Next❧
Index
Aix was in the cave again, but it was different this time—smaller, winding passages and dripping limestone, skittering spiders the size of cats. Aix moved along the path with a bit of trepidation. He and Cthulhu were no longer on the good terms they had been…
Morpheus was waiting, but Cthulhu—the way he looked now, the illithid-esque figure, tall and violet and elegantly sinister—was sitting with him. As usual, Morpheus looked friendly and kind, to Aix, and beckoned to him with one long hand the colour of the midnight sky, glittering with stardust.
Hello, little bird.
‘Hi,’ Aix said, but didn’t come forward, scared.
I have just been talking with Cthulhu for some time. You are in no danger, songbird, come.
Aix swallowed, coming forward and sitting down next to Morpheus, who wrapped an arm around him, and kissed his forehead…
And he remembered.
‘Oh,’ Aix murmured, ‘oh we had sex.’
But he didn’t really feel any differently, as he’d expected, with the memories returned. He felt… exactly the same—other than having context now, even though it didn’t make sense that Cthulhu wouldn’t just try and make more of the same kind of memory to make up for the lack.
I have been attempting to contact your gods, because Jasper indicated this might help me understand your perspective, and you said something that I have been wondering about for days: ‘Why are you angry with me for protecting you’.
Morpheus has told me that there was a very high chance that, without your sacrifice, I would have been attacked by the gods and forcibly ejected from this world.
‘I… yeah,’ Aix said. ‘Everything has been happening so much, and you haven’t been talking to me in dreams, where we can be alone, so I haven’t been able to explain gods to you properly, and… just… I didn’t get a chance to tell you.’ Aix wanted to apologise, even though it didn’t make sense to do so.
My horror must have seemed the height of ingratitude, and for that I am regretful and understand how it was painful to receive. I did not trust what I could not understand, and that caused me to harm you.
‘…I think that’s the best apology anyone has ever given me ever,’ Aix said, a bit in shock. ‘Thank you.’ He got up, going over and sitting next to Cthulhu to hug him, surprised at how much those words had done to heal the pain he’d just accepted was going to be there for the next… forever.
He was so used to being hurt that someone acknowledging their part in it was shocking.
He held Cthulhu tighter. ‘Please come home. Please stay with me again. Help me build my life again, I want you to do it with me. I want you to help me name my kitten. I want Pippin to know you. I want to show you how the subway works, and take you to Marie’s Crisis, and see Broadway shows with you, and go grocery shopping, and watch my favourite movies and explain jokes and show you the aquarium and the art museums….’
I like the way you explain things best of all, Cthulhu replied, holding Aix and grateful that he had been able to finally have a conversation with some of Aix’s gods, to learn things from them—most important of which was how to better communicate with his human. Because only Aix was his human, even after Cthulhu had met others.
The gods were strange beings, and frightening in their inexplicability—they had been created by humans, whole-made (as Loki had phrased it) out of the imagination and belief of thousands of humans together, and were given power that had given Cthulhu a sense of abject terror to comprehend.
And Aix was one of the sorts of humans that created them. That’s what Storyteller was, that’s what Witch meant. That’s what Magic was, when humans spoke of magic. It was this, it was one aspect of this vast and terrifying cosmic power of Imagination and Creation that humans simply called ‘Storytelling’ and apparently dismissed as the least valuable of arts.
Yet Aix worshipped gods, not the other way around; because there was a cyclic logic to humanity—they created these terrifyingly powerful beings, but they created stories that said these gods had created them in turn. It was hard to understand, and apparently not even humans could explain it or think about it too often. Many, in fact most, refused to acknowledge their hand in the creation of their creators. Aix was somewhat unique in this respect, and Morpheus and others had advised Cthulhu not throw away the opportunity to learn from Aix.
And Aix thought Cthulhu was frightening?
Well, because humans had decided Cthulhu’s people must be gods—but all the more frightening because they held them up as a kind of ‘what if we hadn’t created some of the gods, would they be like this? Would they contravene the unacknowledged point of gods? Would they toy with us unknowingly and destroy us without a thought?’
After his first brush with divinity and magic, Cthulhu could well understand that horror, though he also felt a terrible guilt and sorrow at the fact that every interaction his people had with humanity—even wise Azathoth, whom Cthulhu had thought would surely have been the exception—had frightened humans to such a degree.
Though his interaction with gods thus far had been… oddly educational, if not what one could call ‘pleasant’. They were human themselves, the gods, but had the long perspective of an outsider, enough to explain humanity to Cthulhu; much the way Aix could, but with more age and experience. And not all gods were exactly the same kind of god, which was something Jasper had not been able to tell Cthulhu, as Jasper’s god was singular, and singular gods were very different from families.
Some, like the Norse gods, ruled over their families, or a realm, or did something the best and were god of it due to skill; but those of Olympus also were their domains of influence. Morpheus was dreams, as much as he ruled them as a realm, the realm was, also, him. He personified it, he was simply the concept of dreaming shaped into a person.
Hermes, who claimed Aix as a child of his, was communication personified, was commerce, was cleverness, was so many interconnected things that had many names but were simply all the same concept of movement. And yet there were other gods that seemed to be a mix of things that did not go together at all—what did truth have to do with medicine have to do with prophecy have to do with war-play? Yet there was Apollo, god of them all.
It was strange.
He didn’t understand it.
Knowing that many humans also didn’t—and, furthermore, didn’t expect to, was both comforting and even more disconcerting.
He had known humans were far more social than his race, and he had known that would mean they were far more complex; but somehow, Azathoth had neglected to mention that meant humans were contradictory.
He tried to convey this to Aix, struggling with it, and found Aix simply nodding, agreeing.
‘Yep, that’s us alright,’ he said.
The contradiction is not seen as a problem?
‘No it’s a feature, not a bug,’ Aix said, and Cthulhu felt his amusement. Aix glanced at Morpheus, who smiled with the tone of a laugh, and then back at Cthulhu. ‘You’ve been talking to Morpheus this whole time, bud. He’s like… the guy to know about contradictions in the human mind.’
Morpheus laughed fondly. I am only the god of dreams. Once, I was only the god of prophetic dreams. Do you mean to make me more?
Aix considered it. ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘Humans know how dreams work, now, so it makes sense to me—dreams are part of the way the mind works, and I can’t think of anybody else that’s the god of the mind, just the way it is—there’s just Pan and Apollo, who are the gods of when the mind is sick. So, someone has to do it.’
And what of Hermes?
‘The action of learning and thinking isn’t the same thing as the mind-as-a-noun, though,’ Aix said. ‘And “structure” isn’t a word I ever apply to Hermes,’ he said, wrinkling his nose in a smile and laughing.
Cthulhu had nothing to say to this—it was precisely the thing in action! It was exciting and terrifying, bewildering and, even through all this, deeply significant, the word humans called ‘sacred’, the word Cthulhu had no translation for in his own culture—and that was… well, it was.
Cthulhu sat there and witnessed his human blithely discussing a god’s design with the god himself, as though this were a normal occurrence, and marvelled silently, and felt a bit more than slightly foolish at how nearly he had given up this human’s kind regard out of his own fear of the unknown.
Aix woke up to the beautiful feeling of peace and excitement that coloured the first few weeks in a new living space, and rolled out of bed, taking a shower because it was so easy to step into, and coming out to see Lance was sitting at the kitchen bar drinking coffee, still in his black pyjama pants.
It was early, still dark out, and the clock on the brown wall-oven—which was an analogue clock of the sort one found on such appliances before the 80s—said six-thirty. Aix was used to rolling out of bed after only a few hours, though.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Morning,’ Lance said. ‘There’s coffee.’
‘Mm, what roast?’ Aix asked, crossing the living room to the kitchen, not thinking twice about the fact that he was naked until he was already in the kitchen; but by then it was too late, and he just shrugged to himself.
‘Uh… Breakfast Blend? Sorry, I didn’t check.’
‘Mm, that’s usually light,’ Aix said, as he started looking in cabinets, assessing what he even had.
Aix gasped as he saw the pattern on the china in the cabinet, picking a teacup carefully from the little brass rack of cups and saucers.
‘Oh my god! Oh my god this is Royal Albert Masquerade! And with the little Victorian handles, not the midmod ones! How did they know?’
‘I’m getting the impression this building is very… fairytales,’ Lance said, sort of glad he’d passed by the fine china for a brown workaday mug, because if he’d taken one of the tiny cups Aix now held in his hands, it wouldn’t have been as dramatic a surprise.
‘True,’ Aix said, thoughtfully, putting the cup against his mouth as he looked in the cabinet. The white china gleamed like new, the black and red roses decorating it looking just as lush as they did in photos. He’d never thought he’d ever have even a single teacup and saucer, let alone a full service of dinner and tea dishes, plus a coffee pot. ‘Who found all of this?’ he said to himself, and heard a beep, looking down to see Pippin had woken up. She was still naked from last night, and yawning, rubbing her eye with one little fist. Aix’s heart melted, and he set the cup down on the counter carefully.
‘You want uppies?’
Pippin put her arms up immediately, and Aix picked her up, balancing her on his hip as he poured himself coffee and found cream in the fridge—the fridge, which took a minute to find, because it was a wall fridge. Aix’s white whale was a wall fridge, and this one was in perfect condition, almost perfectly blended with the other wooden cabinets, brown with a sort of gradient that faded darker to the edges, like the other appliances, with the bottom cabinets being freezer drawers.
‘Oh my god Lance,’ Aix said, opening it and almost not registering the cornucopia of food inside, ‘do you know how rare these are?’
‘I’m friends with someone who has told me,’ Lance said with a chuckle, sipping his coffee. ‘I’d say they’d like you, but actually they don’t like anybody, so.’
‘Apu!’ Pippin said, spotting them in the fridge and reaching.
‘Bupbup, don’t lean,’ Aix said. ‘I’ll drop you, Mommy’s not steady on his feet.’
Pippin immediately hugged onto Aix again. ‘Sowy,’ she said, kissing Aix’s cheek. ‘Apu peas?’
‘Okay, we can have apu for brefast,’ Aix said, nuzzling his nose with hers, making her giggle. ‘Let Mommy get coffee first, okay?’
‘Coffee vr podant,’ Pippin said in the low part of her register, with a sagely little nod. Aix chuckled.
‘You’ve lived with people who don’t function before coffee, huh?’ he said, and contemplated the consequences of setting her on the counter to sit. ‘No climbing on the counter, okay? But you can sit on it if I put you there. Understand?’
Pippin beeped. ‘Wy?’
‘Because the counter has some dangers on it, and I don’t want you to get hurt. The hot things and the sharp things live up on the counter.’ Aix really, deeply appreciated being able to talk to Pippin like this. Having A Baby Pet was just one of those things, for him. ‘But I’m gonna set you down on the counter now and you can stay there as long as you don’t grab anything, okay?’
‘Tay,’ Pippin said, and Aix felt her share her emotions, that she was pleased to have The Rules explained. Aix put her on the counter and she kicked her little feet.
‘Where did your clothes from yesterday go, bean?’ Aix asked her, as he got down a measuring cup and tablespoon to make coffee with (he was always very precise).
Pippin blushed a little in embarrassment, ‘Um,’ she said. Aix chuckled.
‘Okay, well, George packed you some clothes, but you don’t have to wear them when you’re at home, if you don’t want to.’
‘What’s on the agenda for today?’ Lance asked, watching Aix measure coffee with the precision of an alchemist.
‘No idea. Settling in, I guess. Need to pick up an MTA card, touch base with Virginia about my job, and maybe see if there’s any pride events that I can go to before we leave for Romania. Oh, but first—we gotta get little mans some cat food, and I know exactly where to do that, so as soon as I’ve had breakfast we’re headed for Trader Joe’s.’
‘Sure thing. You did bring some home last night, as I recall.’
‘Yeah, the offal,’ Aix said, remembering one of the elderly Pards taking him into her kitchen and pressing a package wrapped in butcher paper on him. ‘But I want to get him bickies too.’ Aix sighed, looking at Pippin, who was watching him cut up the honeycrisp apple with great interest, ‘And we need to somehow find you some food that gets you all your nutritions, huh, beeble?’
But Aix remembered that clowns were still very much present, which meant that people had to be finding ways to feed them. He cut the apple up, put it in a bowl and got Pippin off the counter, going over to the small kitchen table and setting her down on it, giving her the bowl.
By this time, the kitten had woken up, and came into the kitchen, his mews already more like little beeps. Pippin honked back at him, between bites of apple, and Aix picked him up.
‘Hi, baby!’ he cooed, petting the little one’s cheeks and face; it had been so long since he’d held a kitten that said kitten seemed very, very small and impossibly fragile, and Aix kissed his soft black fur over and over, as he got out the package of mince, opened it, and put it in a little dish one-handed.
‘Hee!’
‘Is that so?’ Aix said.
‘Heeee!’
‘Goodness, really?’
‘Yi!’
‘Ticky,’ Pippin said, finishing her apple just as Aix came over to the table with the kitten’s dish of food. Pippin held out her hands, sticking out her tongue in disgust at the sensation. ‘Washawash peas.’
‘Okay, hang on,’ Aix said, feeling pleasantly maternal as he set the kitten’s dish on the floor and made sure he was eating, before getting Pippin over to the sink and helping her wash her hands. He mentally noted that it would be helpful to have a sink and things just Pippin’s size; he knew they existed, he’d gone to a Montessori school. Maybe they could get them in blue….
The rest of the day, Aix had to run errands to get set up—there was food in the kitchen, but none of it was fresh. There were supplies to get for the kitten and Pippin, and as much as Aix wanted to run around in person doing all of it, he knew that New York also came with the advantage of everything—even fresh warm cookies—being deliverable, even before the plague. It was paradise if you could afford such things, and Aix suddenly could. It was a lot of signing up, checking out, entering credit card information, but soon it was all squared away. That only left one more thing…
Metasepia: I think I should set up a chat server for Baltimore but I can’t figure out how to organise it or if that’s allowed. Thoughts?
SineoftheFeline: There’s not official legislation on virtual stuff like that yet. I’d say for now keep it between just you and René, until we can get a consensus from the Wizards in Rochester—they run the Exchange for the phone lines, and are all IT people.
Metasepia: …so, furries? Are they furries?
SineoftheFeline: How VERY dare that is a Harmful Stereotype!
Metasepia: How is it harmful to say the entirety of IT and the internet and the everything is run by furries??? XD
SineoftheFeline: Some of us don’t know code okay!! All I can do is math! *Normal* math!
Metasepia: …you know what.
Metasepia: ur right. This is why I spent so long questioning whether I was allowed to be a furry.
SineoftheFeline: See? See! Harmful. Stereotype.
Metasepia: Are u able to teach him to use Discord? Does he even type? I’ve never seen him type.
SineoftheFeline: he can type but not on a laptop because he learned to type on typewriters so he just. Destroys lesser keyboards.
Metasepia: …well I’m wet now.
SineoftheFeline: I mean he was good at fingering *before* learning to type, but he *has* mentioned typing has improved that skill. >:3c
SineoftheFeline: But yes I will teach him to use Discord so he can talk to you.
SineoftheFeline: He has a specially-made keyboard that’s very sturdy. Very clacky, because he likes the noise.
Metasepia: I ALSO LIKE THE NOISE!! 8D I have like a mid-grade clackity keyboard for my desktop. I want a vintage one though.
Metasepia: Anyway
Metasepia: I’m gonna get started on that. My servers are really organised btw there’s separate channels for everything, because I can’t organise my head so I do it externally.
Metasepia: Ok here’s the invite link. I gotta go play with my kitten for an hour now. Ta ra.
SineoftheFeline: Does he have a name yet?
Metasepia: The Naming Of Cats Is A Difficult Matter
Next❧