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st_ripandslitherCaden stood in the middle of a busy street that was nothing like home, the fairy's whisper brushing through his mind like a ribbon of cold, expensive silk. Everything was so loud, people walking by him talking on the same small, cordless telephones people had had at the Inn, the modern automobiles and motorbikes, and some form of music coming from a nearby shop.
This wasn't home. It looked nothing like anywhere in Aurelle or even Clovenne. Given the - technology - it looked like nothing in his entire world.
Caden was once again somewhere he didn't know. And this time, no one seemed to care that he was standing there, at the mouth of an alley, in a rumpled grey suit and smudged kohl. He didn't have his torc ring, he realised with an inkling of panic, as his fingers brushed over the rings he did wear today. It hadn't seemed right, taking it into Faerie.
If he thought that he might have found an altar here, or a temple, he would have rushed to it. The urge was so foreign to him, his faith not usually something he turned to. Of course, he thought of Cal, of the fairy's pale eyes, of their taste on his lips mixing with their autumn wine, and he shut those thoughts away for now, and started walking.
Everywhere, people spoke Clovennian in odd accents, with a few exceptions, words in languages he did not recognize drifting over to him from passers-by. Was this place much like Clovenne? No, nowhere near. Everywhere he looked, there were posters, imagery that would have made Cloves blush or huff in outrage and turn away. Advertisement, he thought? Everything was confusing, but Caden tried to make sense of this place as he walked through the streets of the city. He found a street map, learned the name of the city. London. It did not sound Clovennian, for all that they spoke it. There were people in suits, in those trousers called jeans, women in dresses and skirts, some of them shorter than Caden had ever seen. Some of their clothes seemed so odd to him, and all of it so varied. No wonder no one was giving him a second look.
Eventually, the sun began to dip, his feet to ache, his stomach to grumble.
He stopped outside of a bar that was playing soft jazz, and took a moment to let the familiar, unfamiliar notes wash over him and watch the comings and goings of patrons. They looked wealthy enough, from what he could decipher of this place's social codes. He remained leaning against a wall by the bar, looking for all the world like he was waiting for someone. He'd smoothed his suit out as much as he could, and washed the kohl from his eyes.
It wasn't long before a man who stepped outside for a smoke struck up a conversation with Caden. Caden, who was waiting for someone meant to return his wallet to him. Yes, he would love a cigarette, thank you. His accent? Oh, it wasn't from any one place, he'd traveled a lot. Yes, he was beginning to resign himself to the truth of having been stood up.
Would you? Oh, how could he repay you.
And so it was that he ended up sharing a meal with a stranger from this strange land, and then a long, glorious fuck in that stranger's bed. Do you want me to go, he asked, afterwards, as they lay boneless and sweaty together.
No, stay, and Caden did.
This wasn't home. It looked nothing like anywhere in Aurelle or even Clovenne. Given the - technology - it looked like nothing in his entire world.
Caden was once again somewhere he didn't know. And this time, no one seemed to care that he was standing there, at the mouth of an alley, in a rumpled grey suit and smudged kohl. He didn't have his torc ring, he realised with an inkling of panic, as his fingers brushed over the rings he did wear today. It hadn't seemed right, taking it into Faerie.
If he thought that he might have found an altar here, or a temple, he would have rushed to it. The urge was so foreign to him, his faith not usually something he turned to. Of course, he thought of Cal, of the fairy's pale eyes, of their taste on his lips mixing with their autumn wine, and he shut those thoughts away for now, and started walking.
Everywhere, people spoke Clovennian in odd accents, with a few exceptions, words in languages he did not recognize drifting over to him from passers-by. Was this place much like Clovenne? No, nowhere near. Everywhere he looked, there were posters, imagery that would have made Cloves blush or huff in outrage and turn away. Advertisement, he thought? Everything was confusing, but Caden tried to make sense of this place as he walked through the streets of the city. He found a street map, learned the name of the city. London. It did not sound Clovennian, for all that they spoke it. There were people in suits, in those trousers called jeans, women in dresses and skirts, some of them shorter than Caden had ever seen. Some of their clothes seemed so odd to him, and all of it so varied. No wonder no one was giving him a second look.
Eventually, the sun began to dip, his feet to ache, his stomach to grumble.
He stopped outside of a bar that was playing soft jazz, and took a moment to let the familiar, unfamiliar notes wash over him and watch the comings and goings of patrons. They looked wealthy enough, from what he could decipher of this place's social codes. He remained leaning against a wall by the bar, looking for all the world like he was waiting for someone. He'd smoothed his suit out as much as he could, and washed the kohl from his eyes.
It wasn't long before a man who stepped outside for a smoke struck up a conversation with Caden. Caden, who was waiting for someone meant to return his wallet to him. Yes, he would love a cigarette, thank you. His accent? Oh, it wasn't from any one place, he'd traveled a lot. Yes, he was beginning to resign himself to the truth of having been stood up.
Would you? Oh, how could he repay you.
And so it was that he ended up sharing a meal with a stranger from this strange land, and then a long, glorious fuck in that stranger's bed. Do you want me to go, he asked, afterwards, as they lay boneless and sweaty together.
No, stay, and Caden did.
