[ P ] Pour your heart out

A ball. His smile was wry as he glanced at the tall castle walls. Cracked windows glowed with flickering firelight from the torches within. Thick was the perfume of smoke, savory meats, and rare spices. Allegedly, the castle cooks would char some meats over the flames in order to elicit a delightful flavor unlike anything else. The nobles would be brushed until their pelts glimmered in the torchlight and oils would have added the scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, and other herbs to their fur. Although there was no princess, powerful daughters were no doubt meeting their future love interests on this fine night. Love was in the air and—even though he was not invited—Belfast couldn't help but smile. It was beautiful, wasn't it? He had no personal attachment to King Adamh's rule, but he did love the magic of it all. A monarchy was easily romanticized and Belfast couldn't help but feel that his mother would have loved it. She adored stories—especially those that included princes and princesses. To her, it had been the ultimate escapist fantasy. Perhaps she would have liked to live here and be surrounded by it all. A soft, noiseless laugh left him as he continued on his way. Albert, the aging apothecary that had taken him in, had granted him leave to enjoy the evening. Commonfolk were dancing in the streets and chatting excitedly. They, too, could not enter the ball but they could gossip and enjoy themselves just as well. ... ACHK! Chocolate ears flicked back as alarm ignited in turquoise eyes. The all-too familiar sound of retching was at a short distance from him. His first instinct was to turn around... but... it was dangerous. Whoever this wolf was, they likely needed water. Wrinkling his nose, he approached, half expecting to see an old drunkard barely able to bathe let alone hold his alcohol. Instead it was... "Xandria?" Belfast blinked. Could it be? It seemed so unlikely and yet there was the familiar coat of rich, dark russet. She seemed to be bent over by the castle wall, her legs wobbly as she... well... you know. "Goodness, how much did you drink?" He gasped as the stench of fermented berries cloyed with that of bile. Gingerly, he approached and offered his shoulder for her to lean on. He glanced down once, regretted it, and kept his gaze carefully level afterwards. “my sin, my soul.”

STOCK ➤Dawnthieves CODE.ART➤ amphi

@Xandria

It hadn’t been her intention to drink so much, but the sweetness of the wine on her tongue and the way it clouded her mind with a pleasant warmth had led her to over indulge. The yearling soldier had never consumed alcohol before knowing how dangerously addictive it could be. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. So she figured why not? She’d snagged herself a skin of wine from the castle and found a quiet to drown her sorrows. It hadn’t worked very well. Her mind was still racing, thoughts of her mother dancing with her new fiance within the castle walls. It made her drink more and then her stomach began to pulse, working to push out the poison she had ingested. A sour acrid taste was left in her mouth, throat burning from the bile.

Xandria? Her name being spoken aloud startled her. She jerked around, golden eyes wide looking very much like a deer in the headlights. Of all the people to catch her in such a state she was relieved it wasn’t a member of her family or a fellow soldier. They would judge her for her weakness. Enough, she answered, voice dry and brittle. It wasn't something she was going to do again that was for sure. Her stomach heaved again and she braced herself for another battle, but her belly was empty. I’ll be fine. Enjoy the ball, she grunted, pride keeping her from accepting his assistance.

Art by Ashon

Although she saw him, her eyes seemed unfocused as if two or three of him blurred together. It was a look he had seen far too many times while slipping into the Drunken Seagull late at night. His patron, too, had a love for the devil's drink. Belfast had never enjoyed catering to the old man's needs during the next day's hangover, but he had done so out of loyalty and gratitude. Now, he supposed, the man had taught him valuable skills. They were certainly employable here. "Enough," Xandria grumbled. “Hmmm,” he hummed lightly in response, his smile wry. At least she hadn't lost her attitude. For a moment, he feared that she'd vomit again. The fur along his nape bristled but he steeled himself against it. Although the situation had its own uncomfortable edge, he found himself adapting quickly. Was this not all part and parcel of his profession? Cleaning others up, holding back their hair and tucking them back into bed at the end of the day? His mother had done her part in preparing him as well. Huh, funny how that worked. “What if your soldier friends find you? Or your mother?” Belfast's chocolate ears twitched and he quirked his brow. “Better to be at Alphonse's Apothecary being spoon fed fluids than found slumped by a castle wall in a pool of your own—” He paused and glanced at the sky as if it would give him the answer. “—regrets.” “my sin, my soul.”

STOCK ➤Dawnthieves CODE.ART➤ amphi

@Xandria

The soldier was content to stew in her own misery. It was her own fault for indulging in the first place and she was prepared to suffer the consequences. Her head drooped, ears flattened against her skull as the world spun around her. Her thoughts were a mess, crashing around and tripping over themselves. Hazy golden eyes regained some clarity when Belfast reasonably suggested that another soldier could find her like this or worse her mother. Ohshih. She'll kill me. I'll be like dead. So dead, the deadest dead, she slurred her words, stumbling to her paws and promptly falling back on her butt. Her mother already didn't trust her because of what she'd done. What if she found out? She would be so disappointed and Xandria didn't know if she could handle upsetting her mother again.

Belfast offered her a solution and she knew she had no choice, but to accept. Fine, she sighed, resigning herself to owing Belfast a huge favour for helping her out. Let's go to Alfen's Apoco-thing, Xandria urged, obviously worried that her mother would jump out from behind every corner and give her that disappointed mother look. She trusted that Belfast would be discreet about her drunkenness and keep her condition to himself. Since it was he that brought up the risks in the first place she believed that he didn't want her being discovered either.

Art by Ashon

Belfast learned a new favorite word that day: Ohshih. It drew an involuntary chuckle to his lips and his smile broadened somewhat. Idly, he glanced up at the lights and the castle's highest, crumbling tower. Perhaps there was a certain magic to the ball... it did bring him this "fairy" after all. Sure, she was wobbly and stank of vomit, but she'd been the first one to make him smile today. Or maybe she was a goblin. “Easy there,” Belfast muttered as she flopped back. He stepped back and angled his haunches so that her back and neck would bump against his thigh before she rolled back too far. If she cracked her head against the cobbled stone, she could really become the deadest of dead. At her reluctant agreement, he gave a small nod. “Let's just get you up,” Belfast murmured. “Let's just try not to step in—” A soft squelch was heard as a dark paw jerked forward. “Oh well.” He sighed. The walk back to the apothecary was slow and dawdling. Although Xandria's gaze was unfocused, she seemed to think every stray shadow was her mother. Belfast did not know of the woman, but he had the impression that she was like a tiger—predatory and protective. Fair, if Xandria was to believed, but adhearing to a fairness that was less forgiving than most. It was Xandria's father that had been softer... kinder. Stoic on the outside, but so loving within. A dark ear flicked as pain burned at the back of his eyes and threatened to make him cry. Alas, the time for tears had passed. Forcefully, he diverted his thoughts away. ... “So,” he mused as he brought over the cracked bowl. He offered her suntea, a simple concoction of ginger and mint that had been warmed during the day. It would help stave off her nausea and settle her stomach. “Anything left to cough up?” Turquoise eyes searched her face curiously, though there was concern there too. Since getting home, she'd gone to wretch a couple times. Alphonse had padded by, grunted vague awareness, and gone to sleep. He hadn't said much, but Belfast liked to think that the bleak noise had held hints of comaraderie. The man was drunk too, he just knew how to handle it better. "Practice," he would have said. “my sin, my soul.”

STOCK ➤Dawnthieves CODE.ART➤ amphi

@Xandria

Her drunken stumble was met with a solid body to steady her. If she was more coherent she might have been embarrassed about being so clumsy, but for the moment she was just relieved that someone was there to catch her. It was more than a warm hand on her shoulder while she struggled it felt like an outstretched hand to help her back on her feet. It was silly, but she was happy that he hadn't listened to her, gone to the ball and left her alone.

Xandria tried again to right herself, but her paw landed in a sticky mess just as Belfast's warning came too late. She lifted her paw and squinted in confusion then her face wrinkled with disgust. Urk… Is that mine? she groaned, unable to remember if she had really made that much of a mess. Ohh it is… Oh no.. I made a real mess, Xandria realised, obviously distraught by the disaster she would be leaving next castle walls.

Her drunk brain soon went back to obsessing over if each dark shadow was Nassar. Is that her? Wait! No, it's just a squirrel. Her distracted mind seemed to settle once they were inside Belfast's place. It reminded her of the few times she'd visited on army errands and he'd been hard at work. He'd come a long way from the scrappy pup that had intruded on her home wanting to see her father. A part of her was still jealous that he had shared a side of her father that she could never see. She didn't blame Belfast for that. Her father had made his own choices and his reluctance to be a father was no fault of Belfast.

Her mind stopped wandering when Belfast returned with a bowl with a swirling brew. She sniffed at it, gave it a few tentative licks and her gold eyes grew wide. C-Cold, she gasped in surprise, having not experienced the fresh taste of mint before. The ginger added a sweet peppery aftertaste that was reflected in the rapid shift between confusion and satisfaction on her face. She finished it off quickly, and licked the bowl clean until it was several feet away from where it first started.

Her dark ears twitched when Belfast spoke again, asking if she had anything else to cough up. Don't think so, she replied, although her stomach still churned like an angry beast she didn't feel she had anything left in her belly.

Art by Ashon

“Don't worry,” Belfast soothed as his muzzle wrinkled, subconsciously trying to cover his nostrils so that none of the stench reached him. It was sour, acrid, and definitely bile. Oh well, he thought forcibly, as if manually taking his natural disgust and smoothing it out until all that was left was acceptance of the situation. What was it, really? A bit of diluted hydrochloric stomach acid that had lost some of its potency? “No one would suspect you,” he mused and that much was painfully true. “They'll blame it on some poor sod stumbling home.” And that was the way of the world. No one looked at pretty young girls and thought them capable of making such a tragic mess. After having met his mother, Belfast had come to realize they were just as tragically culpable. Victims of their situation, of society's veil of perfection. Glancing to the side, Belfast couldn't help but smile wryly. You're still fat, came the joking thought. It was soft, warm, unspoken. A gentle huff of laughter was all that she might have heard, if she could have even registered it. Look at us now, huh? Turquoise eyes panned up to peer at the sky above, a crooked smile on his lips. And, for a moment, he wasn't sure who he was talking to. His mother? She had never met Xandria but she had relied heavily upon Kohl. Perhaps it would have given her some small comfort to know that Kohl's daughter now provided similar companionship. Or maybe it was to Kohl. Father when Belfast's father was far away. Father that belonged to Xandria and not to him. His heart constricted slightly. Try as he might to not mourn the man, for Belfast had been abandoned by him too when push came to shove, he could not stop feeling the ache that resided so deep within his chest. ... “I'm surprised anything feels cold to you,” he mused idly as he went to collect the cup and refill it from the tiny barrel they kept. Belfast had taken to creating a batch each morning. More often than not, someone in his life needed it. “Your liquor blanket should be as thick as your fur right now.” In other words, the warm glow of heat from alcohol had a fine habit of making a wolf indomitable against the elements. With her cup refreshed, he set it down neutrally in front of her. “I—” —heard about your mom. “—saw your sister the other day. From across the street.” “my sin, my soul.”

STOCK ➤Dawnthieves CODE.ART➤ amphi

@Xandria

The dull pained eyes squinted at the empty bowl in wonder and her tongue rolled against the roof of her mouth, exploring the minty aftertaste. It reminded her of cold water, but with herbs mixed in. The ginger warmed her tongue, mingling with the mint and softening its icy tingle that lingered in her mouth. She could feel the burn in her throat easing as the herbal tea worked its way through her system. It calmed her stomach enough for her to relax her hunched posture a little. Her head jerked around when he addressed her again. Something about her having thick fur. It’s.. muscle, she drunkenly slurred, yellow eyes squinting at him.

With her drink refilled she began to lap it at, occasionally looking up to watch Belfast. Her features wrinkled with confusion when he mentioned seeing her sister the other day. Cairo? she asked, as if she had more than one sister that he could be alluding to. Then she sank back on her heels, recalling their last fiery encounter. It was one of the reasons why she had indulged so much. The burden of stress weighing heavily on her young shoulders. She won’t forgive me, she murmured absently, not realising that she had blurted her thoughts aloud.

Art by Ashon

Cairo. That was the sister's name. The sister that, when he an Xandria had been pups, Belfast had been tasked with hiding from. Perhaps it had been a childish threat from Xandria that her sister would eat him if she found him, or perhaps he had just come to avoid her after having glimpsed her walking out of the family estate. Regardless of the origin, he had started out life in Rionnach with a healthy fear of the young heiress. And he was pretty sure he had been right to feel that way. He still did. “Won't forgive you for what?" Belfast asked, canting his head to the side. “Black market deals? Arson? Robbery? Murder?” He rattled off the highest crimes in no particular order, hoping to bring some levity to her situation and make her problems feel small. Little did he know that the last one would be correct, a sore spot that he had just pressed on firmly. “my sin, my soul.”

STOCK ➤Dawnthieves CODE.ART➤ amphi

@Xandria

Arson? Robbery? Murder? Xandria's body jerked when her crime was spoken aloud, paws clumsily kicking over the clay bowl he had served her drink in. Her pulse pounded in her head, a foggy veil making it hard for her to think clearly. Had she just outed herself? I didn't.. It wasn't.. Shit, she cursed, realising that she was digging herself a deeper hole. Would he look at her differently now? Fear her as if she was some unpredictable beast needing to be put to the sword? I'm not a cold blooded killer, she insisted in a low voice, golden eyes seeking understanding. He killed my dad. He took him away from us… He deserved it, Xandria's confession was not one of quiet remorse, but of fierce resolve. If he shied away from her then it was proof that he could not handle her fire. Proof that she had been wrong to trust him.

She waited for him to condemn her like her sister had. For him to toss her out into the street and curse her name. It would be a reasonable reaction to finding out she was a murderer. It would be a lie to suggest she wouldn't blame him for it because she would. She would never forgive him.

Art by Ashon