Art Sales

@Ozie
Same as the others say, no worries and take care!

@Ozie
Hope things will turn out alright for you.

No worries from my side, being the last in line I wasn't expecting anything soon anyway!

@Blueberrypodoboo I know I've given you this part already, but I wanted to make some further edits as some of it seemed a bit rushed. As well as this, if I continue working on it, I should be able to give you both two and three either today or tomorrow. I'll send them as soon as I can! (I mostly edited the second part after the asterisk, though the first still has a few edits here and there.) [emoji=coatl happy size=1] [quote=Vladimir (pt.1 redo)]-1- He was dying. He didn’t know how he got there, or where everyone had gone. One moment, he… [i]Damn it[/i]. Where was he just a few moments ago? He couldn’t remember. He could barely even think straight. The pain thundering in his chest didn’t help. Each breath speared his lungs, and each round of agony sent him further to the ground until he was on his knees, gasping. Toxic air. Only the most severe of some regions had this, and he just so happened to be in one of them. No wonder it smelt like poison. His surroundings only confirmed his suspicions. Everywhere around him was dead. Though his eyes watered with each painful inhale, he could make out skeletons of both dragons and familiars alike in the distance alongside rotting trees that the toxic air must have choked of oxygen. Some kind of red sand filtered its way through his digits as he doubled over and coughed up phlegm, blocking his already-choked throat with specks of dust. [i]So the ground[/i] and [i]the air is out to get me[/i], he thought, wiping his mouth with his trembling paw. [i]What next? A dragon?[/i] His throat was as dry as the desert cornering him. He tried to savour what little moisture he could from the pool of saliva forming in his mouth, but it was little use. His tongue grew heavier with each second that passed in this wretched hellhole. He was going to die out here. The thought was enough to make his heart pound in his aching chest. The strength in his arms fell into shaking first. Their numbness gave way to pain as he landed on his left wing. A crack whipped through his ears. The snapping of bone wasn’t his own, luckily, but that of an ancient arm of some dragon. A coppery tang filled his mouth and pain bloomed in his cheek. He couldn’t move. Not in the state he was in. There weren’t even any rocks to assist him. Just infinite amounts of red sand that stuck in his throat, his eyes and his claws. Something grey flickered into existence as he choked and spluttered on the ground, though his hopes didn’t rise. He was alone out here. He must be. It got a few steps closer, and through his blurred stare, he could make out an outline. It was some kind of dragon. They were heading towards him. Despite himself, hope fluttered in his heart. Maybe they could save him! They got closer again. He could spot a top hat and vest, a startling red scarf wrapped around their neck for some unknown reason. It seemed too warm for a scarf. All of their garments were speckled with the same red sand that was slowly killing him. His hope continued to rise. The figure got closer until he stood a few meters away. From there, he could make out his face through his tears. A grey Ridgeback, but a small one; he was about the size of him, if not slightly taller. Dots of red sand covered him, getting under his scales with swirls of yellow—almost like mustard—drifting along his body. The scarf he wore… it looked familiar, even smelled familiar, but he couldn’t put his digit on it. Where had he seen that before? The Ridgeback crouched before him and angled his head in question. His eyes were a striking ruby red, a black slice running through the middle of them. They looked almost like his. Their beauty was all he could focus on. “Please,” he choked out. It agonised him to speak, his voice scratching along the inside of his throat. The male seemed to understand. He slowly pulled a prismatic flask out from a secret vest pocket and shook it. Water sloshed around inside. The sound of it was like music to his ears. He tried to reach up and take it, but his arms stayed still. Death was coming. “Please.” He made no move to help him. With a single movement, he downed the water right in front of him. Droplets splashed onto the sand between them. If he had any tears to spare, he was certain he would’ve cried over the loss. A hoarse whine left him, begging him for just a gulp of water, and the male gave him a look over the flask. Something deadly flashed in his beautiful red eyes. It terrified him. When he finished with a loud, mocking sigh, he slipped it back into his pocket and gave him a twisted grin. White teeth flashed within. They looked sharp enough to tear through scales and skin. “You’re not worth saving,” he hissed, a forked tongue slipping through his teeth. He sounded almost like a snake. “You’re not worth the drag on supplies.” Standing slowly, he spat at him. It landed on his cheek with a sickening slap. Then he was gone. He disappeared with the wind, becoming one with the sand that fell into his mouth and choked him of air. He left him to die alone in a wasteland that only Plague dragons could survive. At last, his throat clogged up completely, cutting off his air and leaving him to scratch and scream at the barren land around him. * Panting and sweating like a dog, he shot up onto his knees and clutched at his throat. It wasn’t swollen or clogged. He could breathe. He wasn’t dying. Tears welled in his eyes. He felt sick and dizzy. Confusion clouded his mind and sent his stomach reeling. [i]Where am I?[/i] “Hey,” a voice groaned softly, “you nearly crushed my rib.” He looked around for the source of the voice and spotted the same male from his dream. Yellow patterns covered his scales, his skin dark and speckled grey below it all like storm clouds against some kind of golden wind. Gorgeous red eyes peered at him, a hat sat behind him and a waistcoat hung over a chair in the corner of his vision... Starting, he backed away to the end of the bed, wide eyed and shaking. [i]What am I doing here? Where am I?[/i] The male sat up gradually, thinking of what to say. It didn’t help. He used that time to back away further, until he felt the edge of the bed press into his paw. “Vlad,” he began, edging slowly towards him, “it’s okay. It’s just me.” “You left me to die,” he sobbed, his back pressed against the wall. It was white down to the Starwood they’d used for construction, the scent of the sea lingering in every crack. If only he could teleport there. “You let me die!” “Vladimir, honey, it was just a nightmare.” The Ridgeback gave him a small smile and reached for his paw. He let him take it. He was too afraid to move. “You’re okay, you’re safe here.” [I]You’re gonna be okay. We’re going to find you some help.[/I] “Go away,” he whispered, screwing his eyes shut. “Go away!” The male didn’t leave. He hooked a digit under his chin lifted it so that he would be staring into his eyes. Slowly, he cracked them open and panicked. They were the same as in the dream, but something was wrong. The pupils weren’t slits. Rounded like a beady black ball, worry and something else filled them. Was that... love? Recognition sparked in him and tears spilled over. [i]Walter?[/i] Without thinking, he dived at him and forced his mouth open. He had no forked tongue, no spiked teeth. The panic ceased as quickly as it began, and the relief almost broke him. [i]You’re safe here.[/i] “Vyad,” Walter groaned, tugging his paws away from his face and making a show of discomfort. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “One, I’m not into that. Two, do you feel any safer now that you’ve checked basically everything?” He nodded. Vlad... his name was Vladimir. Of course it was. Vladimir “Viper” Azama. Walter gave him his name upon saving him. [i]We have an old story back at my old lair[/i], he’d told him one night when his asthma kicked in. No doubt, it was an after-effect of breathing in so much toxic gas. They found that out soon enough. [i]Vladimir the Unkillable; it’s said that he fought off hordes of Beastclans with just his bare paws. He sounds cool[/i], he’d said, downing a vial. [i]I think that story, and that name, suits you perfectly.[/i] He remembered snorting at that. [i]Really? Yeah! Why wouldn’t you, after surviving neither of us knows how long in the Mist? You want to call me Vladimir. Why the hell not? All I’ve been calling you for the past few weeks is Viper, and that’s not exactly a cool name. It’s really not, is it? You weren’t meant to agree with me![/i] A spike of pain brought him back to the present. Walter sat cross-legged before him, rubbing his arm. He was still trembling. “I pinched you,” he told him gently. “I thought it’d help.” “I’m sorry,” Vladimir muttered as he bowed his head in shame. “I thought I was still dreaming; I didn’t mean to attack you.” “You’re [i]sorry[/i] for something?” he cried, feigning shock. When he didn’t laugh, Walter cleared his throat and continued in a softer tone. “It’s not your fault, Vlad. You looked terrified, you still do, and even if you didn’t I still wouldn’t say it was your fault.” He sighed, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Especially not since you relive that horror story of a memory almost every night; how could [i]anyone[/i] blame you for your fear?” Sniffing, Vladimir crawled into Walter’s lap and let himself weep into his chest. Either relief or terror was the culprit behind his near-unstoppable flow of tears. He didn’t know how long it took him to calm down. He didn’t know how many times his lover reassured him that he was safe, alright, protected. He didn’t know how many tears he shed before they stilled, or what time it was when they finally stopped. All he knew was that it was enough to leave a huge wet patch on one of the strange tunics Walter wore for bed. “Sorry,” he muttered as soon as he noticed, ears flattening against his mane. It felt slick with sweat. Walter merely nuzzled his head. “You know I love you more than some silly old tunic, right?” “I guess.” “You guess? Is that all?” Vladimir gazed up at him, confused. “No.” “So you know then, yes?” “Why are you even asking?” “I know that sometimes you doubt it,” he sneered playfully. “I just wanted to make sure. Plus, if you knew, you wouldn’t apologise for getting a few tears on it.” He tried to swallow the tremor in his voice before speaking. It still appeared anyway. “I know, Walt.” He hummed. Before he could react, Walter cupped his face in his hands and kissed him gently on the lips. They were unlike the rest of him; where scrapes and nicks littered his skin from all sorts of activities, his lips were soft to the touch despite the cold. Vladimir let himself sink into them. Away his worries went, disappearing until it ended like smoke to the wind. The nightmare he had became a distant memory, and even the fear seeped out from his pores. [i]You’re safe here.[/i] He half expected them to return as soon as it was over, but Walter’s cheeky smirk kept them at bay. “Now you can remember it.” Vladimir sighed and leaned on Walter, drifting into an unwavering calm. The soft, rhythmic thumping of Walter’s heart against his cheek kept him anchored to this reality, contorting his concentration. It swept away the ‘what ifs’ that clawed at his mind, pushing them into a locked box that would never be opened. [i]What if [/i]this[i] is the dream? What if this is another reality that you’ve entered upon your death?[/i] He shook his head slightly. All that happened was a bad dream, nothing more. The movement prompted Walter into raking a paw through his matted mane. It must’ve knotted from his tossing and turning. Each drag through untangled it until it was softer and less painful to touch. The sweat, he knew, was another matter. “Someone’s going to need a shower later on,” he mumbled, twirling a tuft of hair around his digit. “I think both of us need one after setting up the tent.” Walter snickered. “You’re not wrong.” Vladimir opened his mouth to tease him when a loud [i]THUD[/i] came from the roof. He could’ve sworn something squeaked upon the impact. “What was that?” he muttered as he peeked outside into the flurry of snow. Whatever had crash-landed didn’t sound particularly big, more like the size of a familiar, but he couldn’t hear anything coming from outside. The storm must have picked up, blocking most of what would come from outside with howls. “I don’t know, my love. I can’t see through wood.” He stuck his tongue out at Walter and rushed towards the door. His orb—a gift to all Pearlcatchers—lit up under his touch as he grabbed it from their desk. A thin white shirt and breeches wouldn’t nearly be enough to fight off the cold, so he quickly grabbed his scarf and raced out into the cold. It was the same red scarf from his dream. No wonder it had looked familiar. The night sky was beautiful tonight, he noticed upon stepping out into the cold, with all torches blown out by the storm. Stars mixed with the snow, dotting the blanket of darkness, and the moon was like a spotlight smack-bang in the middle. He loved coming out onto the terrace sometimes and just gazing up at the sky. [i]No[/i], he told himself with a shake of his head. The snow bit at his feet as he trudged through the flurry, keeping his paws in his armpits to warm them. The orb flew off ahead, acting as his scout. [i]I need to find what caused that noise.[/i] Wandering around to the left of the caravan, where the noise had come from, he half expected it to be a Death Seeker. They were blind half of the time, aside from the large eye on their chest, and it wouldn’t be the first time one of them thudded onto the caravan thinking it was a tree. The snow wouldn’t help them, either. A scream shattered through the night and he halted. It was on his side of the caravan, and loud sobs soon accompanied it. Walter raced outside as soon as Vladimir sped towards the noise. His orb glowed brighter and hovered above the cause of it. He’d expected relief upon finding it, but he could only feel guilt for the poor thing. Its wing was at a weird angle, peeking out beneath a tiny navy blue cloth that must be his blanket. The tears and screams broke his heart. “Sweet Deities,” Walter muttered when he rushed to its side, crouching down next to the baby. He looked just as heartbroken as Vladimir did worried. Vladimir sat with him and tentatively touched the hatchling’s skin and wings for bumps, scrapes and bruises. It was evidently a male, as the face was less rounded, and the feathers on either side of his face stuck up instead of drooped. Well, some did, anyway. His wing must have broken upon impact—a thought that made his blood boil in anger, though towards what he didn’t know—and a couple of his right head-feathers were crooked. Instead of pointing upwards with the rest, the first three folded down over them, creased from the fall. He prodded gently at his wing, grimacing at his screams of pain. Four fractures. They’d have to get him inside quickly. “I’m hoping a familiar dropped him,” Walter snarled, checking around them to see if anyone else woke up, “because if a dragon did this, they’re crueller than what I have the terminology for.” Vladimir agreed with him as he gently scooped the newborn up into his arms, his orb keeping his tiny outstretched wing suspended in the air. He screamed with every movement he made. “Walter,” he said, his voice cooler than he expected, “you go inside, clear the desk and get some pain medication sorted.” “But—” “Please. I’ll need it if I’m going to fix his wing up.” Walter hesitated for a few seconds before nodding and rushing back into their home. Vladimir chose to wait on the terrace with the baby until his lover called him inside. Of course, he made sure to swaddle him in something, and considering how wet the blanket they found him on was, Vladimir opted to using his scarf. As gently as he could, he propped the hatchling’s wing up on one knee and laid him to rest in his lap so that he could get to work. The poor thing sobbed and screamed at the movement, at the cold and the cruelty. “Hey, little one,” he cooed as he wrapped the scarf around him, being careful of his wing. “You’re going to be okay, I promise. We’re going to fix up your wing and find where you came from.” He whimpered in his lap, but he fixed his gaze on the orb that danced around Vladimir’s head. In its hovering state, it fascinated him. Vladimir grinned at the hatchling. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? It can do some awesome things, too. Do you want to see?” He gurgled in response, his own smile breaking free as he reached for it. The orb did all sorts of tricks in the air just for him, from changing colour to making sparks to even settling itself next to the baby and warming him up. The sight of his little smile in the midst of the agony made Vladimir’s heart flutter. Perhaps the orb was like his huge painkiller. “You can come inside now, Vlad!” He initially struggled to stand with the Coatl bundled up in his hold wriggling to see the orb at all times, but he managed with Walter’s help and eventually carried him into the warmth of the caravan. “Poor little thing,” Vladimir mumbled as he set the newborn onto the desktop with as much ease as he could. He didn’t seem to notice, his eyes on the orb that settled itself onto his stomach and continued to warm him up. A sad smile formed on his lips. “He looks only a few hours old.” Walter huffed beside him as he sat down on the chair, crossing his arms. “I want to know who did it.” “Let’s focus on him first, my dear.” Patting his lover’s arm, Vladimir inspected the poor baby’s wing. Out of the four fractures, none of them looked complicated. Not that he’d felt, at least. Vladimir grabbed a couple vials of medicine, a syringe and got straight to work. The painkiller knocked the baby out almost instantly, yet he still whimpered and whined every time Vladimir managed to slip a fracture back into place. He wondered why he wasn’t squeamish to the cracking like Walter was whilst he worked, who ended up diving under the duvet to escape the noise. It didn’t work out in his favour. The groans were enough to make him giggle. Out of the entire hour or so he worked on the wing, it was cutting into it that made him frown. He had to, however. If he didn’t, there was a possibility the wing would heal incorrectly. He’d make a small incision just above the fracture to check it was in place, then douse it with a special salve. Each time, he had to cut deep enough to scar him, but he wasn’t about to jeopardise the baby’s flight. Besides, he might make up fun stories for them in the future. The thought of what he could come up with made him smile as he worked through the growing exhaustion. Vladimir was working on the last incision when Walter finally came out of his hiding place, crept up beside him and gazed down at the slumbering hatchling. He looked up to see pain in his eyes. Walter knew exactly how this hatchling felt. “He’s so small,” he murmured. He sounded almost as broken as the hatchling’s wing. “Why would someone do this to him?” “A familiar could’ve dropped him, Walter,” Vladimir told him. His eyes were as heavy as anvils. “It’s not unheard of, and you even suggested the idea yourself.” Walter sounded like he was about to protest. It never came, a sigh replacing it. He threw his arms around Vladimir’s neck to nuzzle his cheek. “Are you nearly done with him?” he asked, perching his head on his shoulder. He hated himself for the groan in his voice. “Nearly.” All he had to do was sew the incisions up. It wouldn’t take long, but exhaustion was beginning to lull him to sleep in that very chair. “Do you want me to do it?” He snorted. “You’re squeamish, Walter. You wouldn’t last more than a second.” “How humble of you, Vladimir, to think that I’d even last as long as [i]that[/i].” They giggled as he fished through the drawer to find a needle and thread. It was at the bottom of the desk, as it always was when you needed it. After a few attempts and irritated grumbles, the sewing tools finally came free and he quickly but steadily sewed the incisions up. He did it in good time, for the newborn woke up a few minutes later, whining for food. As cute as he was, the whinging made him grimace. His lover kissed at his cheek, the curve of his lips suggesting a smile. “You look done with life, my dear.” “I want to sleep,” he moaned as he leaned his head on Walter’s. “Go to sleep, then. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” Vladimir turned to face him, grinning through the exhaustion. “One that I will no longer be participating in, my dear.” “Aww, but you’ve got to! We’ve got a few dragons moving into the circus!” “One of us has to stay here with little’un, sweetness.” His lover pouted at him. He snickered. With Vladimir half expecting him to plead for his apology like the drama queen he was, Walter surprised him with a soft peck on the nose. “Let’s get you to bed then.” With that, he dragged Vladimir from the chair and led him towards the bed. He let him go about it; he was too tired to care. As soon as he got close enough, his legs gave out and he collapsed into the cover. It cushioned his fall, heaving more exhaustion onto him and soothing his tense muscles. The groan that escaped him lasted a good few seconds. Walter had left him to go sit beside the new born. The playful grin tugging at his lover’s lips and the Coatl’s giggles made him smile. “We’re going to have to get some food for him.” “We should do that soon,” Vladimir yawned, tugging the duvet over himself. It was almost as if he was drunk on cider; his coordination was awful. “He’s going to need it.” “I’ll go in an hour or so.” His mate was giving him one of cheekiest grins as he played with the baby. Whether it was because of the hatchling, him or any other of the hundred variables on the table, Vladimir could confidently say he didn’t care as long as his lover was happy. “You need your sleep.” Vladimir nodded. “You’ll wake me up if something’s up with him, yeah?” “Of course I will.” Without much hesitation, he curled himself up in the quilt and watched Walter from the bed. He was carefully wrapping the Coatl baby up in a spare blanket-like cloth he must’ve found in a drawer, avoiding his wing at all costs and humming an old lullaby to him just in case he started crying. As much as he was Shatterskull’s over-the-top, stubborn ringleader, one who went beyond the call of duty to satisfy his audiences, the secret side to him—the soft voice, the affection, the late-night talks—was something that Vladimir was able to steal for himself a few months before when they confessed (awkwardly) to each other. He grinned at the memory, falling into a deep slumber that no nightmare could interrupt. [i]What a strange day that turned out to be.[/i] [right][size=1][i]Made by Ozie in "[URL=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2371542]Ozie's Lore Shop![/URL]"[/i][/size][/right][/quote]

@Ozie
Can you let us know when youre Open again.
I have 19 dragons needing lore 18 being mated pairs.

Giosetta was looking for lore too.

@Giosetta
So far im liking the price of this one.

@Ozie
Sorry for pinging you again - but I thought about my commission some more and if that would be a relief for you (I know it definitely would be for me), you can change the length of my three dragons' stories to "undetermined length" as well - just saying that I don't expect them to be all of same or similar length. :)

(Also please add me to your pinglist - I love reading your lore creations!)

@IraBell
Of course! I'll let you know as soon as I'm open, however 19 dragons is a heck of a lot, so whenever you're able, we *will* need to talk about some kind of price.

Considering its 19 dragons that you want me to do, I may have to ask you for real currency over gems/treasure as it'll take a lot out of my time to complete them all and will hinder me from getting requests from others for a while. I hope you don't mind that!

We'll talk about it all when you can. Once you're able, just send me a message.

EDIT: Talked about! Will let you know when I'm open :)

@Chou
Ehehehe, I will if you want me to, however "undetermined length" basically means that it can be single, double or full depending on the ideas I get for them. Would that be okay?

@Ozie
Yeah, it would! I want to give you as much creative freedom on this as possible and I think it is awful being forced to write a full if you don’t feel that inspired by that particular character.

@IraBell Thanks for pinging me, I'm going to take a look on my break, soon as I can!

@Blueberrypodoboo I was going to work on someone else's before I finished Vlad's but it irritated me that I hadn't finished it, so here you go! I hope you enjoy it! (I might edit this later on just to include some more minor details. I'll let you know if I do so that you can approve of them.) [quote=Vladimir (pt.2 & 3)]-2- It wasn’t cold out like he’d expected, considering it was dusk. If anything, the tunic he’d stolen from Walter was an added weight on his hips, almost dragging along behind him. The hefty bag didn’t help either. It rubbed his shoulder raw and swung against the small of his spine repeatedly. He’d have to tend to the bruises and burns at home. In the bag that beat at his back was specialised food for the hatchling. Blueberry, Walter liked to call him. Vladimir supposed he wasn’t wrong. His patterns had grown slightly more prominent in the past while, with tints of green gliding along his tail and shoulders. His wing healed nicely, too. They often woke up to random flapping and giggling in the night which, as adorable as they both found it, kept them from much needed sleep half of the time. He smiled. It didn’t last long. Trekking home, the bag on his shoulder trapping his wing, he spotted one of the many posters he and his lover put up for the hatchling. It read: [center][i][b]HATCHLING FOUND![/b] Small Coatl found by Shatterskull Circus. Seems to have Cherub genes and Glimmer, though we can’t tell yet. He’s still newly hatched, having been born on the 10th of February. If you recognise him, please come pick him up! He’s desperate for a good home.[/i][/center] It was on the dirt track, covered with muddied footprints. No one had respect for MISSING or FOUND posters anymore. If anything, they went entirely ignored, though Walter wouldn’t call that a bad thing. He wanted to keep him. Blueberry, although he had no say in the matter, seemed to agree with him, and the two grew ever closer while Vladimir continued to grab food and try to find his parents. He feared the worst for him. Shaking his head violently, he went along his way. He wasn’t far from Shatterskull, a mere few yards. In two months it’d grown drastically. From magicians to technicians, the Circus was doing a lot better than it was. At least, in terms of population it was better. In regards to profit, both Vladimir and Walter stayed up almost every night working out the best course of action. They didn’t like their findings. It was why keeping the hatchling was a bad idea, even if his lover didn’t see it that way. Vladimir stopped abruptly on the track and turned into the forest, walking for another few yards. Birds accompanied him on his walk, tweeting their songs to him until he came up to their mobile Circus in the middle of a clearing. Most of what they had revolved around caravans and their occupants care. The main tent was there, too, but it’d dirtied from disuse. They hadn’t had a good showing for a while. Some fared better than others with the lack of food. Jackie, for instance, looked just like her regular self, yet Aries and their newest member—Broken Mirror, he called himself—looked sunken and tired from so little nutrients. Their faces looked hollow whilst Jackie’s looked full, and the cold got to them more. Vladimir supposed it might be their size; they were much bigger than most of the circus, especially a Fae. Entering the Circus with a sigh, he felt his heart weigh heavy. Little Blueberry couldn’t stay with them much longer. He’d have to talk to Walter about it. “Hey, you okay Vlad?” Ears perked, he turned to see Aries. He was the gentle giant for the Circus, almost like a father or a brother to everyone who came by to stay, even if his thinness made him seem skeletal. Guilt washed over him. Walter would need to know about this. “You look lost, dear,” Jackie called from her spot. She peered out from behind Aries’ wing, a bowl of piping hot food in her paws. Vladimir could almost smell it from where he stood. It made his stomach growl. “I’m fine,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m just tired and hungry, like the rest of you.” “Is Blueberry doing your head in?” Vladimir gave the Fae a sad look. She frowned back at him. Even if she was one of the toughest Fae around, she still had emotions. “A bit, yeah. I don’t think we can keep him any longer.” “Why not?” Aries butted in, brow furrowed in confusion and evident pain. “He’s a cute little bean—” “Most of our money is going on him.” “So?” “The food is costing the whole Circus about twenty-thousand a week. That’s money we don’t have, not without profitable showings.” He couldn’t help but enunciate the finality of his sentence with a pause, hoping it’d help Aries understand. “We can’t keep him.” “Vladimir’s right,” Broken piped up, teeth chattering slightly. “I had a look at the bill papers; twenty-thousand a week could pay off one and a half of them, and then we wouldn’t be struggling so much.” Aries looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Since when did [i]you[/i] get to look at the papers?” “Since Walter needed a three-hundred-year-old male with no mathematical experience to work something out for him over [i]everyone else[/i]. He needed to look after Blueberry.” Vladimir smiled to himself, watching them. Aries and Broken, ever since he’d arrived, got on like a house on fire. They were almost like brothers already. Beneath his rags, he believed Broken to be the worst hit out of everyone in the Circus. His magic, as they were told, ate at his appetite like a drug and considering how low on food they were, he must be famished. Jackie seemed to notice this too, for she handed him her bowl of food and burrowed under Aries’ wing. Bidding his goodnights to the tiny fraction of Shatterskull, Vladimir opened the door to his caravan. His heart sank into his stomach. Walter slept on their bed, the tiny hatchling in his arms with a blanket draped over them. His speckled grey skin looked darker than usual, and bags almost as heavy as the one on Vladimir’s shoulder hung from his eyes. It must be from looking after the hatchling and writing calculations at the same time. His guilt worsened; he should’ve taken Blueberry with him to get the food. The Coatl, however, was looking straight at him. His wide, deep blue eyes pierced his own as if he was trying to read his thoughts. All Vladimir could do was look away, back to his lover. The baby started giggling when he drew closer after dumping the bag by the desk, reaching for his paws. He let him take it. His tiny claws dug into his skin, shrieks of laughter hurting his ears. “Walter,” he whispered, gently shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.” He greeted him with a soft snore. “Walter.” “No,” Walter mumbled. Exhausted slurred his words. “Walter!” His lover jerked awake at the yelling and looked around with misty eyes. It took him a minute to notice Vladimir was there, for his gaze lingered on the bundle of feathers on his chest. His heart sank a little more. It was obvious that he loved him. “What’s up, gorgeous?” he said with a tired grin. “Are you talking to me or the hatchling?” Walter’s eyes narrowed slightly at him. “What are you saying?” Cursing himself for being petty, he made his way to the desk and filtered through the piles upon piles of files. Almost all of them were bills. “It’s been two months, Walt. We need to get him to a good home soon.” “He’s fine here!” his lover protested. He didn’t seem to realise his voice was raising. “He needs a better home than the Circus, my love—” The floorboards creaked behind him and he turned, most recent bill sheet in hand, to see him sitting on the edge of the bed. Pain flickered in his eyes like a flame. “We promised him that we’d keep him if we didn’t find his parents.” “He’s not [i]safe[/i]—” “How isn’t he? He’s fed, he’s warm, he’s actually got a family! How is [i]that[/i] not safe?” Vladimir refused to raise his voice. He crouched down before Walter, showing him the sheet, and said, “We’re on the verge of losing the entire Circus. I know you want to keep him, but the money we’re spending on him could pay a couple of these off.” “He needs to eat!” A tether—his patience—wore thin. If he wasn’t so exhausted and hungry, it wouldn’t be close to snapping. “He needs a good home. We cannot [i]provide[/i] that if we’re [i]homeless.[/i]” Walter scoffed at his realism. “We’ll pick ourselves up. We did it last time.” “This isn’t last time, Walter. Last time, we still had customers. Last time, we didn’t have a new born in our care. This time, our last profitable showing was almost [i]three weeks ago[/i], and we have a baby to look after.” “He’s staying, Vlad.” Vladimir shot up onto his feet and paced the length of the caravan. The bill sheet flew from his paws. He couldn’t stop the pacing. He tried. “Walter, we’re [i]starving[/i]. Poor Aries and Broken look like twigs!” “Look at them!” Walter gestured outside of the window. The two males he’d mentioned were messing around in the dying light. “They’re perfectly happy.” “You’re not getting my point,” he snapped, stopping just before his lover. “That twenty-thousand could go to so many of our debts, and yet we’re using it to take care of Blueberry. We’re all starving, we’re all tired.” Vladimir’s eyes began to burn and raked his paws through his mane. He was shaking. “We can’t keep him.” “So, what, all of our effort is for nothing?” He gaped at Walter. “How is it wasted if he’s still alive and happy?” When Walter shuffled up to the baby to stop him from wandering off the edge of the bed, he collapsed into the chair by the desk and buried his face into his paws. He was barely coping. The exasperation and heartbreak at Walter’s naivety hurt more than the Mist in Plague, and that was saying something. He never truly forgot that pain. When Vladimir spoke again, he was on the verge of tears. Was it so bad to want his lover to understand? “Walter, please. We need this money, and he needs a good home. At least give him that.” He wasn’t listening to him. The hatchling was distracting him with flapping wings and raspberries. Vladimir sighed, biting his lip. “You might as well choose, then.” It was only then that his lover looked at him normally; he looked at him with love. “Between what, Vlad?” “You need to choose between us or the baby, Walter.” He started. A spark of shock flashed in his eyes, but it subsided quickly. “What do you mean, ‘you or the baby’? Why can’t I—” “You can’t have both, Walter, because both options need the money for different reasons. It’s time you decided.” Vladimir gazed down at the floor. He crossed his digits behind his back. Maybe this would make him see reason. “Which will it be; the circus or the baby?” “What if I chose Blueberry?” “Then you’d lose all of us—” He gave his lover a level look, made sure he was looking straight into his viper-like eyes. “—including me.” Walter’s face fell. Before he could reject the notion, Vladimir spoke. He sounded almost like a robot. His tiredness felt ready to crush him. “I’m not about to go homeless because you’d much rather keep a baby than pay off our debts.” He chuckled sadly to himself. “I have a feeling, however, that the decision’s already been made.” Slowly, realisation set in his lover’s eyes. “Vlad,” he began to plead, making a move to get off the bed. Blueberry, of course, was oblivious to the situation. “Don’t you dare.” “What will it be, Walter?” “Vlad—” “Choose.” He hesitated, facing away from Vladimir. That was answer enough for him. Proceeding to tug the scarf from his neck, Walter jumped back into action and clambered from the bed. “Vladimir, don’t. Please.” He let the scarf drop to the floor and headed outside, into the cold of the night. The fire was dim, if not dead, in its tiny pit of sticks and pebbles. Aries, Jackie and Broken were all in their caravans to try to get warm. Part of him was glad that they weren’t around to witness this. “Vlad!” Walter cried behind him. “Where are you going?” Without a second more of hesitation, he spread his aching wings and took off. The bitter wind caught his wings and sent him soaring under the stars. His mind raced almost as fast as he did. Both rational and irrational thoughts bombarded him from all sides. That box of ‘what ifs’ broke open. He needed to think. “[i]Vladimir![/i]” Shaking his head, he flew until his wings couldn’t take anymore, sending him crashing through the sky. Vladimir burst through the veil of clouds that separated the earth and the sky, only to spy the ocean coming up to greet him. He didn’t have time to scream. The crash of Vladimir’s body hitting the waves echoed through his aching mind. The weight of his wings dragged him further under the waves. It was like the Mist all over again. There was only one difference between the two; he knew how to swim. Struggling against exhaustion, he clawed his way up and through the surface, gulping down air. Luckily, he wasn’t far from the beach. Vladimir took his time in reaching the shore, focusing on the throbbing pain in his wings from flying. He didn’t want to think. He wanted silence. A few minutes later, the throbbing subsided and his thoughts took over, screaming for attention. Walter, Blueberry, Shatterskull Circus, the Mist. It all came back. All of them hurt to think about, dragging blades along the inside of his skull. The near silence of them deafened him. Without weighing his options, he flew upwards until the clouds looked almost like a blanket, folded his wings and crashed back into the ocean, renewing the pain until the act of thinking was unthinkable. [center]*[/center] It was dawn when Vladimir set off back home. His wings felt double his age, the muscles sending a sea of spasms through them like waves pummelling rock. Cuts and bruises riddled his paws, face, and neck. His mane was sopping wet; his clothes were torn and dirty with sand. Perhaps falling into the ocean repeatedly wasn’t the greatest idea he’d ever had, but at least it had silenced his thoughts for a while. They returned half an hour into his walk. Burning paws in his pockets, he trekked all the way home from the oceanfront. It wasn’t that far—a couple of hours—but it felt like an age. He’d been gone the entire night. He didn’t want to know how that made Walter feel. One wrong thought and anxiety burst in his chest and his stomach. It was butterflies and pain all at once. [i]Does Walter even want me back at the Circus?[/i] His first home to memory, and his only home as far as he was concerned, remained threatened by that one argument. Even if he welcomed him back, would things stay the same? Did any of them want him back, after what he did? The thoughts and their return was enough to make the tears Vladimir had fought for so long burn in his eyes. He let them. He didn’t have the strength to fight them now. Blueberry popped into his mind amidst the racing thoughts, and he shook his head. Did he want to get rid of him? No. He’d love to keep him, even if being a father at a meagre age of twenty made him feel awkward. Blueberry would be his one exception. He wanted to go back, to say that they should keep him with the circus. In another reality, it’d be better for him. This wasn’t that reality. Of course, money was still an issue. [i]Wasn’t it always[/i], he thought as he nibbled his bottom lip. If it hadn’t been for debt, or for the heavy rainfall, the argument never would’ve happened. He would be happy, Walter would be happy. That was all he wanted; to see his lover smile. “Vladimir? Is that you?” In spite of his desire to be stubborn, he peered up hopefully into the sky. A silhouette hovered just above him, a few feet away. Walter crashed into him before he could breathe, wrapping his wings around Vladimir’s back so that nothing stabbed into him. He was trembling, quite possibly from the blubbers that came from him. “I thought I’d never find you,” he whined into his shoulder. “I thought you’d actually left.” “Honestly,” Vladimir mumbled, hesitantly returning the hug, “That was the idea, for a while.” Walter raised his head and looked at him with teary eyes. Unlike however many hours ago, he felt the love that softened his gaze was for him, and it broke his heart when he began to sob. “I’m so sorry, Vlad.” A hiccup interrupted almost every word he spoke; it was obvious that he’d been teary for some time now. “It’s okay,” he said with a hush, taking the time to brush away every tear that dared fall down his cheek. “There’s no need—” “If I wasn’t being selfish, this... this wouldn’t have happened.” “Hey, now, come on.” Vladimir gave him a small smile—the biggest one he could muster—and watched with a flicker of glee as one tugged at Walter’s lips. “It’s not your fault.” He sniffed and buried his face into Vladimir’s chest. The tears kept coming. “But you don’t want to keep him.” “It’s not that I don’t want to keep him. It’s that I don’t want him to grow up in uncertainty and possible poverty. If we weren’t about to lose the circus, it wouldn’t be an issue.” “I know,” Walter said after a few minutes. His sobbing hadn’t quite subsided. He was already getting up by the time Vladimir thought of a way to comfort him. It required strength he didn’t have, and had a ninety-percent chance of going wrong. “I’m sorry for being selfish.” “That’s nothing to be sorry for,” he told his lover, getting up after him. He didn’t bother dusting himself off. “Believe me, I understand why.” His lover was facing away from him, tapping his foot. “Still...” Vladimir came up behind him and threw his arms around his neck. Without his lover’s spats, they stood at the same height, making it easier for his plan to play out. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to do something?” Walter murmured, distrustful. “Well, you’d be very—” Keeping one paw on Walter’s shoulder, he quickly bent down and swept him off his feet into his arms, smirking mischievously at his shriek of terror. “—correct.” “I hate you,” he growled, keeping a tight hold on him. “I seriously hate you.” “Want me to drop you, then?” “[i]Don’t you dare[/i].” Vladimir snickered and trudged on down the winding dirt path he’d taken the day before. “What’ll happen if I [i]accidentally[/i] drop you in a puddle?” “I file a divorce paper.” “We’re not even married.” “And we never will be.” Vladimir gave him an evil smile. “Are you sure? I’m fairly certain this is what I’m going to be doing on our wedding night.” “I’m sure that [i]I’m[/i] going to be doing this to [i]you[/i].” “We’ll rock-paper-scissor it, how’s that?” Walter snorted, loosening his hold on him and leaning against Vladimir’s chest. “I love you.” He grinned down at his mate. “So you don’t hate me anymore?” “I didn’t say that.” “I’m sure you did.” “Shut up before I bar you from the Circus.” Snickering, Vladimir behaved himself and continued to walk on. It took a while for Walter to relax in his arms, since he hated being picked up because it emphasised his unnatural size for a Ridgeback. As soon as he did, he began to hum and old lullaby. He’d sing the same song to Blueberry when he was having a rough night, and sometimes Vladimir would join in if he wasn’t passed out from collecting food, tending to the circus and various other roles he’d taken on in Walter’s absence. He never knew what the lullaby meant—it wasn’t in the Common Tongue—but he found that it kept the nightmares at bay for both of them. Vladimir found himself joining in before long. They began to try to out-sing each other on the way home that led to the inevitable screaming of lyrics back and forth. It became their only objective until Walter’s voice began to slur into sleepy yawns. Before he knew it, Walter nodded off in his arms two minutes away from the Circus. He hesitated on the border of it, then shook his head and entered. He had no reason to be scared. If Walter welcomed him back, surely the others would. “Vlad, there you are!” Aries called. He sat on the terrace just outside of his own caravan, Blueberry in his lap snoring the day away. He looked just as exhausted as Walter did. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where’d you go?” “Just to the shoreline,” he yawned. “I needed some time to think.” He eyed the cuts and scrapes littering his face and bare chest suspiciously. “[i]Just[/i] to think?” “And to fall into the ocean a couple of times, I suppose.” He shook his head, gaze settled on Walter. “He didn’t stop looking for you.” “I can’t begin to imagine how tired he is.” “Do you want to leave?” he asked suddenly, weighing his words as he stood. “Of course not, Aries,” Vladimir said, giving him a smile. “I just needed to think.” Aries smiled back at him, cupping Blueberry in his arms. His face lit up with the motion. “Want me to help you get him inside?” “Please.” He did so without any complaints. Aries wasn’t like the others in the circus, most of whom would no doubt be too exhausted to move. As well as being awake at obscene times and ready to help at even the simplest sign of struggling, he handled a two-month-old hatchling at the same time. He proceeded to take it one-step further by settling the hatchling into a small wicker basket Walter and himself have had to settle with using as a cot for him. Whilst his friend tucked Blueberry away in his makeshift cot, Vladimir gently laid Walter to rest on their bed, tutting when he turned his back to him and began to snore. “He’s so loud,” Aries grumbled with a grin. “How can you put up with that?” “My brain completely shuts down as soon as it hits about ten-o’clock at night.” He rubbed at his face and groaned. “I’m surprised I’m still awake.” They chuckled tiredly before Vladimir made his way to the baby, checking up on him. Looking at him, he felt almost bad. His gentle snores told him of the exhaustion he must feel, with his paws clutching onto an item Vladimir recognised. It was his scarf. How he managed to get a hold of it eluded him. “Walter must’ve given it to him while he was waiting for you,” Aries thought aloud, answering his confusion. “He hasn’t let go of it, even in his sleep.” Vladimir threw him a disbelieving stare. “You’re serious?” He nodded. “He tried to eat it a couple of times in my care but he didn’t want to let go of it. He started crying when I tried.” “He must like the colour red.” “Or an alternative would be that he loves you and that he missed you.” Sighing, he stroked the hatchling’s head and smirked at his sleepy gurgles. His head-feathers—the crooked ones—were bent at an awkward angle and both Walter and himself had considered surgery on his behalf. They decided against it. It would be his choice when he was older, unless it began to cause him pain. So far, he had barely noticed something was wrong with them. “You almost look like you want to keep him, my friend,” Aries commented with a wistful sigh. “I’ve always wanted to keep him, Aries. It’s just our financial situation—if it all falls apart, it won’t be good for him.” “I’m guessing the whole debt business isn’t some kind of sick joke, then?” Vladimir shook his head, mostly to stay awake. He kept his gaze trained on little Blueberry. “We need a profitable showing, and [i]soon[/i], or we at least need an investor—” “Well—” As soon as Aries spoke, he rose from his seat in shock, eyes wide. “[i]Well?[/i] Has someone come by?” “Someone came by earlier. He said his name was Clifford, and that he’ll be coming by tomorrow. Walter wanted to tell you, but he must’ve forgotten.” He snorted. “Wow, he thinks he can make his own appointments. He sounds kind of arrogant.” “In all fairness, we haven’t got a showing tomorrow,” Aries pointed out, giving him a small smile. “He looks like he can help us.” Vladimir didn’t respond. He sank back into the desk seat before his legs gave out and laid his head to rest on the side of the wicker basket. Blueberry stirred at the not-so-sudden movement. He had to think quickly to calm him, and opted with stroking his head-feathers some more until he calmed. His grip on the scarf in his tiny paws never loosened once, as if letting go meant he’d lose it forever. Aries leaned on the desk beside him and placed a paw on his shoulder. “We’ll save the circus, Vlad. It's like you’ve told us all many times; we’ll live, we’ll thrive, and we'll show all of them who the weak ones are.”  -3- Glitter was a [i]horrible[/i] idea. Within an hour of opening the horror that was the sparkling specks, the rainbow-sheeted sequins were everywhere. If it hadn’t been for the “glitter fight” he and his husband had, maybe it’d be less messy. Maybe. When he thought about it, it was more likely to be a dream. “Come on, dearest,” groaned Walter. Purple, pink and blue glitter covered him from head to toe. It was his own flag—the Bisexual flag—that inspired it. Vladimir had to admit that it looked good on him, even if he hated the stuff with a passion. He hated it even more as it flitted from his top hat and his waistcoat onto the wooden floor and into every crevice. “We’re going to be late.” “Don’t rush me,” he grumbled as the brush—dotted with millions of little rainbows—drifted over his cheek. He could’ve sworn he asked Walter [i]not[/i] to get him “Gay Glitter”, as he loved to call it. “And besides, it’s not for another hour.” “By the speed you’re going at, it’ll take you another week.” “Shut up before I gag you with sparkles.” Even turned away, he could tell Walter winked. “At least my insides will be as beautiful as my outside [i]just for you[/i].” Vladimir rolled his eyes. He grabbed a pinch of rainbow glitter and chucked it at his mate, grinning evilly at his shriek. “I worked [i]hard[/i] on this!” he cried. The scratching of claw against cloth was like music to his ears. “You didn’t even work on that suit, my love. You just bought it.” His husband blew a raspberry at him. “You’re horrible to me, you know that?” “[i]I wuv you![/i]” he yelled, dumping the brush on the dressing room desk, sprinkling “Gay Glitter” everywhere. Satisfaction overcame him as Walter shook his head. “Why did I marry you?” he muttered. He had his back turned to him. Perfect. Vladimir hummed lengthily, stroking his chin. He hoped it covered the sound of his footfalls. “Because I’m the best male ever and you love me lots?” “Nah, that can’t be right.” He giggled. “Because I’m your son’s second father?” “I don’t think that’s it either.” Slowly, he came up behind his mate, wrapped his arms around his stomach and nuzzled his shoulder. The slight jerk of his muscles didn’t go unnoticed. “Because then you have a sob story to tell others to get them to donate money to the Circus?” Walter nuzzled his mane. It was speckled with all sorts of glitter, the excess pulled back into a ponytail. “That sounds about right.” Vladimir sighed and planted a kiss on his shoulder. “We should bin your spats, you’re too tall.” “I like being tall!” he exclaimed excitedly. “How dare you offend me?” “Right, [i]sorry[/i].” “Can we get going now?” Walter sighed, no doubt pouting into his mane. “Why are you in such a rush?” he inquired as he picked out some rainbow specks from the sea of purple glitter on his mate’s neck. “Seriously, we’re not meant to be there for another hour.” “I need to go talk to Aries about pyrotechnics.” Groaning, he slammed his head into Walter’s shoulder. All his husband did was laugh. “We’ve talked about them enough, my love. Give it a rest!” “Why don’t you get our precious little dear out of bed while I talk to him?” Walter suggested, kissing his head. “Then your ears won’t be in agony.” He hesitated. “Do you think he’s okay? We haven’t seen him all morning.” “I hope so.” Walter made his way towards the front door of the caravan, shrugging on Vladimir’s scarf for some unknown reason. It was much too hot for it. “Tell him that I love him dearly but I need to go talk to Aries, okay?” “I will do.” With that, he quickly kissed his cheek and rushed out of the caravan into the summer day beyond. The door closed behind him with a soft [i]click[/i]. Vladimir waited a while and looked around the caravan. In the last decade, they both decided to treat themselves and their son to a larger space with the money they’d been saving. They had a room in the back for ‘Little Blue’, a dressing room for Walter’s fanatics and their bedroom where Vladimir could stop for the day as soon as he opened the door and collapse onto the double bed. The dressing room wasn’t so bad, as long as it was regularly used. He rarely went in there—it made him feel claustrophobic—but his husband kept it tidy enough. They’d painted it gold and silver, similar to his patterns, and let Torny get creative along the years, drifting from random green and orange stripes along the walls to some drawings he’d done recently of owls and wolves. Just by peering in, he could tell that his mate’s favourites were the suits. Walter only ever wore casual when they were alone or having a family day off. They just so happened to be close to their son’s artwork. Then there was their room, which was a tip. Random scribbles lined the walls from all three of them, the floor and some of the bed covered with glitter. It was almost as if a pig lived in it compared to the immaculateness of the dressing room. Most of the clothes scattered along the floor were Vladimir’s, due primarily to his laziness after a hard day. Walter’s were there too, but only from yesterday. The rest would be out to dry or in the chest of drawers after he cleaned them. It was one of Walter’s biggest complaints about him; that he was lazy. He’d have to prove him wrong eventually. Making a mental note to clean up later so that his beloved came home to a cleaner caravan, he slowly made his way towards his son’s door. His own hand and a carving knife etched the bold, deep blue letters spelling LITTLE BLUE into it just a few months prior, when he’d learnt how to handle one from Siegmund. It wasn’t enough to say that both of his parents were impressed. Vladimir still wondered, even now, how he managed to do cursive with a carving knife. He’d have to ask about it. He knocked lightly—their established ‘secret code’ was six rhythmic knocks—on the door to his son’s room and waited. When his son was about three, he quickly noticed how touchy he was about his privacy, often crying if they peeked over his shoulder. It wasn’t much different now; his privacy was a huge thing for him now that he was thirteen. Of course it was; teenagers hated their privacy being invaded. “Torny?” Vladimir asked after a few minutes with worry clawing at his mind. “Are you alright, hon? We haven’t seen you all day.” A rustle and the soft click of the door unlocking answered his words. It was sign enough that Torny permitted him to enter. “Are you okay, honey?” he inquired in the softest voice he could as he entered the room. He made sure to lock the door behind him. “We haven’t seen you all morning.” “I’m fine,” his son grumbled from his bed. Vladimir couldn’t see him through the thick sheet of royal purple that surrounded it. “You can tell me if you’re—” “I know, Pa.” He made a move to ask again, but bit his tongue. Staying quiet, he inspected the room. It was in a worse state than his was. Crumpled clothes littered the floor in complete disorder, so much so that you could barely see the mahogany floor; books piled into a swaying tower sat in a corner with crumpled bits of paper dotting the area around it; papers and notebooks ransacked his desk, unused. Vladimir’s heart quivered at the sight. It wasn’t like him to be so untidy. “Are you sure you’re okay, Torny?” A few seconds passed before his son spoke up, his voice a snarl. Something was definitely wrong. “Yeah, why?” “Your room’s a tip.” “So?” Vladimir made his way over the sea of fabrics and balls of paper to pull back the thick purple curtain. The bed was a meagre single. One end was vacant except for a pillow, yet the other end was overflowing with stuffed animals he must’ve hoarded over the years. Torny was hiding underneath the thick winter duvet, as always. He refused to change it most of the time. “It’s not normal for your room to be such a mess.” “I’m lazy.” “Are you now?” he chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. He petted the odd few feathers poking out beneath the duvet. “Since when?” “Since today.” “Do you not want to tell me what’s wrong, Torny? You don’t have to.” Torny didn’t answer. At least, not how Vladimir expected him to. In the place of words, the huddle of duvet shook slightly and out popped his son’s head. The look of his son shocked him slightly. His face was bruised and swollen from a fight three days ago with a dragoness—a nasty habit he got from Walter, and something he always scolded his husband for—after she’d called him weird for his head-feathers. They were still crooked even after all these years. His lip had tiny stitches in it, with bruises on his cheek and forehead. Fresh tears welled in his eyes. He reached for his paw, which clutched the cover around him, and stroked the back of it with his paw. He’d wait for his son to talk. It wasn’t fair to push him into telling him. Without warning, Torny began to shed tears, gripping Vladimir’s paw in a hold of steel. He let him. “Strom and I broke up,” he croaked after a few minutes, tears falling down his cheeks. Many of them pattered onto the back of his paw, or onto Torny’s duvet. “It hurts so much.” His face fell into a frown as he thought about what he should say. He couldn’t remember experiencing a break-up. He knew, vaguely, what one felt like, but he’d never had one happen to him. Memories before he turned nineteen were still lost to him, after all. “You don’t have to say anything,” Torny muttered, diving back under the duvet with an agitated sniff. “You don’t understand.” Vladimir didn’t leave. He wrapped his arms around the bundle and pulled his son into his lap. “I don’t know how a breakup feels, but I know that I’ve nearly experienced one.” His son hummed. “Nearly?” “Yeah. There’ve been a couple of times where your father and I nearly broke up.” “Why?” The tremor in his voice... he couldn’t tell whether it was fear or heartbreak that caused it. Vladimir patted the heap of duvet. “Sometimes it, the circus, got a bit too much for me to handle. Maybe it’s a similar reason to what you guys felt.” “I just think Strom doesn’t love me anymore.” “That could be a reason too,” he said as softly as he could, “as sad as it is.” Torny popped his head out from under the cover again then. Vladimir stroked his normal feathers, hoping that it would cheer him up somewhat. It used to. “Why does heartbreak hurt so much, Pa?” he asked, his voice a tremble. “The clue’s in the name,” he murmured, knowing he wasn’t helping. He didn’t know what else to say. “Your heart feels like it’s being torn by the event.” “Does it stop?” “Eventually, it’s different for everyone—how long it lasts, I mean—and it depends on your wisdom too, I suppose.” Torny looked up at him with a sniffle. “Wisdom?” “Yeah, something like that. Since this is your first ever heartbreak, it might last longer than if you were on your fifth.” “I hope I never get to my fifth.” “Me too, honey.” He huffed, shuffling in his lap, and then murmured, “Do you remember your first heartbreak?” Vladimir chewed his lip and shook his head. “I don’t. If I’ve had one, it must’ve happened before I was nineteen.” “Because you can’t remember?” “That’s right.” “How many do you think you had?” “Hopefully none,” he sighed. “However, realistically, it might’ve been one or more.” He had no time to react before his son sat upright, threw his arms around him and stayed uncharacteristically quiet. All Vladimir could do was hold him and rock him back and forth, hoping it’d help calm him down. “I don’t want it to hurt,” he whispered. “I want it to stop.” “I know, poppet,” Vladimir said in a soothing voice, stroking his head-feathers. “I know.” He took a moment to weigh his options. On the one side, he could sit with him and let him mope around, or he could give him a distraction, which had a fifty-fifty chance of making him feel better. He decided against the former. “There’s an upside to it all, however.” Torny sniffed into his shoulder. “What’s that?” “You get to spend more time with your old Pops, don’t you?” Quiet followed for a few seconds. “Don’t you need to go to a show, though?” “Not for another half hour yet, son.” An idea shone bright in the forefront of his mind, almost like a candle lighting up. “Do you want to do something fun?” “Like what?” Vladimir couldn’t help but notice that Torny sounded hopeful. It made him grin. “How about we go raid your Dad’s dressing room?” A soft hum followed his suggestion. Then Torny sat back on the bed and gave him a quizzical look. A twinge of regret settled in his eyes. “Won’t we get told off?” “Nah,” he said confidently. “He wouldn’t dare tell [i]you[/i] off. Maybe me, but definitely not you.” His left head-feathers dropped. In sadness, both sides looked almost identical. It upset him slightly. “I don’t want you to get told off.” “And I don’t want you moping around all day. It’s not good for you.” He stood up, adjusted dusted off his sparkling pants and held his paw out for his son. “Come on, let’s go have some fun.” Hesitantly, Torny took his offer and let him lead them both into the brightly lit, overcrowded dressing room that belonged wholeheartedly to Walter. Suits and formal wear loitered on the left side of the room, with casuals on the right. Something was different about the room, however. Didn’t it usually have a third section? “Woah,” he heard his son exclaim, staring at something behind the suits. “Is that Dad’s?” “Is what Dad’s, Torny?” “That!” Upon seeing his confusion, Torny rolled his eyes—as teenagers do—and reached into and behind the suits. He tugged out a sparkling tunic of purple that trailed down to the floor and then some. It [i]must[/i] be Walter’s; everyone in the Circus knew Vladimir never wore purple. “It’s so pretty,” his son breathed, running his paw along the sequins. They made a soft tinkling noise under his touch. Vladimir smiled down at him. “Why don’t you try it on?” Torny looked at him in surprise, a grin growing. “Really?” “Yeah, I don’t think he’s ever going to wear it.” Giggling manically, he pulled the tunic over his head. It was too big for him, with the sleeves falling far beyond his paws and the end of it trailing behind him, almost covering the entirety of his mint and blue tail. It suited him, though. Perhaps they’d get him one in his size. “It’s so soft on the inside,” he said between hiccups of giggles. He began to wave the sleeves around when he next spoke. “Flappy sleeves!” Vladimir chuckled and shook his head. “You’re so much like your father.” “Does this even fit him?” “Of course not; he got it for the sleeves. He loves oversized things, just like you.” Continuing to flap the sleeves, Torny wandered the length of the dressing room and pulled some items down from the top shelves just to peer at them. Amongst them was a bright pink feather boa that Walter bought as a joke. He remembered his mate buying it just to amuse Aries when they’d first met him and, of course, his son immediately put it on and filtered through more clothes to see what he could find. Huge star sunglasses were amongst his favourite items. They balanced unevenly on his nose. Vladimir stayed to the side, letting him wander around freely. As long as it made him happy, he was almost certain that Walter wouldn’t care if they made a mess. “Pa,” Torny snickered near the casuals, reaching into the fray. Half of his arm disappeared between pairs of breeches. “There’s something I want you to try on.” “What is it?” With the cheekiest grin on his face, he pulled out a Sylvan dress and scarf, both of which were a gorgeous red, as much as he hated to admit it. The dress didn’t look like it was in Walter’s size, though next to Torny, it might be. “I have many questions about this,” Vladimir murmured, eyeing the dress suspiciously. [i]Why does my mate still have that?[/i] “Try it on!” Torny sounded much too excited about his request. “Please?” “I don’t suit dresses, my dear.” “Please!” He sighed. Then he held his paw out for the dress. “As long as it’ll make you happy, then I’ll do it.” He didn’t say another word as his son rushed over to him and watched him pull on the dress much too eagerly. A sigh of exasperation managed to escape him. It fit like a glove, the scarf wrapping delicately around his neck. An irrational desire to tear it apart rose in him. It brought back hazy memories he wanted to forget. Torny was snickering by the time he’d shrugged it on. He seemed to be laughing at his sour expression. “It actually suits you!” he managed to say between spurts of laughter. He pouted at his son. “So does your ridiculous feather boa, [i]massive[/i] star sunglasses and silly tunic.” “Do I hear someone in my dressing room?” Panicking slightly, Vladimir had just enough time to turn around as his mate peered into the dressing room. Walter looked confused at first, but his eyes lit up upon seeing him in the Sylvan dress. [i]Oh no[/i]. “I came back to pick you up,” he began, smirking, “and you’re wearing the dress again?” “[i]Again?[/i]” their son exclaimed, beaming at Vladimir. He stayed quiet and toed at the ground. Embarrassment warmed his cheeks. “Do you want to tell him?” Walter inquired, coming up to his side and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Or shall I?” “I’ll do it,” he growled. Instead of scaring his husband, it only made him snicker. He’d have to fix that. Torny cocked his head at them. His cheeks were a cute purple from laughing. “Tell me what?” He couldn’t help it; his voice came out an embarrassed stammer rather than indifference. “I may or may not have gone through a phase where I wore dresses.” “You know, as gays do,” Walter said teasingly. “Excuse [i]you[/i],” Vladimir exclaimed, “you willingly wore them too!” He decided, in that moment, to do his best to mock his mate’s tone. “[i]You know, as bisexuals do.[/i]” “Are you being bisexualist again?” He snorted and buried his face in his paws. “That’s not the [i]word[/i], Walter!” “Your pa’s being bisexualist again, Torny.” Torny just giggled. He wasn’t going to correct him. Vladimir lowered his paws and gave his mate a exasperated look. “Are you being gayist in saying that all gays wear dresses?” Walter chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t they?” “Then [i]all[/i] bisexuals are obsessed with glitter and purple.” “Now [i]that[/i] is being bisexualist.” “Deities be damned, [i]Walter[/i], that’s not the word!” “Gayist isn’t the word, either!” A crash sounded to their left and they both turned to see Torny on the mahogany floor, wheezing. He’d knocked over a few hangers of outfits in the process. The huge sunglasses he wore were poking out from beneath one of the many suit pieces their son managed to topple. “Are you alright, honey?” Vladimir asked, crouching down next to him. He rubbed his back and hoped it’d help calm him down. Torny got up, crawled up to Vladimir and giggled into the dress. “It’s just [i]gayist[/i] and [i]bisexualist[/i].” “I think this is all a bit much for him,” Walter chuckled, bending down next to him and picking specks of glitter from Torny’s crooked head-feathers. “I think so too.” “We need to get going, by the way, my love. We don’t want to be late.” With a smile, he cupped his son’s face in his paws and lifted it so that they locked eyes. The giggling subsided, but left a huge smile in its place. Good. “Are you going to be okay on your own? Your dad and I need to go to the showing.” Torny’s smile dropped slightly, and he averted his gaze. “Can I not come with you?” “Course you can, honey,” Walter piped up. “We just need to get going soon, so if you go get changed quickly—” He never got to finish his sentence. Torny raced from the room, leaving a trail of stupid and strange clothing behind him. Vladimir followed suit in taking off the dress and silken scarf. After standing up, Walter perched his head on his shoulder, pouting. “You’re not going to parade around in it?” “I’ve left that phase, Walter.” “Still, it looks gorgeous on you.” Vladimir stuck his tongue out at him just as Torny called for them from outside of the dressing room. “I’m ready!” “Come on,” he murmured, shrugging his mate off. “Let’s go.” “Just a minute, Torny! I need to talk to your pa about something.” “Okay, Dad!” their son shouted, followed by the squeaking springs of their bed. Confused, Vladimir turned to see his mate looking guilty. The mask he usually wore for performances was out of his pockets and in his paws. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a whisper. Walter tapped at the mask. Guilt flashed in his eyes. “What was wrong with our son?” Vladimir smiled at him and grabbed hold of one of his paws. He began to stroke the back of it as he murmured, “He’ll probably tell you later.” “Was it something I did?” “Of course not, Walter. It was something else.” Walter squeezed his paw and smiled sadly back at him. “Do you think he hates me for not checking up on him?” “I know he doesn’t, now come on.” He tugged his reluctant mate along. “We don’t want to be late.” “[i]Noooooo[/i],” he cried dramatically, his tune changing instantaneously. Vladimir knew he still felt guilty, but the true side of him would remain hidden until later tonight, when no one would interrupt them. They’d talk about it then. “I don’t wanna go!” “Even Torny’s going, and he doesn’t have to!” He grinned to himself as he pulled Walter before him and began to shove him from behind. “Maybe I really am the better dad. Do you want that?” Walter shot off to the front of the caravan as soon as he finished speaking. He hurried Torny along, promising him some free ice cream during the showing if he wanted it to ‘give him happiness’. It was another one of his bribes. They often made it a competition to see who was the better father for Torny and let him decide, even though it never truly meant anything. More often than not, Vladimir won it, especially when Walter began to bribe him with treats. From a young age, their son hated lying and bribes. They adored that, and more, about him. This time, he knew, would be no different, no matter how hard Walter tried to buy his way into the ranks with minty ice cream and glittery costumes. [right][size=1][i]Made by Ozie in "[URL=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2371542]Ozie's Lore Shop![/URL]"[/i][/size][/right][/quote]