head resting off to the side against the headrest built into the seat and wall.
He stares down at the bundled and sleeping face squished up against his stomach with a smile, brushing a strand aside. It’ll be several hours until they finally reach their destination…
As the train starts to slow its brazen speed on approach to Melas, the lights begin to coax back to the prior illumination, bathing patrons to rouse for the arrival as it approaches the western station of Melas.
As within the final kilometers the rail closes in, the distant light of observation post markers rise into view, markers that overlook the distant orbital port that takes far-flung supplies from the substations that dot the distances between Earth and Mars in the early morning light. One dark dot can be spotted on its arrival as Warren finally pulls himself up to sit, a hand pressed against his head as he leans towards the observation display. Faint fatigue soaks his brain as his palm rubs; exhausting him as he reestablishes his visage in the reflection before welcoming himself to kneel and pick up their belongings kicked to the floor.
Warren adjusts his boots to refit his feet as he pulls Malaphin’s jacket over his back as his own remains laid over their baggage - he offers it to Malaphin before checking the time.
Jackets exchanged; they head out of the station without an issue, bypassing the security as Warren’s jacket sits upturned on Malaphin - obstructing the implant scar. He does eventually set it down as they make their approach down to the tramline lower on the vertical station, downwards towards the settlements beneath the station to where a multi-story glass frame stares off into the wide canyon that holds the city-state it's named for just beyond.
Taking a moment, Warren leans up against the railing and looks out the tall glass and metal display case that only mars the top portion of the canyon’s edge. Where it grants a view of the distant buildings that sit staggered beneath the safeguard domes, coveting the city-state sprawls in the ozone cladding as Mars still lies harsh overhead - yet still unable to retain a stable atmosphere on its own. He does make a note of the superstructure that he can just as well see outside their condo - held at height as he is able to trace out the interconnective routes they’ll make to return home… he can’t help but smile.
To his side Malaphin leans back upon his arms, lying against the railing as he watches the hologram timetables beyond the walkway where they wait – it’s still another couple minutes before the next connection to their tram line arrives. It departed before their arrival and will be another thirty minutes until the next connecting line arrives at the hub connector. There is, however, enough time to grab a bite to eat from one of the local franchises, settling themselves in beneath the signage, waiting out the remaining time until their tram makes its return.
Once it does, they board. It’s only a quick jaunt down to their branch within the city-state of Melas.
Departing the station, they dispose of the remnants of their meal and make their way along the hooded pedestrian pathway that lies bordered off from the main avenue – where cyclists and the hum of electric vehicles mark their place. Their route is well chosen – overtly scenic as they follow along the direction of the regional gardens that grant the branch with floral bounties in the heave of naturalized conditions. A vital component, it compensates for the enclosed atmosphere as shrubs grow unhindered save for the edges of the paved walks, where the couple walks along as it carves along the mixture of Martian and terrestrial soil.
Along one side of the path, the remnants of a former titan lies in ruins; rib cage left exposed to the twine of planternal tethers as they extend, grown upwards on skeletal xylem. It lies settled in a laid outcrop of stone and shrubs; features obscured as their limbs lies beneath the substrate. A landscape feature obscured from their condo half a kilometer away – driven close by Warren’s concern as ossisgari neurals reaches for the titan’s strand – to know that they are still at peace, tranquil.
Once his concerns are sated, they make the final trek back to the complex they reside.
It sits at the edge of the branch ozone cladding, overlooking the city-state in the rising tiers that mark the canyon’s incline. Where the space of flora lies carved between the primary builds before they’re topped by the next, happily overgrown with the tangle of rising plants induced to continue to grow. Beneath it, as they walk over the last divide bridge on the approach splintered from the avenue, they can see the lower levels sit abuzz with activity – in either market or commuter persuasions. An interest for a meal wavers from below, street vending; Warren sets it to the back of his mind for later as they step aboard the diagonal lift within the complex lobby.
The last separation keeps them from their own tranquility is undone with the tap of a keycard – retrieved from their friend Yilruth – it finally allows them to disperse their visage as they please.
Warren releases his legs back into form as he kicks the boots away to a corner as he finally breathes through the ventilation that lines his throat and ribs; removing the stolen jacket as soon as he can wrestle it down his arms as his diverse pigmentation returns into full. As he throws it over to the couch his ears are replaced once more with the breath of his bonespurs, where seeps of steam follows his steps as he works off his shirt - wanting to take a full shower to rejuvenate his alchemical tendencies as he departs.
Even as it's not sweat, grime, or the lingering scent of dirt and blood that clings to him, he shoves the bathroom door open, making not even a glance out to the main room as he can hear Malaphin set away their jackets - their forms unhindered by the same disgruntled inclinations. As while Malaphin can advert the cling onto alchemical properties, Warren cannot as he leaves the door open, leaning against the countertop as he works to remove his pants.
Just beneath the buckle pull lies the glance of the garter belt that wraps around his waist, further exposed as he throws the pants out into the hallway to fully discard of later - too annoyed to care he hikes his leg up against the other. One after the other he undoes the clips of the stockings that hug around his thighs, letting them hang around his ankle and over his inner dewclaw as he switches to his other side. Once the dark material matches over the area of his hocks, he turns his attention to the belt, and relieves a sigh as the snug fit finally comes undone - able to ease a full exhale as he sets it to the side. Fully nude as he discards his underwear.
As Warren pulls himself into the shower, Malaphin lies back against the couch in a mismatch of an appearance; their upper body returns to their mild soft plating as their head sits rested in a gilding grin, horns resting back against the cushioning as their still humanoid legs kick up onto the dusted low table.
Stretching back upon the sectional they relieve a sigh; it rolls through them like a radial pulse beneath the low light of the condo, aglow beneath their skin exposed as fusions of their body divides in a wave. From scalp to fingertips it rolls as a settling unfurl, resetting their anatomy back into place as the golden metal glint of their eyestalks marks their sight towards the view sitting opposed. Where shelving units block out the tall dramatic windows gazing out into the canyon, a horizontal divider splitting the view between nearer Melas and the distant domes – a railing makes such a divide, not as all dissimilar to the items that decorate their home. Saplings sprout from hung pottery around them, a myriad of materials either useful or visually pleasant sit amongst the shelving and the floor, comfortably cluttered in some places with the encouraged overgrowth.
It all remains in the calming darkness as some radiate their bioluminescence, granting the comforting atmosphere that Malaphin lets sink in as the shower turns to blast down the hallway. There is an ease that washes through Malaphin’s nerves as the sensation of water echoes over their skin just as well as Warren’s, a mutual sensory mesh that ebbs an intimate connection via their implants as the ossisgari channels his neurals to branch out.
Forehead and palms pressing against the tile wall of the shower basin, Warren allows the steaming hot water to wash over his back as the rifts lining his spine glow. Tangles of tethers pull from his back, holding themselves outwards as he searches and makes connection to their Doceo spiderwort in the other room. The enchanted foliage grants him visage of the lingering enchantments that saturate their surroundings, beholden of a recollection of movements that preceded their arrival as well as the notations in the enigmatic shift in emotional energy of those around them. It pulls him through the hallways where energy tangles worm along the wall, invisible as he makes sure there’s no one waiting for them – still on edge from events far past.
Only once he makes confirmation that they’re firmly safe, that their barrier still sits well in place to grant them visual and auditory privacy, Warren pushes his temple from the wall.
Warren allows the water to guide his hair to curtain, his breath remaining shallow as the vents along his ribs and throat hold quiet, awaiting for his sight to return in full; for his sclera to clear of the encompassing black and pupils to return from their outreach sight. It’s after a moment does a small smile plant his features as he moves to stand in full, claws clicking against the tile as he shifts his attention; certain that there won’t be any unexpected interruptions.
It’s time well spent to clean himself in full detail, as for the first time in months he feels fully refreshed.
Sliding the opaque glass door aside, his claws click upon the tile as he steps out into the open space of their bathroom. From above he pulls a towel down from one of the hanging rungs, wiping whatever water remains on his skin as his vents breathe his internal heat – softened by his calmed nerves as he looks upon himself, running the towel through his hair as his hip leans against the counter surface. He remains stood bare as he takes a band from one of the storage containers, returning the lid before he pulls his damp mane back with an exhale.
His sight flickers over himself as he leans against the countertop, taking the towel in hand as he steps back, soaking in the sight of his body as he sucks in his gut. Wiping the trace of liquid from between his thighs and the soft folds of his skin, he can see the slightest peak of white that presents itself in the middle of his Y-split mound; and relieves a snort. One hand placing the towel down, and he allows his right hand to explore himself – fingers spreading his sexual seam where his intimate white hides itself, tracing it with the glide of an index finger.
Releasing himself, he reaches out to Malaphin, smiling up into his reflection.
‘Barrier is still in place,’ he relays, moving himself from the bathroom to their bedroom across the hall.
‘Good,’ the chimera answers back through their neural relay, ‘wouldn’t mind pressing you up against the glass,’ they tease.
Warren pulls out a loose collection of clothing from the closet – less for his own modesty, and more for the sheer enjoyment of feeling Malaphin undress him. ‘Tempting,’ he returns the taunt, pulling on leggings to place an erotic buffer between his body and his partner, ‘would that be with your hips, or your mouth?’ He taunts, pulling a tank top, leaving enough space where the slightest furl of his wings won’t pull around his chest.
“Why not both,” Malaphin returns directly as they watch Warren makes his approach from the hallway and leans back as the ossisgari walks behind the couch. As Warren leans over, he shifts appearance once more; both meeting into a kiss – Malaphin pulling a clawed hand through Warren’s wet hair.
Warren smiles, pulling away as his hands rest at Malaphin’s jawline. “Need to check in on the plants first before we do anything,” he snorts.
“Go right ahead,” Malaphin purrs as he releases Warren’s hair.
A head tilt follows the ossisgari as he begins making the rounds, watching as he inspects them for damage and any notion of ailments. From the interior garden making the central room down to the medical plants within the cultivation room, Warren checks them all, many of them used to create the base materials for their charms and enchantments. Throughout it, Malaphin keeps his place, patiently relaxing into the couch and resting their sight as their alchemical core saturates with the floral scent and the small wisps of incense.
