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“I need you to come see my Idiot.”
Ifa bites down; separating the grass held casually in his teeth. Normally he’d spit out the bitten-off part but personal feelings aside, the shaman is still a lady and barring that, an honored elder. He swallows the bit of stalk before flicking the rest to the wind.
Cacucu had alerted him to someone’s presence, but Granny Itztli was the last person he expected to ever darken his door.
Forcing a smile, he tips his hat before acknowledging her words.
“Ah, I assume you mean Ororon? Normally he’d come get me himself if he wanted company.”
Which is rare, but he doesn’t bother mentioning it. Ororon has inherited his caretaker’s propensity for solitude, though this is due to his quiet nature more than any real avoidance. Itztli’s expression doesn’t change. She always looks angry and, according to Ororon, always is but the strain in her voice is telling.
“He’s not asking. I am. -And not for your company .”
She says the last with enough disdain that it’s obvious she thinks very little of his companionship. It’s sobering to learn that his dislike might be reciprocated, though honestly he’s barely met the woman. Just enough for her to deem him worthy of having regular contact with her grandson.
“Alright then. -You mind telling me what this is about, or am I just supposed to drop everything at your word, no questions asked?”
Those ancient eyes narrow. It’s obvious that she’s not used to any kind of back-talk and he already knows what her expectations are. Still, she surprises him by cutting right to the chase.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
Her tone doesn’t convey surprise; instead she sounds vaguely amused by the audacity.
He knows he can’t draw faster than she can put her witchery on him if it comes down to it, but his simmering anger makes the truth come out anyway.
“No, ma’am.”
Weirdly that seems to make her thoughtful, rather than irate.
“Oh? -And why is that?”
He frowns because he never intended to have this conversation, but he’s having a hard time trying to justify not having it now. Realizing that letting it drop likely isn’t in the cards, Ifa lets out a sharp huff of breath before answering.
“It might seem unfair, seeing as how we don’t know each other that well and all, but I feel like someone as learned and venerated as yourself should be able to use better words when referring to someone they consider family.”
He’s trying to be very diplomatic, and it seems to be working as she cocks her head in confusion.
“Is this because I called my grandson an idiot? -That’s my privilege since I raised his silly ass. It’s a term of endearment–but you already knew that.”
She sends him a narrow-eyed look. Ifa does know that. And for anyone else he wouldn’t question it, but Ororon is… different. He thinks differently, behaves differently. Processes things differently.
“I know you say it with affection, but I don’t think you realize what it does; hearing that all the time from someone close to him. He ain’t like other people, who learn to filter that stuff out. Ororon assumes everyone speaks the truth unless he catches them in a lie–and your word is the one he trusts above all.”
The simmering anger is trying to flare up, but he does his best to tamp it down. He’s been through this before but this is the first time he’s had a chance to confront the woman about it.
It’s taking a lot not to raise his voice.
“He calls himself dumb all the time. -He’s not even talking down to himself, he just accepts it as fact . And it breaks my heart because I try to convince him that he’s not–that he’s smart because he really is … And he’s back to talking that way the next time. I assume that’s the general consensus over there, and it's… it’s just disappointing, I guess. -But especially when it comes from you.”
There. That was good. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t throw his hat down in frustration. The shaman is looking at him oddly. Like that wasn’t what she was expecting.
“Has he told you what our tribe tried to do? When he was young?”
Ororon has. In that guileless way of his, he told the story of how the Masters of the Night-Wind thought to use him to restore the nation’s fragile, war-torn leylines. That they thought this child with a fractured soul must also have a fractured mind; what with his perpetual silence and quiet, careful nature.
The way he explained it, it was like they were doing him a kindness. Ifa doesn’t remember that conversation very well because he’d gotten very drunk after. It was the only thing he could think to do that wouldn’t incite a tribal war.
“Yep. -And just in case you’re wondering, that dislike extends to the lot of you. I’m sure you have good people over there, but in all sincerity–I wouldn’t piss on any of you if you were on fire.”
This is also the reason he doesn’t make house calls at the Mictlan enclave. He’ll take on any hurting saurian or animal no matter their origins, but he avoids that place like the plague .
The silence stretches on and he begins to wonder if these are the last moments of free, coherent thought he’ll ever have before Granny Itztli huffs in something like satisfaction.
“You’ll do. -Come along now. Unless there’s an emergency, my grandson needs you.”
He knows the pointed use of ‘grandson’ was for his benefit. He has very little hope that she’ll stop referring to him in the manner she always does, but before he can inquire as to the nature of his friend’s need, she turns those odd-colored eyes on him again.
“Oh, and if he ever mentions hearing that kind of talk from anyone else–I want names. -It’s my privilege to call him out on his occasional stupidity, no one else’s. I trust you won’t have any objections to that?”
He blinks because hadn’t considered that the mighty and feared shamaness wouldn’t know tribal scuttlebutt but he supposes her perpetual hermitude might have something to do with it. He tips his hat in acquiescence.
“Yes, ma’am. -Though I don’t think anyone actually says anything. It just seems to be the consensus, like I said.”
She harrumphs in a way that shows her true age.
“Well, I can’t change people’s hearts and minds but I sure as hell can shut them up. If we’re done here, let’s go.”
Bowing to the inevitable, he tells Cacucu to mind the shop; making sure his saurian companion knows who to contact if he’s needed while away. Ifa’s not the only veterinarian in Natlan, though he seems to be one of the most popular due to his success.
He figures he’ll have the trip to Mictlan to figure out just why he’s needed in this case.
*
The journey to the Masters of the Night-Wind tribal lands takes a little longer than usual since neither of them are using saurians to travel, though Itztli occasionally summons one of her odd-shaped pillows when she tires of walking. It’s.. kind of cute actually, though he’ll die before admitting it.
“In the interest of being fair, I suppose I should explain why I don’t like you.”
Floating next to him on the vaguely cat-shaped body-pillow, the tiny shamaness is sitting in a dignified pose, though the silliness of her conveyance ruins the effect. He glances over, unsure of where she’s going with this and why.
“There’s really no need but if you want small talk, I’ll oblige you.”
Truthfully, Ifa doesn’t care why Granny Itztli hasn’t taken a shine to him, as that seems to be her setting for pretty much everyone. It’s enough that he’s allowed into Ororon’s very limited circle of friends, though that might be due to Ororon being a grown-ass man rather than her indulgence.
“I’ll take a small listen, then.”
He huffs at the cheek before lapsing into silence as she speaks.
“It’s because of you that he really understands what we did. Or tried to do. He still doesn’t seem to hate us, Archon knows why , but being around you has made him more self-aware and part of me hates you for that.”
He really wants to stay quiet but he can’t help but ask:
“Is it the part of you with an itchy curse-finger?”
He’s only half joking because they are currently in the borders of Mictlan but not close to the enclave so anything that happened out here could easily be explained away as something other than murder. To his surprise, the woman snorts.
“Oh I’d definitely use a whole hand to curse you, if that was my intention. -In your defense, the same awareness that makes every apology one for not dying is the same one that tells him what happened was wrong . He’s still coming to terms with that I think, but the fact that he can see it like that is the only reason you’re still walking upright and not crawling on your belly like a worm.”
Well, that was downright hostile but also without any real malice. Just matter-of-fact. He reconsiders when she pins him with a baleful glare.
“Though I might decide otherwise if he picks up any more swear words.”
He laughs at that, releasing some of the tension that had built up during their mostly silent journey.
“He learned them more from Cacucu than me. In his mind, if it's safe for a saurian it’s safe for a human, though I admit Cacucu got them from me, certainly.”
Beside him, the small form scoffs. It sounds a little like laughter.
*
He’s given a wide berth on arrival, probably due to his escort, but eventually gets surrounded by a group of curious children. His reputation precedes him even here, it seems.
“Mister Ifa! Mister Ifa! Ororon says you’re an animal doctor. I want to be one too!”
As Granny Itztli hasn’t stepped in to shoo the kids away, he assumes he’s allowed to engage. He tips his hat at the boy, a smile on his face.
“Oh? You want to put your arm up a saurian’s vent to prevent an egg breach?”
It’s obvious the kid doesn’t know what exactly he’s referring to, but the egg part makes it plain. The boy’s face scrunches in mild disgust. A lot of people assume that caring for animals is just petting them and talking nice to them and not seeing them with horrible messy injuries. Half the time, he’s having to look through their shit for a diagnosis.
“N-no. I just… I thought..”
He decides to give the kid a break.
“Then I really can’t recommend it. It’s not for the squeamish. -Why do you think I wear this long glove?”
He punctuates the statement by patting the kid’s head with said glove. Realizing where his arm has potentially been (though not recently), the boy ducks from under his hand with a squeal. Smart kid.
Beside him, he hears what sounds suspiciously like a snicker.
“Alright you brats. I know you have other places to be.”
The kids all disperse at Itztli’s command, though he suspects his little display has soured their interest. Which is good. Some of the things he’s seen would scar a veteran warrior and while the world could use more veterinarians, he’s in no hurry to take on apprentices. -And especially none from here.
“Watch it. -The only one allowed to dash the hopes and dreams of our youth is me, but I’ll let that one slide. Because it was funny.”
His ‘Yes, ma’am’ is automatic, following as she leads him further into the depths of the enclave. They stop at a small house, tucked far into the mountain. He is ushered inside and told to wash up. While he’s none too keen on getting naked here, he’s bullied into it by the shamaness who informs him it’s not a request.
“I’m about to take you into the sacred heart of our tribe. This is the bare minimum required to enter. -Be thankful I’m not forcing you to do the whole ritual.”
With that, she leaves, giving him a terse command for expediency through the door to what he’s certain is her own bathroom. Sighing, he shucks his gear and folds himself into the tub–which is large enough to fit him, if just barely.
He squawks when she bursts in later, but she only grabs up his clothing and departs; rolling her eyes at his indignant look.
“Hey! Where are you going with that? -I need it!”
She doesn’t answer and he mutters to himself as he finishes up. Thankfully she knocks the next time, bringing in a dark bundle of cloth presumably for him to change into.
He wants to argue but he currently has no weapon to back him up beyond his own nakedness, which has already proven ineffective. He slides into the thick robe which is surprisingly his size before binding it up; shucking off the towel he’d been wearing previously and hanging it over the side of the tub.
Granny Itztli looks slightly pink when finally turns but he chalks it up to the steam still present in the room.
“Well, do I pass muster?”
She sniffs disdainfully.
“Not even, but it’ll have to do.”
She kicks a pair of sandals at him and once again bades him to follow. Slipping them on, he does so, frowning.
“Are you ever going to tell me what it is I’m here for?”
She doesn’t turn, instead saying over her shoulder.
“I already told you; you’re here for my grandson.”
He shuts up with a grimace because that wasn’t any more helpful than it was the first time and it's obvious he’s not getting any details. He’ll just have to find out when he gets there.
*
Thankfully the walk to Mictlan’s inner sanctum is fairly short.
Ifa nods to the large Iktomisaur, who cocks their head curiously at him. He then meets the Chief of the Masters of the Night-Wind who is the tallest human he’s ever seen. They exchange pleasantries before he’s ushered away, even further into the strange not-darkness.
He didn’t miss the silent exchange between the giant man and Itztli but as he certainly is not privy to whatever is going on, he can’t really do anything with the observation.
The air in the cave gets cooler the further in they go and Ifa is grateful for the heaviness of the robe as they finally stop before a cloth barrier. Steeling herself, the shamaness sighs before turning to him.
“So, standard disclaimer: Ororon has been acting weird–even for him. We don’t know why. He’s been seen by the tribe medics, who say there’s nothing wrong with him physically but…”
She trails off and something in Ifa clenches at the thought of his friend’s odd constitution rearing its head in a way that no one can really help with. But Granny Itztli continues.
“You’re his only real friend. The one closest to him other than me. -It’s the only reason I’m allowing you to see him like this.”
That just makes his anxiety ratchet higher.
“Has he been violent?”
Normally that wouldn’t cross anyone’s mind but he feels he has to ask. Thankfully, his worries in this at least are assuaged.
“No. He’s… -You know what? I’m going to let you make your own assumptions before I offer any of mine. Enter with a clear mind.”
She holds back the cloth and he slides his own arm under it, opening it so he doesn’t have to stoop down. He can hear her steps at his back, so he’s not facing whatever this is alone, at least.
The first thing he notices about the room is that there’s cushions everywhere, a plush bedroll tucked in their midst. The next thing he notices is a set of familiar ears–ones he’s tried to identify time and time again to no avail.
Sitting against the wall in a cocoon of blankets is Ororon. When he turns to them fully, Ifa notes his crimson eye gives off its own light. He hadn’t noticed that before. He tries to think if he ever saw Ororon in the dark, but for some reason can’t remember ever doing so.
“Ifa. Granny. Hello.”
He stands and the next thing that becomes glaringly obvious is that Ororon is not wearing anything under the blanket. He can hear Itztli’s exasperated breath as she calls out behind him.
“Cover yourself, idiot.”
Ifa knows Ororon has a good body. The guy does plenty of manual labor tending his vegetables and it’s obvious in his bare arms and form-fitting pants. But it's one thing to know it in the abstract and another thing to see it in all its pale glory.
“Oh. Sorry.”
He wants to laugh as the younger man attempts to wrangle the blanket, which gives him a perfect view of the other’s shapely ass and back as he twists around, attempting to make a garment of it. After a few moments of being unsuccessful, Itztli cracks.
“Archon, just.. tie it around your waist or something.”
Ororon makes a thoughtful sound before doing just that. Clothed only slightly less than Ifa himself, he turns to them once more.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Other than his undressed state and his eye glowing steadily in the gloom, Ororon doesn’t seem like he’s acting any differently. Ifa turns an even gaze on the shamaness, who steps forward at his silent accusation.
“You feel like wearing clothes today, grandson mine?”
Ifa turns back to his friend, who seems to ponder this before answering.
“No.”
Itztli raises a brow, and he acknowledges that it’s odd. Well, odder than usual, anyway.
“Any particular reason you feel like going all natural today?”
Ororon turns that glowing eye on him and he takes a moment to really look at it. He’s so entranced that he misses what he says. He blinks when a slim, black-gloved hand covers the eye in question. That shouldn’t be right, she’s not tall enough...
Ifa realizes he’s on the ground; Ororon hovering over him. He shakes himself awake.
“Okay, I’m going to need you to dial that back to like a two.”
Ororon looks up at his grandmother in confusion, her hand moving away from his face.
“I’m not doing anything.”
Ifa keeps his eyes on Itztli this time as she sighs, eyes sharp despite what she says.
“Hoo boy. -I think I know what’s going on now. Ororon, how do you feel about Ifa being here?”
He knows she’s asking for his benefit, because Ifa has no idea what’s happening anymore. He looks back to his friend, carefully avoiding his eyes which are staring at him with an intensity he can feel.
“I feel weird. Hungry, maybe? -He smells good.”
Ifa knows that should probably be alarming but he oddly can’t work himself up over it. He still feels kind of floaty. What the hell kind of magic is this?
“Hungry as in, you want to eat him?”
Itztli’s voice sounds like it's far away when he knows she’s barely a step behind Ororon.
“Yes. -No. I mean not eat-eat him but…”
He makes the mistake of looking at the other’s face and the Eye tells him to be calm. Be still. So he doesn’t twitch when Ororon gets well inside his personal space and puts his lips on the skin of his sternum.
The bite should make him jerk but honestly he barely feels it.
It takes a minute or two to come back from that one. Once he’s aware of his surroundings again, he realizes the sound he’s hearing is someone getting hit repeatedly. Turning his head reveals a cowering Ororon taking many an open-handed smack.
That makes him irrationally angry and despite being barely recovered from whatever kind of voodoo this is, he calls out:
“Stop it, you little witch.”
It comes out much milder than he intends, anger slipping through his hands like a newly hatched koholasaur whelp. Still, it serves its purpose in making her stop even if it comes with an aggrieved Ororon stating:
“Please don’t talk to Granny like that.”
He’ll talk to her worse than that just as soon as he’s feeling right. It seems like he blinks and she’s looming over him suddenly, as if summoned by his ire.
“Do you have any idea what he just did?”
Ifa has to think for a minute but the answer comes eventually.
“Pretty sure he bit me. -Guess I’m tasty huh?”
He can still feel the cooling moisture from where the small fangs slid into his skin. From his place on the ground, Ororon voices his agreement with that sentiment only to flinch under his grandmother’s warning look.
“He just stole your vitality. -If I had to take a guess, I’d say his soul is trying to repair itself using the closest medium available.”
He doesn’t like that she's talking like Ororon can’t hear but he chimes in anyway.
“Blood?”
The shamaness turns pink as she looks away from him. Like she’s embarrassed about what she’s about to say.
“Actually, if we’re talking about body fluids with soul potential, there’s a more potent one in you but... Let’s just go with blood.”
Two thoughts are fighting for the handful of functioning brain cells he currently has. One is identifying just what Ororon’s other aspect is. It’s a mystery he’s been low-key trying to solve since they met and the blood-drinking has narrowed down the list of creatures somewhat.
The second is the implication of the ‘soul potential’ in him. His brain is currently dancing around that one but is too chicken shit to settle on the answer. Ifa goes with the aspect argument and has a small epiphany.
“Oh. It’s a bat.”
It’s almost worth the expression on Itztli’s face to come up with that non sequitur seemingly out of nowhere. She casts a pleading look at the darkened gloom of the cave’s ceiling, as if asking for strength.
“‘A bat’ he says. -Are you talking about the sliver of animal aspect in my grandson? Of course it’s a bat. Aren’t you a veterinarian?”
If Ifa weren’t coming down off of whatever Ororon’s eye put on him, he’d probably be a lot more offended by that.
“The ears kind-of match, and the teeth I guess–but not the color. I thought maybe it was rift hound or even Iktomisaur.”
From the other side of the room where he was dragged by his tiny slip of a grandmother, Ororon chimes in.
“Iktomisaur would be cool.”
The combined ridiculousness of the both of them seems to break the woman. She covers her face as if to hide from their nonsense.
“Rift hound … That’s an abyss creature, not even–how are you this stupid?”
She sighs heavily before straightening; her gaze turning hard.
“I am going to let nature take its course here. It’s obvious that you two are peas in a pod.”
She whips around and Ororon flattens himself against the wall at her stern glare.
“You. Watch how much you take. Make sure he stays hydrated. I’m setting up regular check-ins where you’ll get supplies and someone to look you over.” She flushes again. “Ask this guy if you have any questions about any of it, since he’s so smart.”
She frowns at her cowering grandson.
“And let’s get something to cover your eye–”
“No.”
Surprised by his response, she turns back to him. He feels coherent enough to sit up on his elbows and level a flat stare at her.
“I don’t want this to be awkward. Whatever mojo he’s turning out will help.”
She cocks her head, looking down at him with a small frown on her lips.
“It's hitting you hard. You won’t be able to consent to anything. Or be coherent, although that seems to come and go with you anyway.”
He huffs because he doesn’t remember giving his consent to any of this, so that’s a shaky leg to stand on at best.
“Weren’t you about to leave us to our own devices? I’m here of my own volition, a willing sacrifice just like you wanted–let’s not dress it up as something else, yeah?”
At this, the woman looks slightly guilty. Ifa assumes she knew exactly what she was doing. Keeping things vague on purpose in case he decided to drag his feet. She should have known better.
All she had to do was say a certain someone needed help.
“Is that true, Granny?”
Ororon’s quiet voice cuts through the din and the effect it has on the intended target is immediate. Itztli looks stricken for a moment before her face settles once more into its normal aloofness.
“It doesn’t matter if it's true. He’s here, he’s willing and you need him. We can talk about it later if you want.”
With that, she marches out of the small room; cloth door a whisper as it falls in place behind her. Ifa sits up fully, waiting.
Eventually Ororon comes out of his defensive crouch and plops down next to him.
“I’m sorry.”
He blinks at the other man in confusion.
“About what?”
His friend makes a sound and motions around the room, the source of his frustration apparently too large to articulate. Ifa can relate.
“Don’t worry about that stuff. -You heard your granny; talking is for later.”
He can feel that gaze like a touch and he decides what the hell. You only live once.
*
“Ifa…”
Ororon’s voice makes it hard to wake up; smooth and dark, like that fabric a trader had given him for treating his pack animals. He’d called it satin. It's a wonder it even roused him until he realizes it wasn’t his voice but his hand. He’s given another careful tug before Ororon notices he’s aware of the treatment.
“I’ll try not to make it weird but.. can I?”
Having his blood drained from various parts of his body means he is well past having an opinion on weirdness. It turns out Ororon doesn’t like biting the same place twice, so it’s been a bit of a game finding new spots. Well, it would be a game if Ifa was playing. He’s been practically insensate for… he doesn’t even know. Time has pretty much lost all meaning at this point.
So he can be forgiven for not fully understanding what the other is asking for.
“Sure. You can have whatever you want.”
At this tacit approval, Ororon brings his mouth down over the one part of him that fangs should never be near. Realizing his mistake, Ifa makes a pathetic attempt at damage control.
“T-teeth. -Watch your teeth.”
This makes Ororon look at him and the eye does its work, putting him right back under until all he can do is breathe and occasionally make embarrassing noises.
It won’t be until much later that he’ll realize this is what the old witch meant when she implied he had something else with higher soul potential. Things get a lot more interesting once Ororon gets a taste of that.
*
Eventually the sound of Cacucu’s usual chatter brings him back.
Frowning, he can feel the sunlight on his eyelids which doesn’t match the last memories he has. Blinking awake, he sees that he’s in a vaguely familiar dwelling.
“Oh, Cacucu. He’s awake.”
Ifa barely registers the voice before he gets a face full of qucusaur crest. Sputtering, he calms the other down and sits up properly, eyeing Ororon who looks… exactly how he always looks. He notes that his friend’s eye is back to its normal, flat red. Looking directly into it does nothing but make the bearer blink at his scrutiny.
As for Ifa, he’s still in the robe he remembers wearing which is a relief. He’s not sure he could handle knowing all of that was a dream. A very wet dream.
“I brought Cacucu here. It’s been a few days. He was getting worried.”
He huffs, incredulous. A few days?
“Ah, thanks man. -Hope he didn’t bother your aphids again.”
Cacucu flutters out of his arms, fervently denying such base accusations.
“NO WAY, BRO!”
He reaches up to scruff the other’s feathers and ducks under the peck aimed at him in retaliation. That makes Ororon let out a chuff.
He soon lapses back into his normal seriousness, though.
“How do you feel? Are you… alright?”
At the question, Ifa takes stock of himself. He’s pleasantly sore in a bunch of little places and still feeling a little lax from coming so many times. All in all, not so bad for flinging himself into the unknown.
“I’m fine. -Probably should get back to work, though. Especially since it’s been so long.”
Too long, really. He stretches, looking around for his gear. He’s in Ororon’s house which is quite a ways from the Mictlan enclave. He doesn’t remember the journey.
“You got my kit lying around here somewhere?”
Ororon stills in that way he does when he’s overlooked something.
“Oh.”
Curious, but also wary that he’s not going to like the next few moments, Ifa prompts:
“Oh. -What is ‘oh?’ -C’mon man, where’s my gear?”
Looking uncomfortable enough that Cacucu flutters into his lap (for petting! Cacucu NEVER does this with Ifa–just tries to strangle him with his own damn hat) Ororon quietly admits:
“I don’t know. I carried you here, but I didn’t ask about your clothes. I should have. -I’m sorry.”
Ifa sighs unhappily because he knows exactly where his gear is and he is in no way looking forward to getting it back.
“I’ve got a spare set at the clinic, but it’ll probably be easier getting them back from your granny–though I’m not sure the hassle will be worth it.”
He feels a prickle over his skin and notices Ororon is staring again. Like he did back in the cave. He’s surprised to feel himself respond to it. He’d figured most of that would be out of his system by now, but apparently not.
“Hm. Granny can be difficult. You can keep my robe though. I like that you have it.”
He hadn’t realized the garment was Ororon’s but it makes sense. Why else would she have something that size lying around?
“You ok, man? You’re looking at me kind of strange.”
Calling him out on it doesn’t make him stop, though. Ifa finds it oddly exhilarating.
“I’m not hungry but… Would it be ok if we didn’t go after your clothes right now?”
Ifa ponders this. While things are pretty much back to normal, it’s a shame that he spent the last few days in a pleasant haze with little memory of the time spent.
“Well now, I don’t know. -Did you happen to bring any of those supplies they gave us?”
Anyone else would be embarrassed but Ororon simply nods. Bless his crooked little soul.
“Yes. I thought we could, um. Try some other things. -If you wanted.”
Ifa has a weakness for direct people who know what they want, and apparently Ororon wanted him naked, with lube seeing how he didn’t even try to locate his clothes. He can feel his face slide into a leer.
“Alright then. You find a place for Cacucu to hang out and we’ll do some of those things. -Then you’re getting my clothes back from your grandma. Deal?”
Ororon’s on his feet in an instant, Cacucu fluffing up in annoyance before taking to the air. It hasn’t escaped his notice that his friend is kind of a looker–it’ll be nice to commit all that skin to memory for real this time.
“I’ll take care of it. -Come on, Cacucu. I’ll find a place for you to chill.”
The other man leaves with a sense of urgency he rarely exhibits. Sighing, Ifa reclines back into the bed. While it’s definitely been an odd couple of days, he’s strangely content with what's happened. -Even more so by what’s to come.
And if Granny Itztli doesn’t like it, well… It'll be a funny meltdown at least.