Bel, Erskin, and Jethro: Be celebrities.

You lean against him and purr as he fusses over you, warming slowly. There's no pail business to attend to, you already made a terrible mess of yourself and don't care. "Kadros," you assure him, sliding your hands across his arms, shoulders, his ears. You know who he is, you want who he is, fussy incomprehensible bastard that he is. "Bel, yes, I know. Yes."

But the pleasure in straining yourself that a pitch romp induces is starting to fade, and you're increasingly, unhappily sore. The pulsing ache of your marks is starting to reassert itself, and mixing headache pills and vodka was possibly not the most clever idea in the world. When Bel glances a kiss off one of your horns you hiss a little, ducking away. You haven't strained yourself to the extent of some past dream jaunts, but the cores of your horns are pulsing with a bitter, insistent soreness.

"Sorry," you say, patting him with one hand, rubbing the hornbase with the other. "Mmm. Overdid it a little."

 

You pause in rummaging your new coat out from under the seating platform to use it as a blanket, and look at him in consternation. "Why are you getting hornaches when --" When Cloris is dead. Could one of her nasty little friends be preying on his pan like she did? But dreamwalking isn't a thing all rainbow drinkers can do, according to your research, so...

Wait a minute. "Wait a minute. You said -- when we broke the wall, you said something about finding out if I can fly outside of dreams. How did you know I was dreaming about flying?"

 

"Well, I was there," you tell him, surprised at his surprise. "Hold up, you didn't know? I thought Jethro would have—" reported on me, but no, he didn't, they've both said so. "I picked dreamwalking up from Cloris, after she visited me once or twice. I don't have quite the same stamina, so—" you gesture, "— hornaches. Only thing for it is practice, of course."

 

You gawk at him in indignant admiration. "You mean that obnoxious little crow who pulled out my tailfeather was actually you?" Unable to find the words to express your feelings, and forbidden from biting him, you grab him around the middle and blow an enormous raspberry on his stomach. "Why the hell weren't you a duck?" PBBTHBTLTT!

 

You shriek and thrash, beating your fists on his back as you try in vain to protect your middle. After the gruesome torment is over you hang from his arms and pant, outraged but temporarily too worn-out to exact an appropriate revenge. You settle for pulling one of his ears.

"I don't have to be anything I don't want to," you inform him. "And anyway quackbeasts don't have anything to do with raptors if they can possibly help it— isn't really me, is it?" You grin and pull his ear again. "Eagles aren't good for anything besides looking a great deal smarter and more dignified than they actually are, you know."

 

"Hey, eagles don't think they're dignified, that's just what everyone else says. What eagles think about eagles is that they're efficient hunters, family-oriented, and pretty. I know because Dad told me," you add before he can ask. "Apparently thunderbirds speak the same language as regular eagles. Stop pulling my ear. You're such a crow." You prop yourself up on your elbows, chin in hands, temporarily giving up on trying to get your face in his belly again. "Hey, just before I found you, I dreamed you joined me for a Reenactment Society battle, I don't suppose that was dreamwalking too?"

 

You frown, rubbing your horns. "I... I don't..." You shake your head. "I don't remember, er, much— the few nights before you turned up were, were, well. A bit rough. I don't remember. Maybe?"

It dawns on you how very little of your time with Cloris is clear in your memory. Muddled impressions, convictions, flashes of sensation and pleasure and adoration— but the night to night events are a blur. Your Lady, your dearest love, you should have engraved every moment with her into your heart but there's... it's all a soup.

Well, that's not anything Bel will care about. You huff and burrow back into his arms, giving the whole issue up as a bad job for now.

 

"Sorry. I..." Well, you can't think of a way to apologize without potentially making it worse. "It was a good dream, that's all. I liked fighting beside you."

 

"Heaven help whoever we both get lined up on hating together," you murmur, amused. "They'd be a grease-smear inside half an hour, I shouldn't think. Maybe I should give one of your— your— the small reinactments. If there are any. Maybe I should give a little one a try, sometime."

 

"Oh, that would be so unfair to our opponents," you grin wickedly. "I love it."

 

You nip his arm. "Isn't any fun, an unfair fight. No honor in losing or winning..." You yawn. "We'll find something proper, properly sized... Mmfgn, Kadros, put me back in my pile, Im not sleeping on the damn floor of a luxury hotel."

 

"Get back in the pile yourself, I'm not your -- oh, fine." With a great deal of fake annoyance, you pick him up and carry him into the lounge -- where Jethro immediately snaps a picture of you.

"If you send that to Lainey --"

"Too late," he says, typing on his phone. "Her competition done got a shot a Erskin's ass up against the window. She gotta catch up somehow."

"What?"

"Don't squash Acorn."

"What?"

"Y'all better make another vid soon, trashin' hotel rooms is getting old."

"Oh my god." You drop Erskin on him so they both yelp. "I'm going back to sleep."

Someone whistles at your bare ass as you stride back into the respiteblock. You raise both hands over your head for a double eagle salute.

 

"Aw," you mumble, watching Bel leave. You'd meant for him to settle in with you and Jethro too... Oh, well. Jethro's warm as anything, though you have to bat his hands away from your sore horns a few times, his psionic charge gone prickly and uncomfortable again. A large and fragrant food item attaches itself to your chest and you pat at it groggily.

"Onions," you comment, and doze off.