New on the Block | Jemin & Alcaeus

Bustling with activity, the Osulan streets remained exceptionally noisy, yet miraculously apt at spreading quick news. From the top of the canyon city to the ground level, three facts traveled like wildfire. First, that their forces had returned, triumphant, from the Aquorian jungles. Secondly, that the slippery Talorians had revealed scandalous practices, practices involving sacrifice and bigotry.

Third; that the Fury troops had arrived with company in tow.

Captives, terrorists, allies, refugees. Freedom fighters. No one seemed quite sure what to label these newcomers as, and by any rate, Jemin didn’t quite care.

Weaving through the crowd with minor difficulty, he caught a glimpse of the foreigners through a sea of withers and necks. There was a handful of them, a mere fraction of their true numbers - some injured and some not - flanked by Skirmishers and Furies alike. He gave the procession a cursory glance, disinterested, before turning to move on…

...and then he saw him. A white, white hide with bright plumage, quieter than the rest. Something like opportunity swelled in his gut. Perhaps he’d have more luck getting answers out of this one.

The pretty boy looked positively miserable with nobody to talk to, after all.

Switching his course, Jemin took a spare few steps before being halted by a Fury. She was large, unraveling a broad wingspan whilst looking down her nose at the nuisance. “You’re not a Savior, are you?” Judging by the hard, unimpressed glint of her eyes, she’d already sorted out the answer. He hadn’t the appearance of an experienced medic; cold professionalism swapped for lazy scorn and cleanliness replaced by grime.

“You’ve got a loose tail feather,” he piped up, abruptly. She whirled around, thoroughly distracted, and he slipped past with evident ease.

Immediately, Jemin sidled up to the white pegasus. “How’s the heat?”

The pegasus appeared startled, likely not expecting to be thrusted into conversation. Had it not been for his ruffled feathers, all sunset pink and vibrant crimson, perhaps Jemin wouldn’t have taken notice. His emotions were worn on the sleeve - or, in this case, the wing.

When he spoke, his voice both exasperated and sharp, Jemin fumbled, briefly, to make sense of the foreign dialect.

Miserable.

Yes, he could believe it; few but Sedo’s hardy natives could withstand the sun and sand. Someone accustomed to white beaches and jungle canopies would have to adapt, quickly. “Poor bird,” he remarked, allowing the corner of his mouth to lift in a half-smile. “You get used to it, eventually. Then you’ll be a real desert dog.”

His encouragement was too delicate to last.

“ - that, or you’ll end up in a ditch. Dehydrating, probably. Maybe downed by thunderbirds. Personally, I’d place my bet on a scorpion bite.”

There was no menace to his tone, simply an undercurrent of deadpan satire which weaseled it’s way into most of his words. By any rate, Jemin didn’t seem particularly concerned - his herd would have a tight leash on their Aquorian ‘guests’, no doubt; keeping them safe from recklessness.

Lip wedged between his teeth, he regarded the entirety of the foreigners with some semblance of… pity? No, underwhelmed was a more accurate descriptor. They were battered, sticking out like multiple, winged sore thumbs, ill-suited to a life among amiable nomads. Returning his scruntity to the pale pegasus, he sized him up from his blonde locks to his feathered hooves. Surely this was no soldier - he looked better fitted to the indoors, arranging books or serving tea. Jemin’s skepticism, his hasty conclusions, made him ignorant.

“I’ll admit, I was expecting some terrorists with a bit more… backbone.”

The pale bird attempted to stifle his laughter, but of course it came. It always did. Jemin knew this game well, a game of jests and jabs, and knew it took some thickness of the skin to respond in humor. He detected fire, however slight, in the challenge posed by his stare. Perhaps it was enough of a flicker to fend off the desert’s dangers, ants included.

But then he hit a sore spot. Once found, Jemin dug in his teeth, venomizing, aiming to expose the raw emotion below.

Fighting isn’t my style.

He had figured that much. Still, the Aquorian was a fighter, in a sense. It showed in the stiff edge of his spine, the defensive ruffle of his feathers and the curt, snapped bite to his tone. Revolution was in their blood. He’d never been one to worry about societal concerns or herd security - more inclined to surround himself by empty bottles, solitary travel and lazy mornings - but the pegasi arrivals did beg an urgent question.

Could these militants, these terrorists, be trusted?

The next query prompted an indignant look from the mule. He tossed back his head, gestured to the other foreigners. “Join this bunch?” An airy chuckle slipped his mouth, one that cradled the line between an incredulous guffaw and a dry snicker.

“Ah, no. Nah. I wouldn’t be of any use, not when they’ve already got you to blow shit up.“ He paused, eyes slitted in a serpent’s amused manner, “...unless I’d be working with you.”

Very smooth, he congratulated himself.

His next words had shed the drollness of those prior. Clarity was what he truly sought. “What’d you do to… to piss off those Talori pirates?"

Are you that easy to tempt?

Jemin was well acquainted with temptation, willing to invite sin and brush shoulders with deeds considered unbecoming of any true Seroran. Yes, he could have said. Yes, I am tempted to by fame and riches and sharp talk and exotic birds. But that would be too easy. Instead, he opted for a vaguer approach. “You’ll have to find out.” 

His companion spoke of royalty (Talori was ruled by a monarchy?), of a land far greater than the rogues he was accustomed to at the port. The seafarers were a rowdy bunch, tolerated merely for the good trade brought in the hulls of their ships. They left an impression as pungent as their odor. For Hireath’s sake, it was relieving to hear they had some form of government… even if said government was as corrupted, as outright barbaric as the pegasus claimed.

He’d heard it in the rumors, of course. They whispered of sacrifice - dark and ancient rituals, centuries of strife, kept secret within the depths of the jungle. Rumors were easy to ignore. The truth was not. While aware of his own crooked morals - not to mention a broken sense of justice - he still struggled to swallow the concept of prejudice (disregarding his opinion of kirins in the process - because surely they didn’t count). Purposeful, conscious, lawful prejudice; it was an unfamiliar evil. The mule could consider himself fortunate, to be raised in the relentlessly inclusive culture of Serora. He scraped the bottom of the barrel, certainly, but it could only be attributed to his actions rather than his appearance, though he was loathe to admit it. He’d grown comfortable with that knowledge, trusting that the common breed would always be in the majority.

“A… a kid?” A crease deepened between his brows. “That’s... Well. That’s rough.” No shit, genius. “And you? A revolter? I'm sure those Talori snoots - Talori asses - felt your wrath.” He snorted in a manner devoid of genuine spirit, stemmed from instinct. He was still dazed, and though he didn't care to realize it, perhaps startled. “Pinky the Revolter… scourge of the sky…”

He trailed off, clicked his tongue, and squinted at the clouds. He was quiet. Uncharacteristically quiet. Pensive, even, as though he were giving this new information more than a cursory thought. It was only a matter of time before Jemin spoke again, wryness returning in abundance.

“If it makes you feel better, my herd celebrates with insufferable festivals - not by, eh, chucking horses off cliffs. Here, during Seroran celebrations, it’s the dancing you need to watch out for.” Evidently the words of a true a victim. 

He spoke of death, death in the name of progression, with all the nonchalance of a withered elder and all the mettle of a seasoned soldier. The juxtaposition pulled Jemin’s amusement to the surface of his features. Had he been remotely poetic, he’d think it inspirational; an underdog’s tale of hope during adversity and courage in the face of injustice. Only, he couldn't afford to be that lofty. While a sour taste lingered in his mouth, his initial shock began to fade.

The pegasus grinned, wide and white, and made mention that his new ‘title’ needed to be tweaked.

“Sure,” Jemin agreed - then, beneath his breath, “...sure, Pinky.”

He cocked his head to his companion’s next remark, one ear swiveling forward. A slight snicker, droll but not malicious, slipped off his own tongue. “Open as the desert and clingy as sand, too. Those boats are your last chance to get off this dust bowl.” Dust bowl. Sedo was so much more, but he hadn’t enough awe to describe the vastness of the night sky, the eerie song of the coyotes, or the way the cactus flowers bloomed and bursted, vibrant with a color more priceless than gems.

Those things couldn’t be put into words - but this pegasus could be.

“Got a name?”

Ridiculous. His careless reaction, a guiltless tilt to his head, or rather his lack of a reaction made it clear that this wasn’t his first time being described as such, if not in more flowery language.

“Seems you already found something to call me,” he replied, unwilling to miss a beat. The pegasus may have spoken with exasperation, but Jemin remained swift with his words, unphased.

Pinky called out to a passersby, who hurried off with a tactless shrug. He allowed himself a faint laugh at their expense, glancing back to his newfound companion in time to catch his name. Alcaeus. Bit of a mouthful, but a strong name nonetheless. He owed his own in return.

“Jemin.” A commotion, in the back of the milling, bustling crowd. It was headed their way. He paused, leaning to the side to get a better look - his mouth kept moving. “I’m Jemin. Better remember it, too - it’s the name to call when you’ve had enough of these saps.”

From the busy mass of healers and soldiers, the Fury from earlier emerged - the one he’d given the slip - and she marched forth with company in tow, spouting something about ‘authorized personnel only!’ “That’s my cue.” He gave Pinky a knowing glance, turned on the heel of his hooves, snapped his tail in an unceremonial wave-goodbye, and tossed back his farewell whilst moving forward with his retreat.

“See you around, Alcaeus.”