Gryphons
Chapter Four

Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, drug use
Summary: Khandid and Raski gossip, Dahli meets someone new, and Delaes is better at keeping his mouth shut than people suspect.
Notes: Ah and here in this chapter we get to meet Delaes Randerick, one of my personal favourites. Delaes has a very unique way of speaking. The only way to do it properly is with NO punctuation and one very deep breath. Actually, in one chapter I put a comma into one of his fast-paced monologues and received outraged comments from his fans, so I took it out. It IS physically possible to deliver his soliloquies in one breath; I know because I’ve had to prove each and every one of them out loud to a roomful of doubters.

I couldn’t resist throwing in a few slash references. I mean come on; this book practically gets down on its knees and begs for it. 'T is all in good fun, and NO offense is intended for or aimed at anyone.

Raski and Draephus lay in a comfortable heap, tangled together. The soft light of morning came through the window, turning the wood panelling lining the walls into gold. Raski made a soft sound of protest as Draephus gently pushed him onto his back to take him one more time.

“Draephus…” he muttered sleepily.

Draephus kissed him. “Ignore me, you’re having a nightmare.”

“More like a recurring dream.” He remained limp and submissive as Draephus mounted him yet again, then lazily draped his arms across his broad shoulders. “Khandi will be here soon,” said Raski softly against Draephus’ neck.

“Šukat Khandi.”

Raski grinned, his eyes closed, head on the pillow in a halo of black silk. He was so pretty like this, Draephus found himself just staring at him; the sheen of sweat over his dark skin, the glint of white between his parted lips. How did Raski manage to have prefect teeth? Draephus himself was missing most of his back teeth on his lower right jaw; the result of a blow to the face with the butt end of a very large weapon.

Raski drew a breath and writhed beneath Draephus’ body, moaning in pleasure, and Draephus kissed him, wanting to linger in this bed with him for as long as he was able. He was still a little overwhelmed by their conversation of the previous evening, touched by the idea that Raski would want a family with him. Secretly, however, Draephus was rather relieved that Raski had been declared unfit for breeding; it spared Draephus from having to tell his friend that no reputable doctor on Sferkkaa would let him father children. True, his blood was relatively free of diseases, but what Raski did not know, what no one other than Draephus knew, was that he suffered from a rare and aggressive form of arthritis; one caused by a virus that only manifested in people who had spent considerable periods of time in the deep jungles of the Southern Continent. Within ten years his joints would be virtually destroyed, and he would be completely crippled. Before he died he could look forward to the remaining bone in his body honeycombing and becoming like crumbling masonry. One day his ribs would simply be too weak to support his chest, and would collapse, killing him. Not even Vesper knew Draephus had the illness, and Draephus saw no reason to tell him. Vesper would be dead before the disease began to take a noticeable toll on him. Why worry the little guy? And Raski had enough to deal with. He wanted to think Draephus’ relatively clean blood meant he was healthy.

The bedroom door opened, and Khandid poked his head in. “I’ve got coffee!” he trilled. He paused. “Oh. Well it’s on the counter when you want it.”

Draephus continued his slow love making, nibbling a tasty spot on Raski’s neck. Raski freed one hand from beneath the covers and waved. “Good morning, Khandid.”

Khandid raised one eyebrow and smiled. “Certainly is for you,” he said dryly, and left.

“Little twerp,” muttered Draephus.

“Ignore him,” said Raski softly.

They finished making love, and Draephus rose from the huge bed to pull on his old combat pants, then make his way downstairs to share Khandid’s coffee. It was a rare and welcome treat, and he accepted a cup from Khandid with an ever rarer smile. He closed his eyes and breathed in the fragrance.

“Where did you get this?”

“Fan mail,” said Khandid. “Someone likes the noise we make enough to mail me two pounds of the stuff all the way from the South Continent. Won’t it be lovely when things reach the point where we have highly evolved and astonishingly futuristic things like… oh I don’t know… trade, and reliable mail?”

“We have trade, and mail. Things are getting better; it’s just… sporadic, painfully slow and expensive. At least we have communication, and most countries are working together to rebuild.” Draephus savoured a mouthful of the brew. “Oh that’s good. Now all we need is some milk and… Khandid Stracona I take back every rotten thing I ever said about you, even the things that were true.”

Khandid laughed as Draephus accepted the small container of milk. “My neighbour has a moo-moo cow.”

“As opposed to a regular cow. I’m going to kiss you.”

Khandid accepted the kiss, and laughed. “My, you are positively sweet today. You ought to come over here and play in Raski’s bed more often.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“Say no more. ‘Nari nuisse,’ am I right?”

“Bang on.”

Khandid nodded, and sipped his coffee. ‘Nari nuisse’ was an old expression, and though it was not easy to explain, every Sferkkaan knew its meaning. The literal translation was “it happened somewhere else.” The implied meaning; ‘it happened but there’s no need to mention it to anyone else’. Khandid was familiar with the expression; he had more than a few ‘nari nuisse’ events in his past himself.

Draephus made his way over to Raski’s large daybed, stretching out on it with his head propped up so he could sip his coffee, while watching the doings of the small creatures out in the tangle of wildflowers and weeds Raski liked to call a garden. Raski himself was slowly making his way down the stairs and over to Khandid, walking as if he were a century old and reaching a shaking hand for a cup of coffee. Khandid passed him a cup, and raised an eyebrow. Draephus may not want to talk, but Raski would. A silent conversation took place. Raski showed Khandid a length of distance between his two hands, then held up four fingers. Khandid’s eyes bugged and his jaw dropped. Raski leaned in close and whispered.

“Honestly, I don’t know how he manages to close his pants.”

“Well I won’t offer you a seat, then. FOUR times?”

“I couldn’t keep him off me.”

“No wonder he’s in such a good mood.”

Raski grinned. “I’m not feeling too badly myself.”

Both began snorting and giggling. Draephus raised his head and looked at the pair, brow furrowed. “What are you two cackling about?”

“Nothing,” they lilted innocently.

Draephus grumbled, but settled once more on the daybed, watching the little creatures in the soft misty rain. He smiled, very faintly.

“Nice to know I’m worth a bit of kitchen gossip,” he said quietly to the tiny fat bird that was settled on the window sill. He watched the bird, keeping one ear cocked for his two friends, who were whispering and giggling. Draephus wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being rated.

“ENOUGH, already!”

“Oh you are no fun,” said Khandid.

Draephus grumbled. Khandid brought him more coffee as an appeasement, then looked at Raski.

“So what shall we do today, Raski Jervyas?”

“Why I don’t know, Khandid Stracona. We could… pop into the Gryphon’s Roost.”

“A fabulous idea, Raski Jervyas, will you do the honours and turn on the computer?”

“I shall, Khandid Stracona.”

Draephus turned his head and looked at the pair. “I don’t believe you two! You’ll go blind reading that stuff, you know.”

“Oh come on, we can’t help ourselves, it’s like picking at a scab, you know you shouldn’t but you just have to,” said Raski.

“You’re war veterans, have a little self-respect and decorum,” Draephus grumbled.

Khandid and Raski looked at each other. “We’ll have to quit the music industry, then,” said Raski. “OH GOOD! Lady Nightfall is on, AUGH by all that is sacred to the Empire I loathe that alleged woman.”

Khandid seated himself next to Raski. “You don’t think Lady Nightfall is a woman?”

Raski’s blue eyes gleamed eerily in the light of the screen. “If she is, then I’m Straif Mannechek. And my fingers just don’t move that fast on the sepulchord. Oh look, pictures. This ought to be good.”

Draephus heard the click of a mouse, and braced himself for the shrieks, grumbling and muttering to himself. Finally he could not resist asking.

“What’s so funny?”

Raski was screaming with laughter, a sound not unlike demons being tortured. Khandid had tears in his eyes. “Stay over there, you don’t want to know, believe me. Oh that is SO not Mars’ body. And what is he doing with Draephus?”

Raski coughed and reached for his cigarettes. “I’m not even sure that’s his hair. And what is with that bow?!”

“It’s holding on that giant trouser snake.”

“We have to show that one to Mars. Oh hey, there’s been an update to the Draephus gallery! Let’s go look!”

Draephus winced. Raski clicked the mouse.

“Oh, YES! It’s by SkyBird, I love his stuff. Oh, NICE shot. I bet he took that down in Touskania. It’s a good one of Mars, too. The boy has a good eye, I’ll give him that.”

“Come on, get to the fun stuff,” said Khandid.

“The message board it is! I’ll just sign in under my true identity; Fwuffy-Wuv…”

“You’re a sick man, Jervyas.”

“Oh and what’s your screen name, Stracona?”

“I will have you know I am Puffy Bun-Tarts.”

“PUFFY BUN-TARTS?! Oh I am so outing you on the official fan listing.”

“Not if I out you first, Fwuffy. Oh look look look! There’s Mars!”

“Where? Which name?”

“Right there, ‘Blue Shade’. Let him know we are here.”

Raski typed out a message. “Heia Blue Shade! Come up a half note and I’ll meet you!”

The pair waited to see if Mars recognized the reference. Moments later he sent a response.

“You come down, I’m afraid of heights.”

Raski laughed. “He knows it’s us, great. Now let’s see what Lady Nightfall has been up to. Oh look, apparently you and Mars are having an affair. Hey! There’s an update on that badly written story in which Draephus rescues you from the prison camp.”

“Oh good, I’ve been dying to find out if I live.”

“Why am I always the whip-waving maniac? I wanna be the hero. Mars is always the hero.”

Draephus sighed and rolled his eyes, leaving Raski and Khandid to their nonsense. Finishing his coffee, he settled onto his side to nap.

***---***

Dahli wore the dark glasses Draephus had given her to school on Oneday. All the days of the Sferkkaan week were currently nameless, the populace harbouring a violent dislike to the names the Kyphisians had given them. Therefore, the nine days of the week had numbers, and so it would remain until somebody could dig up a historian who knew what the days had been named fourteen hundred years ago. Dahli had thought over bringing her cartoon, deciding Atania wouldn't believe her anyway, and there was no point in risking its disappearance.

She walked into the school, tromping down the hallway. She greeted the occasional person, and her favourite duone, which, in the adolescent mind, was not always the same thing as a person. She made her way to her locker and glanced about for Diza, but saw her nowhere. She hoped her friend was not home feigning some terrible illness; school was never any fun without her. Dahli took her books out of her locker and then made her way to the first class of the day.

Czamkiar was seated in his usual place at their table, and next to him was a girl Dahli had not yet met. She had to assume this was the new student Czamki had been trying to impress, and the girl perked up as she saw another female enter the room. She smiled widely, and Dahli smiled back, walking over to the table they occupied.

“I am so glad to be here,” the girl said, an obvious wheeze in her voice as she spoke. There were traces of ash still under her fingernails, and Dahli knew without asking that she would have come from the city of Avalair. The entire city was covered in ash, and there was even a name for the dull shade of the stuff peculiar to the area; Avalair Grey.

“You must be one of the last people taken out of the city,” said Dahli. “What’s your name?”

The new girl rolled her eyes and looked mildly embarrassed. “Avalarian, after the hero who supposedly built the city. My dads thought it was cool or something. Frankly I feel pretty dumb standing up in class and declaring myself to be the god of the sea. Anyway, there are lots of people who still need to come out of Avalair, but they won’t. It’s their home, regardless of the toxic ash and underground fires. When Dad One said we were moving here so I could actually meet other girls my age I nearly did handstands. Dad Two really didn’t want to move but when I started to lose the ability to breathe he caved pretty fast.”

“So are you adopted or are you a breed?” asked Dahli. Czamkiar pulled out a small bag of nuts, picked from the tree in his back yard, and they began helping themselves.

“Well technically I’m a breed,” said Avalarian as she shelled a nut. “I don’t have a mother, but I haven’t had anything done to alter me. They took some genetic material from Dad One and Dad Two, tinkered with it until they had a female embryo, then I spent eight months sloshing around in an artificial environment in Dad One’s guts.”

Czamkiar flinched. “Now that is one thing I will NEVER do, EVER! You know I heard those can rip apart your abdominal muscles.”

“Well there is a chance of that,” said Dahli. “I mean let’s face it, girls are designed to have babies and guys aren’t, but guys are all we have. And surveys have shown that babies who get to develop inside a living body are all healthier and more emotionally stable than the ones who grow in a purely artificial environment.”

“Dad One didn’t seem to have any trouble,” said Avalarian. “In fact he’s thinking about doing it all over again.”

“Let me guess,” said Dahli, “he’s one of those massive guys from East Touskania who could carry eight babies in his guts and not notice.”

Avalarian giggled and shook her head. “Not a chance. During the war he was a Whip, like Khandid Stracona. He’s not as tall as I am, and his waist is smaller.”

“A Whip?” said Dahli. “That must get interesting at times.”

“Yeah,” said Avalarian, “especially since our neighbour is a clart-blossom who won’t stop wearing Dad One’s trigger-colours when he’s outside. One of these days Dad’s going to cut him to rags and it will be his own stupid fault. So what’s the current female population of this area?”

“Six,” said Dahli.

“Six girls and about five thousand guys lining up for the pleasure of hearing one of them say ‘Eyew, get lost you freak,’” said Czamki.

Dahli laughed, but noticed that Avalarian seemed rather afraid of him. Dahli reached out to carefully clear away an errant blob of eyeliner from Czamkiar’s face.

"How do you get your eyeliner and lip paint on so thick?" she asked, upper lip slightly curled as she surveyed the smears of black around the youth's eyes.

"I melt the cream. All the boys do it. Hey, did you manage to catch the Gryphons on the Visual the other night?"

"Of course," said Dahli, "and why were you watching them? I thought you said you now had no interest in the band."

"I wanted one last look at Khandid. You're sure he's a guy?"

"Yes, Czamki," Dahli said. She was dying to tell him of the events that had transpired, but decided to wait until later. She took off her dark glasses and carefully placed them in her book bag, then glanced at Avalarian once more. Definitely scared. The girl was afraid of him. Czamkiar seemed oblivious as he glanced around the room.

"Heia where's Diza?"

"I don't know,” said Dahli. “She spent the respite at my place, but she went home about eighteenhour last night....oh, there she is."

Diza walked into the room, strolling casually over to the table where her friends were sitting. She dropped her books onto it and sat down.

"I was at your place last night," she said to Dahli.

"Okay," said Dahli.

"So where were you while you were at Dahli's?" asked Czamkiar.

"Never mind," said Diza primly.

Czamkiar smiled. He was an attractive youth, one of the fair High Northern Sferkkaans. His hair was a pure shining platinum, and his skin soft white. His eyes were a deep blue, as opposed to the slate grey eyes of a Kyphisian, which was the only way to tell the two races apart. He was frequently the subject of discussion among the other kids in the class, but he was rather shy, preferring to spend his time with Dahli and Diza. This gave him the appearance of having the fabled Northern attitude, and more than a few people thought Czamkiar was cold and arrogant. Avalarian seemed to think he was just scary.

“Heia Czamki,” said Dahli, “you wouldn’t mind going into the hall and seeing if I dropped my biology book, would you?”

Czamkiar looked mildly surprised. “I don’t see a millitron tied to your ass.”

“Please?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Make the white kid with the bad eyeliner go get your book so you can talk about him while he’s gone.”

Dahli looked at Diza. “See? I told you High Northerners were smart.”

Diza giggled. Czamkiar rolled his eyes and, with much drama befitting one going to his doom, left the room. Avalarian breathed a sigh of relief, and was quite clearly close to tears.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just the white skin and the white hair. I know his eyes are blue and not grey but… I’ve seen Kyphisians up close and…” She leaned close to Dahli and Diza. “They do things to women, you know, disgusting things. I overheard my dads one night talking about how they caught this one woman, tied her to a bed and… and forced her to have sex with them. I mean have you ever heard of such a thing?! They beat her and made her do disgusting things and they didn’t stop until she was dead. It just… really stuck in my mind and ever since then… I just can’t stand the sight of white.”

Dahli and Diza exchanged glances, their eyes wide, astonished and disgusted to learn this. Diza suddenly shuddered, and looked at her male classmates.

“Six of us, and five thousand of them,” she said softly. “Makes you pretty šukating glad our guys don’t do things like that.”

Dahli felt sick to her stomach, and oddly vulnerable and frightened. She wished she had something to pull around herself. “Yes, because what life for us would be like otherwise is just too horrible to contemplate.”

The trio of girls sat in silence, the tension broken when Czamkiar returned, his makeup a good millimetre thicker than when he left. He smelled of shooberies and sat down in a swirl of white coat-skirts. Avalarian fell silent with his return. Dahli rolled her eyes, but did not get a chance to comment before Diza spoke.

"It just figures we'd have science first thing Oneday," crabbed Diza. "I hate science."

"I wonder when they're going to start making us cut stuff up?" muttered Dahli.

"Actually," said Czamkiar, "I heard that just before we have mid-year break, we're supposed to hack up something."

"Oh goody," said Diza, her voice dripping sarcasm.

"Like what?" asked Dahli, leafing through a book.

"A Faylan," said Czamkiar.

Dahli looked up, horrified. "A Faylan? You mean like, arf, arf, yip, Faylan?"

"That's what I heard."

Dahli looked over at Diza, her expression unchanged. "That's sick. That's the sort of clart the Grey Boys would do. That's really šukating sick! We can't do that! They...they're people, aren't they?"

"The Emperor hasn't had a chance to evaluate that yet," said Diza, "and he's under a lot of pressure from the scientists to not ban them as test animals."

"I'm not hacking up any Faylan!" Dahli stated with a dismissing wave of her hand. Her tone was rising. "I don't need the Emperor to tell me they're human! THIS IS THE SORT OF CLART THE GREY BOYS PULLED ON US!"

"Shhhhh," said Diza.

"I could be wrong, you know," said Czamkiar. "Maybe."

"Where did you hear it?" Dahli demanded.

"From a couple of duones. They seemed to think it was a good idea."

Diza rolled her eyes as Dahli launched into a rant, then glanced at Avalarian, who was clearly astonished. Czamkiar played with his chewing gum and looked over his notes, too accustomed to her outbursts to pay any heed any more.

"GREY BOY SYMPATHIZERS, ALL OF THEM!” yelled Dahli. “I WON'T DO IT! WHAT DO YOU MEAN `THE EMPEROR HASN'T HAD A CHANCE TO EVALUATE THAT YET'? YOU MEAN THERE ARE BETTER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT THAN A BUNCH OF FAYLANS KEPT IN CAGES AND BEING SLOWLY CUT APART? IT'S A ŠUKATING ATROCITY! THEY'RE ALL A BUNCH OF GREY BOY SYMPATHIZERS, ALL OF THEM!"

"Well, it's good to know Dahli made it to class, anyway," said Duone Bathers as he walked into the room. The children he taught referred to him behind his back as ‘Duone Blathers’, due to his tendency to drone on and on, oblivious to whether or not anyone was actually listening. Dahli slouched down in her chair, staring ahead at the Duone as though he was a large and particularly unpleasant bug.

"Good morning," he said, depositing a large stack of paper onto his desk. "I hope you all had a good respite. So who's a sympathizer this week, Dahli, the cooking duone?"

"What's this about us cutting up a Faylan for mid-year?" she demanded.

"Oh," said Duone Bathers, "yes, we'll be doing that, but most likely we'll be doing it before mid-year."

"I won't." said Dahli flatly.

"Now there's no need to be squeamish," said Bathers. "It will be dead when we get it. It's being donated by Second City Research Labs."

"Very High Cylinder of them."

"Now there's no need for that. We'll all..."

"It's sick and I won't do it!" Dahli shot back, eyes glowing an evil green. “They are intelligent beings!”

Duone Bathers rubbed his eyes. "It's too early to argue with you, Dahli,” he said, his tone laden with the sort of weariness that can only come from finding oneself in yet another endless debate with a self-elected arch nemesis. “They are not intelligent, they are animals.”

“Animals that are nearly genetically identical to us. And I'm not arguing, I'm stating a fact. I won't dissect a Faylan."

"Well then what do you suggest?" said the Duone in a magnanimous tone as he leaned against the chalkboard.

"Something non-feeling. Maybe one of those big-ass scientists, they're pretty unfeeling."

It was at that moment another student elected to show up in class, arriving in a swirl of needlessly frilly and aggressively feminine bows and ribbons. It was none other than Atania Nightwing, aka EEEEEEEEYYYYYYYEEEEEWWWWW!

"I think it was very generous of Second City Labs to donate a subject to aid in our education," she said primly, seating herself. A few people in class groaned, one or two made gagging motions. Dahli fixed her eyes on the girl with the rolls of huge curls in her hair, bound up with lace-edged ribbons.

"You would," Dahli sneered. "I'll bet you think baby torture is a hoot."

"Maybe," chimed Atania flippantly, staring at Dahli's well-worn tour shirt. "But at least I have more than one shirt to wear."

"Oh good," said Dahli. "Fashion tips from a Vortex fan, the only band known to give its fans cavities."

"All right," said Duone Bathers, stepping in. "Dahli, if you object to this then I suggest you write a letter to the principal. Atania, if Dahli wants to wear that shirt until it dissolves, that's her business. I'm sure she has other Mortified Gryphon shirts at home."

"Dahli's just trying to meet a musician," put in one of the boys in mock defence.

`Dahli did,' thought Dahli, and smiled.

***---***

Delaes paced in a circle, sighing. He flung his head back and stared at the wide expanse of black glass. "Can we start it again?" he asked in a weary, annoyed tone. Marachani lit a cigarette and looked bored. There was a click.

"Sure," said the technician.

"You're screwing up," said Marachani flatly.

Delaes glared at the man, then adjusted the tiny earpiece through which he could hear the music. It began, and he concentrated hard on the music, waiting for his cue. It had almost come up when he heard the music jerk to a halt.

Click. "Sorry," said the technician.

“It’s not me it’s this studio for the love of the New Empire why do you insist on recording in Avalair I’m shocked this building is still standing.”

Marachani was used to Delaes’ nervous run-on sentences. “Because in case you have not noticed, we are broke, thanks to you and dear little Rysta over there.”

Delaes smiled thanks at his sepulchord player as he passed him a cigarette. Delaes and Rysta did not especially like each other, but had no difficulty being civil, even friendly. Assuredly they got on one another's nerves, but they always managed to be supportive. It was Rysta who now turned to face Marachani.

“How is it our fault? And have you seen what’s going on out there? Have you had a good look at this region? Do you know how difficult it is to stop an underground fire? We gave away the band’s money on the assumption we would just earn it back. Well we haven’t yet but we still might.”

“There just should have been something else we could have done,” Marachani muttered.

“Like what? I don’t know about you, but during the war I sat in a little underground chamber and monitored enemy transmissions, that doesn’t really qualify me as a firefighter. What did you do, Delaes?”

“I hid in storm culverts and shots things you know I was really rather good at it but again no firefighting skills not that I would want to fight a fire really and anyway Marachani you spectacular stack of clart you DO realize I assume that we all live here so the money really went to saving our own asses?”

The music blared, just for a second, and Delaes flinched. He'd had enough of noise for one day. He wanted to go home, climb into a bath and listen to something calm, soothing, and not by Bad Influence.

"Ready, Donsa Randerick?"

"Yes yes," said Delaes.

It had been a bad day. The equipment in this studio was all a hair away from death, and Marachani had decided to compound the situation as much as possible by behaving like the clart he was. To make matters worse, he had been having faint, ominous pains in his lower abdomen. Delaes hoped biology could hold off until he was out of the studio.

The music began, the cue came up, and Delaes belted the first line of the song just as simultaneously the memory board packed it in, and he was struck by a violent, sharp pain. If he hadn't known better he would have sworn something had ripped inside. He screamed, causing the towering studio amp-plants to abruptly turn his way, echoing his scream back at him, but everyone assumed it was in response to the board failure. Delaes waited until the pain subsided a little, then stalked out of the studio and headed for the washroom. Entering it, he locked the door and leaned against it, permitting himself to slide down to the floor. He had a drag off his cigarette.

"I want to go home," he mumbled.

He would have to leave now anyway, his cycle had begun with a vengeance a day early, and he was not prepared. He drew on his cigarette slowly, lovingly, trying to ignore the headache forming behind his eyes. His breath began to hitch, and he squeezed his eyes shut, finally managing to control himself. He could have a good cry when he got home.

Home. Yes home was a terrible long way away, wasn't it? It haunted his dreams at night, a warm jungle place with a brilliant yellow sun set in a clear blue sky, not shadowed as it was here. He could even recall the feel of the trees, smooth and warm, pleasant to stretch out upon in the afternoon heat, while the elders either dove for fish or swayed in the sun, worshipping its life-giving rays. He could even recall his mother, though back home the word was ‘nirith,’ not mother, and it was written, not spoken. Faylans had the gift of literacy, but not one of them could say a word. He still saw nirith lying near the watering hole in the blazing sun, long and slender, stretched out on the sand, eyeing him with loving, flame-green eyes. Nirith worried about him; he could see it in those eyes. Delaes wasn't the same as everyone else. He didn't move as well as they did, in fact by their standards he was downright clumsy. His hair and eyes were the right colour, but his skin was white, not rust. Sometimes his nirith would pace over to him on all fours and wrap her mouth about the back of his neck, as though telling him to stop being different right this instant, but that was far beyond his control. Sometimes he felt her thin, sharp incisors lightly scrape his flesh, but she never made a mark. She would never hurt him.

Delaes had been too young to recall what had become of her, or how he had come to Sferkkaa, but he knew that was when this horrible masquerade had begun. That was when he had been taught to dye his hair from red to black, taught to wear the dark brown contacts over his green eyes, and to hide who he was. `He' was how he was referred to, and he supposed it was appropriate, if not exactly accurate. He was male and female, as were all Faylans, and despite having a Kyphisian father, Delaes considered himself Faylan. He wasn't terribly fond of Sferkkaa, or its inhabitants, save for a few individuals. But even his best friends did not know about this. Bad things happened to half-Faylans. They disappeared. Delaes had known two. Both had become careless as to who they revealed their secrets to. Both had vanished without a trace. There was no way Delaes was ever telling anyone.

There came a pounding at the door, and Delaes jumped, startled. "Delaes, get out of there!" It was Marachani.

"You can't tell me that you have to get in here so badly that you have to be rude."

Delaes heard him stomp off, and he stubbed out his cigarette. Recording was over for the day, the blood had started to flow and he had to get home before he had an accident. Fortunately, he was wearing black. He rose to his feet and stepped out of the bathroom, walking straight into the technician. He looked upset.

"I don't know what happened," he said, "I'll get it fixed in a moment."

"Don't worry about it I'll be back tomorrow I've got a screaming headache that should give you enough time to fix the board shouldn't it?" said Delaes.

"Tomorrow would be wonderful, I can take the board apart tonight and find out what is causing all of these problems."

"Forty trinta says its ash all right I will see you tomorrow then PEOPLE and Marachani we are leaving I shall see you all tomorrow morning I am going home I have a headache."

Delaes left the studio, heading for his black conni, nothing less than a fiercely expensive air-con. He got into it, pressing a switch to slide the roof back, feeling the tension in his back and neck move to his guts. It was too dark on Sferkkaa, just too dark and too cold, and the reek of Avalair burning was making his nerves fray. Fire was to be feared. Why did these lunatics insist upon holding their ground? Delaes was just glad he lived in the area built on a massive plate of rock; fire was destructive, but it usually had a very hard time burning through stone.

Delaes jumped as Marachani suddenly came up beside him to stare at the vehicle.

"Where'd you get this?" he asked, his tone slightly accusing.

"It was a gift,” snapped Delaes.

"From whom?"

Delaes glared at him. "From a friend do you mind?"

"What did it cost?"

"More than I have."

"More than the whole band has, you mean."

Delaes started the engine, which was virtually silent, then looked at Marachani once more. "Are you implying I am stealing money from my own band?"

"You said it, not me."

"Yes but you thought of it so perhaps we would be better off wondering where your hands have been." Delaes pulled quickly out of the lot and headed off down the road.

***---***

Delaes parked the air-con, in the parking lot of the large sprawling apartment complex. The Gryphons might all have private estates, but he was not a member of that group, as much as he would like to be. Bad Influence lived in much more humble quarters, though few who saw Delaes’ home would call it humble. Once the apartment complex had been the home of high-ranking Kyphisian officers, and had been surrounded by lush grass and great trees. The trees still stood, but the lawns had been replaced by large communal gardens. Machines, the Sferkkaans had in quantity. Food was something altogether different, and everyone in the building was obligated to help out raising and tending the vegetable gardens, as well as the large flock of brilliantly coloured jungle chickens, carefully guarded in what had once been a general’s walled garden.

Everyone, that is, save for Delaes’ long-time and unseen companion, J’Vanni.

Information about him was sparse and spotty, and no one knew how accurate any of it was. The facts were limited to small handful; he lived with Delaes, and he was a most gifted musician, though his style in no way matched that of the man he lived with. He had fought in the war, as had almost everyone else, and apparently had developed a severe emotional disorder. He did not come out of the apartment, he did not answer the phone, he did not open the door. Rumours ran rampant that the hauntingly beautiful and almost disturbing music he made was actually Delaes, though the people who knew Delaes laughed at the notion. They did not know who was making the spectral melodies that fans snapped up eagerly, but it most certainly was not Delaes.

He entered the building, moving quickly in his fast, easy strides, keeping up a constant stream of conversation as he made his way down the hall of the apartment building towards the elevator. He had lived here for years, and knew most of his neighbours. He was the darling of the building, though a few tenants were distressed to learn that his image as a bubble-brained nervous wreck was not an image.

"Heia Donsa Keer how's your hip I heard about your accident terrible you shouldn't live alone Marist darling how are you give us a kiss I'll call you later Miski don't pick your nose Marist your child is picking his nose again Miski you keep that up I'll never let you into my house to play the millitron again who knows WHAT you'll get onto the keys and WHY is this lift taking so long?"

Finally the lift came into place, and Delaes stepped into it. The doors closed, and he doubled over in pain, clutching his lower stomach and swearing softly. As the lift rose, Delaes began breathing deeply, forcing himself to calm down and relax. He ran one hand through his dark hair, then rested his face against the cool of the lift's wall. He could feel even the blood in his veins slow. He didn't even care anymore that his cycle was a day early and he had to run out of the studio at an inopportune time. He was home. As the door of the lift opened, he stepped into his penthouse.

"J'Vanni are you home?" he asked, walking stiffly into the room. The question was a household joke; J'Vanni had not been out of that apartment in five years. Delaes' abdomen ached viciously, and the gay careless skipping through the hall had just about killed him. He eased himself down into a chair and curled up on its softly upholstered seat.

J'Vanni stepped out of their home studio, his long, white hair brushed back from his pale, aristocratic face. He was tall, and very well proportioned, strong, though his height gave him the illusion of being slender. The long, blue-grey coats he wore made him look almost delicate, though Delaes had personally witnessed him pick up and move very large and heavy objects with little effort. He peered at Delaes from behind small, round-rimmed glasses for a moment, then turned and headed for the bedroom. When he spoke, his accent gave him a strange, mechanized sound.

"I'll get a blanket and the hot pad."

"And a pillow."

"Yes, love. Why don't you just crawl into bed?"

"I can't make you feel sorry for me if I'm in bed."

J'Vanni sighed and walked off to get the items from the bedroom. "So how do you like your conni?"

"I love it though of course now everyone thinks I'm embezzling money from the band whatever possessed you to buy me such an expensive toy?"

J'Vanni returned from the bedroom fully loaded. He sat on the floor before Delaes’ chair and draped the heavy quilt over him. "Because it was your birthday," he said. He placed the hot pad over Delaes' stomach, and then waited for Delaes to raise his head so he could put a pillow under it. Then he sat back and smiled at him. "And I love you," he said quietly, the fondness reflected in his slate grey eyes.

Disclaimer:

All original fiction and the characters, places and situations with them are copyright Alyx Shaw, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.

The characters, places and situations described in these stories are fictional unless otherwise stated in the story headings.

(C) 2008 Alyx Shaw