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[Ah. Therion glances up to gather his thoughts, to sift out the truth of them.]

...One of the people with me, he's from the Riverlands. Born and bred there. I hear them in him every time he talks. Which is a lot.

[That warm, meandering ease, the waters' life-giving generosity, are so much part of Alfyn Greengrass, Therion can't easily unbraid the two.

But when he thinks of Bolderfall, of the red canyon passes at dawn, of a sky so high and distant between the towering walls of rock, each breath fills one's lungs with a desire to reach, to climb, to dare the scree and loose edges for freedom...]

The Cliftlands are all yours, though.

The Cliftlands, then. Good.

[Red stone, in different hues, so that when the light catches them just right, the whole world seems to set aflame. He'll remember that, each and every word in sequence like the combination to a treasure chest. When he repeats them all, in the proper sequence, spaced just right and fitted together properly, that vision of Therion's country will be unlocked.]

If I ever find my way to your mortal plane, that's where you'll find me.

[Okay, where? But in a sentence, Kurama's worked himself into the scenery of the whole region. As long as wherever he looks, Therion's eyes meet the rocks of the Cliftlands, Kurama could be there, in the world of this hypothetical visitation. It's... a sweet concept, really.

So his amusement gets diverted into an unexpected smile instead of a snort.]

Heh. You know, I'd like that. Have to show you around. ...Be interesting to see how you and Heathcote would get along.

[The politest, most self-assured, incredible bastards he knows. He scratches the top of Kurama's head again, pleased.]

Where should I go if I end up in your world first?

[Well, that's certainly a nice feeling. But Therion raises an interesting question — where would he direct Therion, if ever he were to find his way back to the dimension Kurama calls home? Not Spirit World, for certain. Makai might be better, but...no, all the human skills in the world still won't last him long in the demon realm.

That leaves the human world, and if that's how it is, then —]

There's a mountain named after me. It'll make it easy for you to navigate to.

[Unbeknownst to him, beneath Therion's fingers, strands of his hair are starting to turn silver-white.]

[Well, that's something Therion notices immediately, busy as he still is with stroking it. His movements slow a moment before he slides a finger under one of the silver-shimmering strands, lifting it across the red to see it better.]

...Kurama? Your hair's changing color.

[Like, not to alarm you, dude, but.]

...Ah.

[It takes him a minute before he's able to puzzle out the why of what's happened; the what is already self-explanatory. But upon reflection, he eventually concludes that it must be a combination of factors, the moonlacing to fuel his demon energy combined with the stress he's yet to be able to release, combined with the fact that he's consciously let his guard down and relaxed his own iron control of himself...

That's probably it, he thinks, and reminds himself not to let it get too far out of hand.]

If it's silver, then you needn't worry. Odd as it may sound, it's an inadvertent side effect of the fact that what you're doing is helping.

[...]

If it's a color other than silver, then I'll start worrying.

[Okay, cool. Kurama's not alarmed, Therion's no longer alarmed, alarm is not a state they have to be in right now. So long, Montgomery, Alarmbama.]

Yeah, it's silver.

[He was worried it had something to do with him, some new Cordis influence he didn't know about--because it is Cordis, this time, by the sky's account as well as his body's own reckoning--because the color coming in looks so like his own. He watches the change, following the streaks of it with deft, curious fingers until they join the braid, skipping down to see where they emerge at the end of it.]

Won't look half bad on you if it goes all the way.

Do you want to see what it looks like, when it goes all the way?

[It'd hardly be difficult. Not like this. Really it'd almost be too easy to do it — though he's not altogether sure what might come of it, if Therion were to meet the Spirit Fox side of him in a time like this.

On one hand, keeping it from him feels like keeping secrets. On the other...he likes being human around Therion. Will it change something, if suddenly he swings the other way?]

I'll wind up looking not unlike a Cordis fox, myself.

Sure.

[There's that saying, of course, about curiosity and cats. This time the petting is blatantly a scritchie up there at the top of Kurama's head.]

But only if it means you're having a good time. I like you just fine the way you are. No need to change on my account.

[Something something "you slipping into something more comfortable?" etc.]

You might as well see it now. You may encounter me in that form sometime later, unexpectedly...and doing it now would likely save us some awkward questions in the moment.

[These days, it's never hard to reach for that part of Youko inside of him. It's never difficult to embrace the wellspring of power that changes his form; in a way, it feels like coming home.

(He doesn't like that it feels that way. Home is a place with a warm kitchen and glass on the floor. Home is not the wilds of Makai, not any longer.)

But he embraces the power, and lets his form shift. Even lying down, the fact that he gains about a foot in his legs is immediately apparent; so too are the softly-furred ears that sprout from his head, the claws that grow on his nails, the way his hair bleaches instantly to silver-white.

And then, of course, there's the tail. No mistaking that. The change in his eyes would be similar, but for the fact that he's keeping them closed.]

There.

[Now his voice rumbles deep with the experience and severity of ages.]

This is as I was, centuries ago.

[He's so much bigger. That and the claws, the change in his voice, it all hisses this is a different person in Therion's uncertainly pricking ear, and he's a totally different beast. Redheaded Kurama, attractively dangerous as he is, never makes him feel as though a large, untamed animal's deigned to sprawl in his lap. Like touch would much more naturally be answered with a flash of those claws or teeth. He feels it keenly, now, as a wild, improbable grace to be met with closed eyes and steady breathing instead.

But that shock-pale hair still pulls into the braid Therion plaited, the round, four-stranded rope as familiar to him as his lockpicks. As he runs his hand across its length and picks the end of it up to weigh in his palm, it's still his handiwork gleaming up at him, silver caught neatly in a tough elastic band.]

And now.

[Couldn't say why it matters to him that Kurama hear it, that he convey some echo of the strange unity he sees now, looking at Youko Kurama in a worn, soft shirt that no longer looks so big on him. He's no Cordis illusion, no projection of the past. He's here, now, as he was then.

Therion rests his hand on his shoulder, rubbing a slower, firmer circle. Something about him now doesn't seem to allow for touch to be too light.]

Does it feel different?

Yes, of course.

[There's a half-chuckle in gravel of his voice now, and that in itself is another subtle tell that perhaps he's not entirely as he once was years ago; Youko's laughter always sliced through the air like a knife's edge, and this brand is warm with a touch of genuine humor that could only be the result of a human boy's influence.]

I know what you meant. More than just physically...yes, it feels different. Imagine the satisfaction of surmounting an impossible task. You've just cracked an unbreakable safe and your pockets are heavy with your prize — but your triumph is tempered with the knowledge that you have yet to escape the vault with it. Still, the escape is easy, and you're not unequal to it. You've not relaxed, not yet, but you still know you've won.

Cunning, ruthless, calculating...and superior. That's how it feels.

Right. That feeling, huh. [He keeps doing what he's doing, palm of his hand up and down Kurama's shoulder.] You know just how to talk to me.

[Of all the feelings in the world, Therion knows that one intimately. His perked ears soften forward again.]

So what's it feel like the rest of the time?

You mean when I'm not this? I'm not sure I know how to put it into words.

[Says the world's most eloquent man, with a turn of phrase for every occasion.]

When Cordis takes you — does it ever feel like it's...its own beast? Part of you, but also a separate creature in its own right?

[He frowns silently for a while, long enough that it seems the answer must be no. As he opens his mouth to say so, though, the thought hits a sudden swerve.]

Oh, do you mean... I'll want things, suddenly. Things that don't make any damn sense at all to the rest of me. Most of the time, Cordis just feels like me but more stupid, but that's... different.

As I said, it's not the easiest thing in the world to describe.

[His ears twitch, despite himself. Maybe they've gone too long unpetted, and now he's silently demanding.]

Try it this way. You, Therion, the person you are. You exist without Cordis. You're a whole person, a discrete identity. But when it is Cordis, there's that same identity, but a little bit more. Something that's part of you, but still...separate. Only it's not separate enough to be an individual in its own right; it's just an extra something of you added in.

Youko existed in his entirety long before humanity ever attached. But who I am normally...has never existed without Youko being a part of him. Youko is not a separate entity, exactly, he's me, but...I'm something more than just him, and I'm referring to him as his own thing only to make the analogy easier. I'm everything he was, but also something else. And that side of me, that fully-formed Spirit Fox...it knows full well that it once existed without humanity latched on.

[Whether Therion gets the hint or the movement's enough to tweak his feline interest, his fingers absently find their way to the base of Kurama's ears, where they dig in deeply and thoughtfully.]

...So it's more like the years since you started living as a human have been one long mooncycle. And when you're more like this, maybe being human... is what feels like you, but more stupid. [He shakes his head.] Or different, or whatever. Less satisfying and superior. More... who you are additionally, since then.

[He pushes his thumb into the thick fur behind Kurama's ears and rubs there slowly, then exhales.]

Don't have much of a vocabulary for this. Sorry. I don't think much about what I am as a rule, and your situation's a lot more complicated than mine ever gets.

It's all right. I'd be annoyed with you if it came to you easily; I've been living this way for years and it has yet to come to me easily.

[The noise he makes is a satisfied one, deep in his throat — almost a groan, but not quite, and with the same rich fullness of someone feeling knots of muscle begin to loosen beneath the skilled, firm hands of a particularly deft masseuse.]

Being human feels very stupid, when I'm like this. I loathe it a little, how useless and weak it makes me.

[He laughs under his breath.]

Rather like a moonblessing, indeed.

Weak's the last thing I'd ever call you, whatever form you're in.

[Might well literally be the last thing. Kurama could end him in a heartbeat or less, he's sure. Anyway, that answer comes easy enough; the follow-up takes more time to settle into words.]

Not that it's worth much, but I like that you're you now. Feel like it makes you more interesting than being just one thing in either direction.

[The tip of his tail moves lightly, idly.]

But I'm biased.

Oh, are you. What makes you so biased toward the usual me?

[He turns over onto his back, letting his eyes slide open for the first time to reveal their golden hue.

Less golden than usual, though, not that Therion would know the difference. But with a distinct echo of green to them that isn't often there in this particular form.]

I hope it's something more than just that it's what you're used to.

[Therion's own eyes, as unchangingly, singly green as always--Cordis changes or no--half-close a moment before he shuts them completely and shakes his head.]

You know how I feel about getting used to things.

['Not so easy, is it.' He turns away, placing one hand behind to support himself.]

Could just be that I'm human. All those things you talk about as being part of it--what'd you call it. The human element? Even if I don't agree it's always there, it doesn't stop me from liking it when I see it. ...Or wanting it.

[A beat. Then he huffs a quiet little laugh through his nose and glances back down at Kurama in his lap, ears soft and relaxed.]

But really, it's that you look damn good with red hair.

Oh, of course that's it. The red hair.

[His chest rises as he draws in a breath, and as he releases it again his form refracts and flickers for a fraction of a second, until he's back as he used to be, red hair and green eyes and no additional appendages to speak of — at least, not for another few days, until Iris comes along and hits.]

You've got me grown accustomed to your playing with it, I hope you realize. I was rather offended when the rain kept you away, and I couldn't have you over to run your fingers through it at my pleasure.

At your pleasure, huh.

[Silver and gold, or ruby and emerald. Nothing Kurama is lacks luster, and without pause, Therion's hand is up in his bangs again, fingers sliding again through red locks.]

Don't know about that. I'm the one who gets to get my hands all over you, Mr. I'm-So-Gorgeous, There's-a-Mountain-Named-After-Me. Think the pleasure's mine by default.

Edited 2020-09-15 12:47 (UTC)

And I warned you early on what would happen to those pretty hands should I find myself displeased with their clever work, didn't I.

[It's not from a lack of pleasure that he decides to sit up just then, though; quite the contrary, in fact. Once he's upright again, he turns until he's facing Therion head-on, knees bumping together, his face pushed into his personal space until he's just inches away from a kiss and the sliver of space left between them quickly fills with the heat from each breath.]

...It wasn't named for me because of my looks, you know.

[That close, it's natural to exhale more softly, to hold his breath like it's the moment before pocketing a prize, not after--to step lightly. It's natural, and still, he reaches up instead, cradles the side of Kurama's face in his palm, insistently there.]

Like anything else would make it less of a pleasure.

[Like his exploits, like his cunning, like his superiority make him less beautiful. Even those things Kurama's been careful to avoid mentioning, that Therion's only guessed at by the spaces they leave in their conversation--

Well, the Cliftlands aren't any less breathtaking for all they nearly killed him.]

Mean to tell me a story, or...

[He leans in, bumps their lips together, and then presses up and into the kiss.

He's human. If he can make things easier, why shouldn't he?]

Edited 2020-09-15 14:09 (UTC)

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