Blackstar

[The Gourmand]

June 7th, Late Evening

Stars were still a new thing to the Gourmand. When he would look up at night in his home, at most he might see a little light reflecting off the water’s surface, but typically he was so deep and the light so diffused that more often he’d look up and only see blackness. It can be hard to imagine, as someone on land, just how captivating a clear night sky can be to someone who hadn’t witnessed it before.

He was out late when most of the other Dawnseekers were indoors, looking up. He had a pelt draped over him, one arm folded behind his head and the other holding a mug of hot water. The Gourmand used the alone time to think.

Very inconvenient, he thought, that he should have hatchlings now. He wouldn’t be able to leave the army as freely if things truly did not sit right with him. It was somewhat of a new experience to him. He was no stranger to having offspring of course, but typically he was absent when they were so young, or a nurse would have cared for them. Maybe it was the culture of the Dawnseekers that made him feel this way, but the Gourmand felt more of a need to be present for them.

He knew some of the members of the army wanted to act as surrogates to the hatchlings but the Gourmand now wondered what if his children didn’t like him? What if the Dawnseekers didn’t let him see his children? What if they tried to hurt his children because of him? He was being a good father, wasn’t he?

Despite himself, a melancholy sigh escaped him. Moments after, he was aware of a presence. Still he felt out of place and subconsciously prepared to defend himself.

[Atlas]

Far above him thousands of lights danced within the darkness, planets, spirits, whatever they were every night Atlas would stare at them wordlessly. As if searching for some answers for his existence, his birth, his creation and every night the beings above were silent as he expected. The only thing he could rely on were the voices within but with each passing night those seemed to grow quieter as well. He had sought solitude as he slunk out of one of the many longhouses that littered the Dawnseekers base when his paws led him to someone he had not encountered much. His impression was that not many folks liked the being before him but Atlas could not really see why.

Then again he saw things through a very neutral glass compared to everyone else.

The reaper moved to sit only a few paces away from the being to his right. His odd colored hues fixated on the sight far above him. He seemed to be sporting his human form tonight instead of his liger form which most would recognize by the pinkish hue of his pelt.

He could feel the small amount of tension in the air and decided to dispel it as best as one could. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips. A content glimmer in his eyes. "Beautiful night isn't it?" He questioned softly. "One can almost hear the whispers of spirits." A hand moved to rub the scruff on his chin at he turned his gaze on to the Gourmand. "How are you fairing?"

[The Gourmand]

        “They wouldn’t be from any of my kind,” spoke the warlord without turning, “No soul and all that.”

        The Gourmand gave a cynical little cough.  It was really hard for him not to be bitter.  There was no afterlife for merfolk -- they just became the seafoam.  So the legend went.

        He turned his massive head.  Nictitating membrane briefly flashed over his eyes as he stared for a bit.  He didn’t recognize the other.   He supposed it would be part of his job to make it his business to know all the members of the army, and though he was tempted to ask for a name first thing, he didn’t.   It would probably come off as demanding.   Considering the Gourmand had nothing of a support circle and this person was asking him about his welfare, he’d take what he could get.

        “It’s difficult to have a family here. It makes you care more,” he said, his breath fogging in the chill of the night.

        The pads of his fingers tapped the mug, which was still rather hot.   The Gourmand turned his attention toward the bulk of the settlement.

        “I almost wonder if they think I don’t care for my own offspring.  If I don’t care about anyone.  I do,” he mused lowly, “It can be frustrating.”

[Atlas]

The smile remained on the man's lips as the Gourmand spoke, that's right these mortal beings all had different beliefs for live after death. The prospect of merfolk not having an afterlife though? That made Atlas snrk softly, every being had life or a soul, or a fragment of one. He did too despite what he was, it was brought them into existence and it would remain even after their physical form was gone.

"Everyone's got a soul. How it lies in wait for it's next lifetime is just different." The reaper's shoulders gave a small shrug as the other stared at him. His gaze kept forward as he examined what lied above them. He was thankful the voices within his mind were quiet at least for now, he could focus on this.

His smile flattered as the bigger being spoke, his brows quirking upward a small degree.

"Mm that is quite the predicament..." He tutted with thought, he had always been very aware of the tensions between the Gourmand and the others but he figured sooner or later the aggression would taper off. Whether that be a week from now or months, no one knew but perhaps he could start to lead things in the right direction? That was kinda his job after all.

The reaper balanced on the heel of his feet for a second before giving a tiny bounce. "Living beings always make assumptions, it's just something they do. They will predict this and that, without really taking mind to consider why they feel like that. It can leave difficult situations like this but you do care- You just stated so yourself but maybe they don't know it, or it may be too difficult for them to 'see'. What you see as care, they might see as aggression, and what you see as weakness or anything else they may see as care. You have to find a middle ground and so do they."

It was then he turned to face the Gourmand fully. A knowing smile on his lips once more. "So, how about I help with that? It's been a century or two since I've interacted with the living but maybe I can help. One way for certain is just making sure you take care of your kids, others may be helping raise them but your still their da, yeah? So, be their dad. Care of them, teach them things, be honest about how you feel. I know you've probably been through some things, and it's tough but even the smallest amount help you know?" It was then he realized something.

He chuckled. "Ah, I'm sorry, how rude of me, my name is Atlas by the way."

[The Gourmand]

        As the speech went along, the beast watched closely, like a viper waiting for the smallest twitch.  His gaze only grew more intense the more time passed.  The demeanor of the other threw up several red flags in his world weary mind.  The Gourmand was incredibly sensitive to being talked down to and disrespected, and never wanted to let it slide: never ever.  He couldn’t trust those he didn’t know to have the best intentions.  His teeth clenched and his fin prickled as he prepared to defend himself.

        But, he thought for a bit.  Would it be better to explain what had hurt him?  Would it really?  Did he really put faith in the best intentions of a stranger?  But again he thought, they could never say he didn’t at least try to explain.

        “Maybe you mean your tone to be comforting, but I am old.  As well, I think I’m learned enough to say I’m wise in my own right.  Now whether you meant it or not, I’m being reminded of an entire young life being spoken down to.  Being called a--”

        He hesitated, an ableist word hovering on his tongue, but he wasn’t able to say it.

        “Point being; please don’t try to teach me.  Have a conversation with me.  I’m an equal.”

        The Gourmand didn’t know what Atlas was really thinking and fully admitted his judgement of his demeanor may have been completely wrong, but his self-defense far outweighed his faith.  He wanted that out on the table first thing.   Adjusting his fingers, he became aware of the heat of his drink again and looked down at it.

        “I’m sorry if I’m misjudging you.  Yes, I have been hurt -- if that wasn’t obvious.   Consider this my way of.. stating a ‘trigger’ as they say.”

        He removed the bag from his cup and set it down before drinking.

        “Anyway,” he pressed the word in order to move along, “It’s not that intuitive with me.  I’m not a mammal like most of the others.  Many fish and reptiles leave their young before birth and it’s perfectly natural.  It doesn’t mean I love my offspring any less.  It’s all different wiring.  I fear even if I try to explain this to the others, they won’t trust my motives -- much the same as I haven’t trusted you.”

        The Gourmand’s vision laid on Atlas.

        “I don’t like that, it can be painful, but I can understand it.”

        In a brief spurt of trusting however, he tilted his head and a tendril slithered down to become level with the man’s hand.  The stingers were curled away and the appendage was safe to shake.

        “They used to call me Brutus,” he said, “But that man is dead.  I am the Gourmand.  Officer Gourmand here.”