You don't mind him just holding your hand and looking pityingly at your marks, but when he touches your wrist there, the soft sore parts, the sweet sting of it goes through you like fire. "Ah—" you gasp, and pull your wrist back, your face burning. "I, I— I don't. Er. Think. I don't think you should touch me like that." ((i think how shy erskin is about sex stuff around jethro is hilarious. bel could definitely tease him about it.))
"Does it hurt?" "That's not a pain face," Bel puts in, and when you glance over at him, the smart aleck grin on his face inspires you to splash him just to see him splutter. "Y'all can figger that one out when I ain't in the water with you," you say sternly. To Erskin, you add more gently, "Aight, I won't poke it, but lemme check it ain't infected." While you're doing your best to examine the punctures for coloring or swelling without touching them, Bel, who is now hogging the vodka bottle, gives a tipsy burble of delight. "Look who's finally awake!" You follow his point to see a groggy Reggie waddling in, wings half-spread as if he needs their help to keep his balance. "Oh, thank God," you breathe. You'd been trying not to think of what would happen if he never woke up.
"Oh!" you say. "Oh, good show, old thing, come here," and you lean out of the tub to scoop him up. He goes "henk," irritatedly, and flaps in an uncoordinated burst while you get yourself turned around and sat down. You set him in the water and he hardly floats, but he gamely dives a few times, shakes his wings out, and attends to preening his rumpled tail. "Goodness, that's a relief," you say, and take the vodka back from Bel. You have to elbow him in the face just a bit to accomplish this, but you manage to yourself another measure and raise the glass. "To your very good health, sir," you say, saluting your stalwart protector, and apply the contents therof to your inside bits. Reggie fluffs his crest, unamused, and paddles stiffly over to the food tray thingy to apply himself to the leftovers. "Have them send up more steak," you tell Bel, and elbow him again. "And cake. And apples. And another vodka."
"I'm not sure we should have another vodka," you say unsteadily, but you order another vodka, as well as all the other things. "Ask them," Jethro prompts, "if someone can let Paw out and in so he don't mess up their nice doors tryna open 'em hisself. An' ask 'em where a bear oughtta go, if he normally shits in the woods but we're kinda a ways from those --" "Jegus," you say, interrupting your word-for-word repetition of Jethro's request, and hear the hotel worker on the other end of the connection stifling a laugh. You roll your eyes. "Where do large lusii do their business," you translate, and pass the answer on. Paw licks Reggie's beaky little face in greeting before he pads off to make room for more steak. You can't help laughing at the little guy's indignant reaction to getting bear spit on his feathers. You've always liked Reggie. "Your egg is okay," you tell him, just in case he understands you. "I found it about an hour after you guys left it, and I've kept it at my blood temperature ever since. I figure that's about midway between you and Loggan."
"Heaven help whatever poor monstrosity spills out," you say, scratching Reggie's chin. "Y'know, he didn't much care about the egg, really, after he laid it. He seemed about as surprised as I was, if you can believe it, and after we got the satchel rigged up he was a bit like, righto, that's my end done with. If his, his— eurgh, offspring, if the thing needs much tending I think we might have to hop to. Or mail it off to Ms Pancho on express."
"Or Lu. I know you don't like her, but hear me out," you add hastily. "You know how we were going to find Enkidi's lusus? Well, it turns out the poor thing got lonely and took on another grub. Literally a grub. Apparently otters steal eggs?" The aghast look Jethro is giving you is hilarious, thanks to vodka, and you just shrug. "So we get there and there's this... this..." You gesture with your hands to show how big it is. "Flying wormbaby. I'm weirded out, Enkidi is horrified, but Lu just straight up names it Pinkie Buglet and puts face paints on it, she loves that little thing. Adopted it as a pet, I guess."
You've bristled all over at the mention of the clown. You fold your fins back with a bit of effort and sink further down into the water. "That's disgusting," you mutter. "But I do recall she made a nuisance of herself over the scalebeasts as well. It might be some sort of clown disease. D'you know how they're doing? The wigglers, I mean, not diseased clowns. I don't want to hear anything more about those."
You snicker. "Like you don't have the same disease, adopting giant baby monsters." But you show him on your phone the picture Pancho sent for just such an occasion; she predicted he'd want photographic proof. It is a snapshot of your lusus perched proudly on the back of one of the enormous things as they bask on the beach. He looks like a gull perched on an iguana, they're so huge. Their scales are glossy and beginning to develop colorful markings. One of the scalebeasts is sprawled on its back, and from the gouges in the sand, looks to have been scratching its back with waggling motions like a barkbeast. The caption says, "eagledad takes credit for everything, he's been fishing for them most nights. i've been trying to teach them to play ball but mostly they just eat it."
Gigantic bloody eagle or not, you recognize avian affection when you see it. The fellow is fluffed proprietorially on top of your wigglers like the proudest guardian in the world, and it makes you smile. "They're so big!" you say. "That's absolutely delightful. Oh my goodness. Look at Ginger, her tertiary scutes are coming in magnificently. Jethro, look! Look at that. And Blaise molted off that kink in her tail, I was worried about that. Fantastic. I think they're going to break records when they finish up their growing. Be going after skywhales, I shouldn't wonder." You're nearly purring, examining every last little detail of your darling charges, and when Bel tries to take the phone back you turn around so he can't.
"Haha, will ya look at that," you grin, and ruffle his hair. "You're cute as hell, you know that?" "Clown disease," Bel stage-whispers. You stick out your tongue at him, then go back to admiring the picture. "Too bad 'zookeeper' is nine letters, you coulda had your adult title."
You ostentatiously avoid giving Bel the satisfaction of seeing you seeing him make fun of you, and scoop Jethro on to your lap. For good measure you sling an arm around his chest and rest your cheek against his horn. Goodness, he's warm. "I shouldn't want to keep a zoo, regardless," you say. "It's a bit miserable, isn't it, all those cages?"
"We've got a whole island," you point out. "Well, most of an island. You don't want anything remotely edible going too close to Loggan's territory. Pancho and I are a bit older than you, anyway, and we might have to disappear at any time if someone rumbles to Enkidi still being alive, so eventually you'll have the place to yourself."
"...Oh," you say. "Right, yes, sometimes I forget all this is 0nly temporary." And that Bel's first priority is always, always going to be Enkidi, no matter how sweetly he says 'always' or how ferociously he comes to murder whoever else might take care of you. You pour yourself the last of the vodka and down it, then manage a grin. "I'll keep the smelliest beasts in your old hive," you tell him. "And whichever ones like eating fancy old piles of books."
"I wish I could convince you to come with us. I don't think Ascension is going to be... what you're hoping for." You shake your head. "Too serious. Serious and vodka, bad combination. The point is... what was the point. Ah yes, the point is, Erskin, my beautiful barbarian, there is plenty of room to keep all your beasties outdoors in vast habitats of their own. You could give tours!" Maybe you should stop drinking now. ... Naaaah.
"Good heavens, you're fucking toasted," you say, surprised and delighted. You pat Jethro's face for attention. "Look, he's being irresponsible. That's bloody well fantastic. I didn't know he had it in him. We should give him an award." You heave out of the pool, limp over to the discreetly delivered tray of second-round room service, and go back with it to drop the second bottle into Bel's lap, the cake and such in front of Jethro, and yourself into the deep end of the pool. You skim back along the length and pop up between Bel's legs, your hands on each knee, and nearly get brained with the bottle for it. He's actually cute like this, disheveled against the rim of the pool, his hair hanging in messy clumps and his cheeks vividly blue. When you lean in his eyes go flatteringly dark. "Say the ayem-bedt backwards," you order him, gleefully. "Touch your nose. Recite the pledge of allegiance. Do a kickflip."
"Kiss my ass," you return, and burst out laughing. Hooking your non-bottle-holding hand around the back of his neck, you snog him soundly. "I was a little tanked on our first date, you know. Pancho made me a hate potion before I went. It was basically Raging Lusus and vodka. C'mere, you're too sober." Jethro, snickering into a slice of strawberry cake, rolls his eyes. "You guyyys, don't get your mack on while I'm in the pool." "We're not macking," you say primly, and try to bite Erskin's right fin.
"We're having a dialogue," you say, licking your lips dazedly. Then he gets his fangs into your fin and you whine, going loose and compliant against him, your throat bared in automatic invitation.
You withdraw and blink at him in horny perplexity. "I think I hit the drinker button," you theorize. "Bel," Jethro says in a warning tone. Ignoring him, you ask Erskin, "Do you want me to bite your neck?" Jethro kicks you in the thigh pretty hard. "Bel. Not when you're both drunk, ya dumb turnip. Anybody'd have issues after sumpin like he went through, you wanna make your spade all weird?" "It's already pretty weird," you shrug, but you lightly headbutt Erskin's brainpan instead of biting him again.
"Mmm, no, I-- I do, want, you can have me," you murmur, nuzzling warmly against his cheek. Your marks are singing need, for all that you were taken only earlier this evening.
"It's been so long," you say hoarsely, nuzzling back, "and I missed you so much." In your periphery, you're vaguely aware of Jethro eyerollingly monologuing about how oh look his lusus is back and he's getting all pruney anyhow so maybe he'll just get out of the pool, and take Reggie, and the egg bag, and go have a big critterpile in the lounge block, bye! Then the bathroom door closes and you're alone with your rival, whom you came so close to losing. Those bite marks he's so sensitive about look really terrible after soaking. You should probably lick them a lot.
