Ioeth

It was fiddly work, repairing gold chains. Ioeth adjusted the loupe over their eye, peering down at the golden links in their hands. They would have preferred to do it in the peace and quiet of the workshop room in the back, but they didn’t want to leave the two current customers alone in the shop.

The two women seemed to have no trouble entertaining themselves, though. Their conversation flowed like they had known each other for years, though Ioeth was quite sure they had met just now; one of them was the owner of the broken chain, the other was looking for a ring. Their chatter was hard to ignore, especially as one of them had a very shrill voice.

With a barely-suppressed sigh, Ioeth concentrated on the chain again. They just needed to close this one link—

“Goodness, another monster?”

“Oh yes, didn’t you hear about it? Up north this time. Whispering Sea, I think—”

“Thank the patrons it isn’t here…”

“ —that’s what the guardsman said, at least, I didn’t catch all of it—”

The chain almost snapped in their hands, the loupe falling to the wooden counter with a clatter. For a moment they stared at it, unseeing. The two women continued as if nothing had happened, the subject now changing to something about the latest trade with Nymene. Ioeth could feel something cold creep up their spine.

“Excuse me,” they said, biting their tongue. One of the women, the younger one, had pale creamy skin and red hair and a ridiculously oversized hat, and she turned when they spoke up. 

“I couldn’t help but hear—did you say there was a monster in the Whispering Sea?”

She gave an empathic nod, then waved her hand. “Yes! But we don’t have to worry about that here. It’s far away and there’s nothing up there anyway except the marshes. I visited there once, you know, and—”

They didn’t listen to the rest, the chill at their back spreading, something heavy settling in their throat. A monster in the north… Ioeth knew all too well how little those in power cared for the Whispering Sea—viewing it as a rural backcountry, scarcely worth anyone’s time—and they doubted the king, or the Order, would be keen to send their best and brightest there. 

“Ladies, I’m terribly sorry, but we are closing now. Here is your chain—now, please go—”

“But I haven’t paid!”

“Don’t worry about it. Please leave.”

The pair did, and a jittery, restless energy filled their limbs as they quickly turned the sign at the door to ‘CLOSED’. Mochrie had left in the morning, and they were fairly sure he was still away; all the better actually—Ioeth had no intention to bring him into a monster fight, regardless of what he felt about it. They would leave a note for him.

They rubbed their eyes, trying to still their racing thoughts. After Hagia, and all that followed, they had bitterly promised themselves to not lend a hand to those who would seek to imprison them—or worse. Why help those who would only spit upon their efforts? Of course, they hadn’t been able to hold that promise, traveling both to the jungle and back to Faline when the monsters following in Hagia’s footsteps had appeared, but they had kept to the sidelines, mostly letting others deal with them.

But this… it was different. They knew these lands; they knew the sun beating down on baked salt flats, reed-beds so thick you would need to cut them down to pass through. They knew what it was to grow up in a small and poor village, forgotten by the rest of Ivras, and yet still finding joy in the small things—and the idea that a monster would tear through that tranquil landscape, where birds wheeled across the water and fishermen tended to their nets, made something go ice cold in their chest.

Quickly closing up the shop, they returned to the apartment above, determined to leave as soon as possible. (672)

Mochrie

Well, he'd fucked that one up.

He'd only meant it to be for half an hour— just something to ease him into that state of limbo just before sleep. Of course, this time he had instead just fallen fully asleep, which only meant he'd burnt through a majority of the remaining hours without even being conscious.

He hadn't told Ioeth he was using the cloak outside of the shop; there was no reason to. Normally, he managed it just fine, and would have plenty of remaining time left to function in the shop with them during the day. Today, however, he'd only spent about an hour and a half in Ioeth's presence before the hair on his arms started turning red, and he took his cue to get back upstairs.

Currently he laid back in bed, heels of his palms pressed against his eyes, too disappointed with himself to do anything else. Though, in the pit of his chest, part of him didn't really regret it. For fucking once, he'd finally slept comfortably, even if the cloak made the bed small. He hadn't felt this rested in years. Once he got past his self blame, maybe he could even enjoy it.

Jangling keys and a door slam; Mochrie froze, hair standing on end. He knew they wouldn't come into his room, they never would without asking first— Bramble liked to hide things, sometimes— but he still feared being discovered, having to explain himself. He couldn't imagine why they'd come up here in such a hurry. His heart raced as he kept still, listening.

Their bedroom door opening; a padded thud, and then shuffling in the kitchen, a lot of rummaging going on, harmonized with their soft murmuring, as they apparently talked themself through whatever this was. Mochrie strained to listen.

He heard the opening and slamming of a drawer, the snap of a pen cap.

"—then write Mochrie his note, first, finish packing—"

Okay. That was it. He lurched off the bed, scurried across the floor, swept his door open before anything more could happen. As presumed, Ioeth stood arched over the kitchen counter, clearly scribbling onto scrap paper, their skeletal limbs still preoccupied with a haphazardly-packed bag behind them.

"Oh, no-no-no," Mochrie started, and Ioeth glanced up. He stepped forward, loosely pointed down towards the bag. "What the fuck is this?" He lifted his finger toward the note. "What the fuck is that for?"

Bramble came and weaved between Mochrie's ankles, rubbing a cheek all over him. Mochrie crossed his arms and stood there firmly, jaw tight, trying to keep any hurt from bleeding into his expression. (438)

Ioeth

Well, fuck. They heard the door to Mochrie’s bedroom creak open, and immediately knew what it meant; for a moment, they closed their eyes, exhaled quietly, and put the pen down. The ink would need to be refilled, they noted, somewhere in the back of their mind—it was almost empty.

The question hung in the air, heavy. They considered lying, but only for a moment, casting the thought aside; Mochrie deserved the truth—even if he wouldn’t like it.

“I need to go away for a few days,” they said, voice flat, picking up the note and looking at it for a moment before they ripped it apart, then threw the scraps into the kitchen stove instead. “I got some bad news just now. And I thought you were out, hence the note.”

It didn’t occur to them to question why Mochrie was here in the flat, wearing his pyjamas and an oversized robe, despite it being almost noon. Their gaze flitted around the room, frantically trying to think of anything else they might need, desperately wishing they had pressed the woman in the shop for more information. What kind of monster was it, where, exactly, had it been sighted? The Whispering Sea stretched for miles upon miles; marshy lowlands, salt flats and rolling banks of sand all the way to the horizon.

“There’s a monster,” they eventually admitted, expression tight and tense, absently tapping the stove with their claw, a stressed tap-tap-tap. “In the Whispering Sea. And I need to go there.” (252)

Mochrie

"A monster," he echoed. Not really his forte. He'd let the people built to hunt monsters deal with it, at least normally— but he knew Ioeth had come from the Sea, and he understood their panic.

"Fine," he said, "just let me pack." Simultaneously, he held up a hand to prevent them from contesting. "You're a fucking idiot if you think you'll be just dandy heading to some Order-infested war site. I'm gonna go with you. Someone should have your back."

He turned, moved to his bedroom, and pushed the door completely open, so he could still see the kitchen from inside his room. He knew that, unfortunately, Ioeth was the type to try and sneak away if given the chance, even after his insistence.

"You should also have lunch," he called out, pulling things from his closet, "before you go, but also because I want some." (147)

Ioeth

“I’m not bringing you to a monster—” They broke off as Mochrie held up his hand, taking a deep breath, shoulders sagging. When he continued, they opened their mouth, ready to protest, but closed it again after a moment, letting him continue. They watched as he turned, disappearing into his room, before they spoke.

“I don’t know what I’ll find there, or where it is, or how dangerous it’ll be, or if there will be any Order people…” they dragged a hand down their face, but made no attempts at leaving; instead they sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs, the bag by their feet. The volume of their voice fell. “And I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Part of them was relieved—the thought of Mochrie by their side was a weight off their back; part of them was terrified. There was the risk of Mochrie getting hurt by the monster, whatever it was, but they also dreaded what he would think of their magic. Sure, he had seen the ugly parts of it, and been on the receiving end, albeit accidentally—but he hadn’t seen what they were capable of now; the inherent violence in their powers and the potential for devastation… The idea made them feel sick to their stomach, as the possibilities churned in their mind.

…And then they were pulled back into the present, his comment about lunch suddenly making them realize how hungry they were. Muttering a curse under their breath, they aimed a kick at their bag, knocking it out of the way as they started to pull some things from the cupboards. (271)

Mochrie

Ioeth started irritably rifling through the things in the kitchen; Mochrie released a somewhat contented exhale in knowing they were at least listening to him.

He took the opportunity to put on his thieving outfit, on the assumption that Ioeth would be taking about as dangerous a route as possible. One would think that, custom-tailored, the garments would be perfectly fitted; it seemed instead that, over four months of disuse, they weren't quite so easy to get on anymore. He elected not to investigate the dilemma further.

He came back out into the kitchen, tugging a sleeve cuff further up his wrist, and glanced at a busy Ioeth.

"Is that me?" He raised an eyebrow at the carrot they were furiously hacking apart. He meandered toward the pantry and started gathering other ingredients to assist.

"You don't want me to go, fine. I don't want you to go either. It's both or neither. If you don't take me I will find a way to get there." (166)

Ioeth

“It might be, if you press the issue,” they muttered, pushing aside the growing heap of carrot pieces, then reaching for the halved head of cabbage. They broke off a bunch of leaves, stacking them before they had another go at them with the knife, and soon there was another vegetable pile on the cutting board. 

“No, I don’t want you to go,” they eventually sighed, putting the knife down. “But… I am glad you are.” They paused, pursed their lips, glancing over to the stack of foodstuffs on the bench. “Could you get the cured ham, please.”

They bent down to the stove to blow some life into the embers, tossing in a few sticks, and kept talking—their tone low and somewhat tense still. “I will bring you,” they said with a huff, putting the pan onto the stove, reaching for the spatula. “You’re going to hate it. Just saying.” (151)

Mochrie

"Yeah, I know." He'd never been to the Whispering Sea, but he knew it was hot, and sunny, sometimes to an extreme. He licked a bit of sugar off his thumb after readying the tea mugs. "I'll just have to wear a hood or something so I don't fry."

He was pleased that they'd admitted him to tag along; he wasn't looking forward to going, as they said, but if they'd denied his presence, going against their wishes would've made everything worse. He would have done it, though. Ioeth liked to pin things on themself, take on the brunt of whatever dramatic event was occurring, pretend no one else could handle it but them. Somehow, it seemed they still hadn't realized that other people cared for them, and could help soften the blow. Ah well. He would keep trying.

He finished filling the teapot with water and moved in beside Ioeth, setting it atop the stove. "Any recommendations for what to bring? I'm obviously taking the tea. I'm sure you forgot, but most people do still have to have lunch in the Whispering Sea. And go to bed, and wash off." He raised an eyebrow, gave them a sidelong look. "Unless you already packed food and bedding and all those other things?" (212)

Ioeth

They muttered something incomprehensible at Mochrie’s question, and focused on the food instead. The rich smell of stir-fried vegetables and ham rose from the pan, and as if further proving his point, Ioeth’s stomach grumbled again.

Eventually, the food was on the table; two heaps of stir-fry on a plate each, with a few thick slices of bread. Ioeth quickly devoured half of their portion, then sank back in their chair, rubbing their eyes. They could feel some semblance of rational thought come back to them as the food settled in their belly. “We need to bring water,” they said, finally. “That’s the most important. There is mostly salty or brackish water out there. And food… yes. Fine.” They exhaled through their nose, pursed their lips. “Maybe I forgot bedding.”

They held up a hand, folding down a finger for each item. “Water, food—we can find some there—bedding… uh,” they squinted at their count. “Fire things. A big hat for you. Some tent canvas.” A pause. “Are you bringing your cloak?” (171)

Mochrie

Mochrie just shook his head at Ioeth's verbal and abdominal grumbling, let out a scoff as he turned around. If anything, he found it humorous, their feeble denial of their complete lack of a plan more than telling. That, and he'd learned over the last few weeks that a peckish Ioeth could be difficult to reason with.

Mochrie sipped his tea, one hand resting atop the opposite elbow. Plate cleared, Ioeth sat at the opposite end, one basic need fulfilled and already starting to think more clearly— sort of. Mochrie listened, mildly amused, as they rattled off a meager list of ideas and supplies.

"First off, I am absolutely not wearing a big fuckin' hat," he started, and took another sip. "Second, if by 'finding' food, you mean we're eating hermit crabs or cactus or whatever the hell is out there— that's not happening." He wiped his mouth with the side of his thumb. "I'm bringing the good pan, the camping pot, and a shitload of spices. I am not eating unseasoned sand beetles while I'm out there, and neither are you."

He sniffed, swallowed, took another sip, looked at Ioeth, looked at the cloak, readjusted the hem of his collar. "Of course I'm bringing the cloak. I can at least help carry things when wearing it, and maybe fight something or other as Mac." He peered into his mug. "I'll probably drink water as me, though, so I take up less— assuming that transfers. I don't actually know."

He was avoiding the subject of sleep entirely, and very intently; if he had to forfeit good sleep while in the Sea in order to use the cloak, then fine. He would do what he had to. He just didn't want Ioeth to pick up on why he'd missed working in the shop today, and burying the topic before it cropped up felt like a good out.

His need for security bested him, however. "As for the tent, are we getting sleeping rolls? Mats? Hammocks?" He squinted. "And how the fuck are we carrying the water?" (345)

Ioeth

“What’s wrong with a big hat?” they protested, then huffed, and put their hands up in a half-shrug. “Well, suit yourself.”

They had finished their food, and grabbed the tea mug instead, drinking deeply, though had to put it down at his next comment, coughing. “Sand beetles! No, but fresh fish,” they scoffed. “There are things to eat, if you know where to look. But alright, fine. We will bring food.” The less time spent on foraging the better, they supposed; more time to go after the monster.

“I’m taking a sheepskin and a blanket. It won’t rain, and I doubt it’ll get cold. I have no plans on staying for weeks—a couple of days at most.” 

They were quiet for a bit, absently chewing the crust of their bread. Their decision to go had been impulsive, and Mochrie had raised a few very good points; namely, the water. Had Ioeth gone alone, they would have carried a simple water bag, and if they didn’t find water—and there were places with freshwater, you just had to know where to look—they could simply have traveled elsewhere to refill it. That would be more difficult to do with water for two people, though.

“The water is a bigger problem,” they muttered. “I think we will carry a waterskin or bottle each, and camp near a village if we can find one—they’re usually built around or near freshwater.” Another mouthful of tea, and they ran their tongue along their teeth, thoughtful. “It doesn’t matter much what shape you’ll take. You need the same amount of water.” (263)

Mochrie

"Hmmh." He scratched at his jaw, trying to figure out how that worked— maybe he should drink water as Mac, then?— when one last question came to his attention, made his gut turn cold.

He looked at Ioeth. "You've said nothing on horses or carriages," he said. The hand at his jaw moved to rub at his throat for a moment. They were willing to let him along, now. Their words had been I'll bring you. His teeth grated against each other as he tested his theory. "How exactly— literally, physically— were you planning on getting there? Taking me?" (101)

Ioeth

They met his gaze briefly, then looked away. “Well,” they started, voice dry as they looked down at their near-empty tea mug. “I said I’d bring you, and I did say you’d hate it…” 

They pushed the mug away, leaned forward to rest their elbows on the table; one skeletal claw reached up to tap the wood lightly. “You know I can travel through shadows? That’s what we’ll do. You grab hold of me and don’t let go, and a moment later we’ll be there.” They smiled, but it was flat and more like a grimace. “I’m sure you can imagine how that will go.” A weary exhale. “Sorry.”

They rose to their feet, not waiting for an answer, disappearing into their room with their bag, but keeping the door open. Time to repack a few things. (106)

Mochrie

Ah, the typical say-something-deprecating and run-away tactic. Mochrie let out a nasal sigh as Ioeth removed themself from the table, scurried back into their room. He finished off his tea.

He'd been expecting something like that, at least once he'd realized the lack of travel discussion. The thought of ever going back into that fucking place, the black emptiness and cold, where he once had unravelled— not ideal. Really wasn't. Definitely not a favorite.

He toyed with the maroon cloth over his shoulders, pulled it up over his head, tested the weight of it. Good enough hood for the sun, he supposed. He could hear Ioeth rummaging through their things in the background.

He stood up, sniffed, wiped his nose, and then moved to start packing things he knew Ioeth hadn't, like soap and floss and forks and spoons and spices. He was clueless as to where they were going to get the tent, but maybe Ioeth already owned one. He found himself caring a bit less about it, the idea of a tent suddenly paling in comparison to teleportation through what was probably purgatory.

He rubbed his eyes. Too late. Ioeth couldn't keep him from going. (197)

Ioeth

As they stood in their room, rearranging their bag, they thought about their mode of travel, and the Abyss. Taking Mochrie there was definitely not ideal; some small part of them had, perhaps, wondered if the thought of it would be enough to make him stay home—but no, while he had looked a bit wild-eyed, there had been no hesitation.

The tent canvas was already tied to the bottom of their bag. It wasn’t much of a tent—rather more like a low shelter against the sun and wind—but two people would fit, with some effort. There was a small pouch for sewing repairs, some items for making fire, a knife and various other bits and bobs. They may have been ready to run off without more than what was in their bag, but they wouldn’t have been entirely unprepared.

When they returned to the kitchen, their bag was somewhat heavier, but they obediently added the wrapped packets of food Mochrie handed them, and filled their water bag to the brim. Hoisting the pack onto their back, they looked at Mochrie, who seemed to be finished as well. 

“I just need to grab something from downstairs,” they said. “Then I think we are ready.”

The shop was as empty and locked as it had been when they left it, but they quickly put away a few things they had laying around, and went into the back room, coming back out with a coil of rope. 

“Mochrie?” they said, raising an eyebrow.

He stood by the window, curtain pulled aside, peering out of it with a darkened look. "There are some assholes coming to the shop even though it says it's closed." His eyes widened. "Wait, is that—one of them is that moth breather?"

Ioeth groaned. (286)