cashewlater | for @citer

[ tighnari seats himself comfortably, as if he owns the very space around him, and one corner of cyno's mouth quirks, amused. he does not sit just yet, but instead removes his ceremonial helm with a soft sigh, placing it upon a marble plinth beside the terrace doors, and shaking out his long, pale hair. ]

I prefer honeyed dates, but I wouldn't say no to roasted figs.

[ and, turning again, he settles his eyes on tighnari, comfortably draped on his elegant sofa. ]

You're not what I would have expected.

[ though cyno hardly sounds perturbed, only.. curious. entertained. his eyes do not leave his companion's face even as he lifts a hand to his ear, his akasha terminal flickering, its luminescent visor curving before him. tighnari is brazen, there's no denying that; few would dare to speak to him in such a way, to be so forward, commanding, but cyno finds it refreshing to be around someone who is not afraid of him. his terrifying reputation is a boon, in many ways, but it often leaves him feeling.. lonely. ]

You'll want roasted figs, then?

[ long pale hair, tighnari thinks. like the mane of something with claws, and teeth. he'd thought that perhaps it was the press of the helmet that gave cyno that one-eyed look, but it seems that his hair simply slips into place the way a displaced river would, running headlong towards their ancestral riverbeds. it gives tighnari the sense that if eyes were the window to a man's soul, he only has but one window and one perspective to see it from. that's the problem with expectations. you build them up, and then, at some point, you brick up everything that you haven't considered. they say that the walls of king deshret's great palaces, contain skeletons within their layers, those who died to build the greatest monument to human history that side of the wall.

his tail settles by his side. not what he expected, he thinks, and snorts at that, a small, inelegant sound around the silk veneer of his veil. of course not. the valuka shuna of old, the ones that sang songs and played tricks on passersby and told riddles spanning the very heart of the world - those are dead. tighnari would know. the ones that are left are survivors. ]

Please. [ he says, with a smile, and the glint of his canines catch the torchlight with silver-like precision. ] And a tray of assorted meats.

[ he is, after all, only an omnivore by name. ]

[ cyno's only response is a shallow nod, before his gaze at last refocuses on the flashing runes before his eyes. it takes but a thought to place the order. the assorted meats and figs that tighnari had requested, as well as a mild vegetable biryani for himself. and two namkeen lassi.

the visor soon dissipates, and cyno's tense shoulders begin to relax, though he still does not sit, but instead begins carefully removing the gold clasps and bands woven into his hair. while he enjoys a bit of flashy decoration, this is all far too much. everything he's wearing is far too much. though he appreciates the ceremonial attire of his ancestors, cyno is no priest, but a humble matra, he has no need of exorbitant regalia. ]

So. Tighnari.

[ his callused fingers work deftly, removing the clasps one by one, setting them aside in a decorative ceramic dish set upon a low adhigama wood table. ]

You're meant to belong to me, or so I'm told.

[ the general's concubine, as tighnari had so aptly mentioned. ]

I want to make something perfectly clear. I have no interest in keeping anyone. You're already quite comfortable speaking your mind, I see, but know that you have free reign here to do as you please.

[ the akasha terminal's visor flashes, once, a brilliant green that reminds tighnari of the earliest of sprouts in spring, the ones that inevitably grow into the strongest and most vivacious of blooms. 'belong to me', he says, with the casual cadence of someone commenting on the colour of the sky, or the consistency of fabric. all the while, his fingers continue to undo each and every golden clasp and jewel that the household staff must have spent painstaking hours putting them on. he can imagine their dismay already, each jeweled bauble like stars plucked from a quicksilver sky. the tangle of hair left behind his tighnari's fingers itch. ]

I appreciate that. [ he says, in turn, continuing a conversation that, if he were honest, he hadn't expected to have today. but once again it boils down to expectations - it reminds him that he, too, only knows the justice behind the man. tighnari's green gaze holds cyno's for a moment as he considers this, his years flicking from one side to another. ] Though I'm well-aware of what you mean by 'here'. Outside of this room, appearances still must be kept, is it not so? And while I can speak freely to you, that does not mean your household is a part of that qualifier. Shall I put on an act for them? I'll admit, I'm terribly poor at it.

Do as you please.

[ appearances must be kept.. the very idea is anathema to him. cyno is a straightforward, honest man, and while he has yet to buck too hard against the status quo - and while he loves sumeru deeply and fully - he does not swallow the idea of keeping up appearances well. he does not like to play pretend. ]

Put on an act, if it makes you comfortable. Don't, if you don't wish to. [ and something tells cyno that tighnari does indeed not wish to. ] What matters to me is that you're comfortable here. [ a beat. ] As comfortable as possible.

[ for in the end, tighnari is still a kept man. he's still property, however valued he might be, however much the sages might have made this seem like a privilege, a grand reward. the last of the golden adornments pulls free from his hair, and cyno next sheds his heavy mantle and ceremonial shendyt, leaving him comfortable in his shorts and bolero top, arm and leg bands. at long last he drops onto the sofa opposite tighnari, heaving a weary sigh. ]

As for when we're off the grounds.. mm. We'll play it by ear.

[ ... his ears prickle. ]

By ear. [ he says, as bone-dry as the great hypostyle desert. really.

and because he can't help it: ] Which ear? Left or right?

[ at that, a grin unfurls across cyno's face. it's the most emotive he's been since arriving in this room. in fact, with most of his fancy garb now shed, cyno is looking far more.. human indeed, less like a powerful general and more like a simple man. save, of course, for the lingering paint around his eyes. ]

Both, if I have any say in it.

[ his gaze flicks upward. ]

They're very handsome ears.

[ terrible, he thinks. but cyno's face shifts, the smile spreading across it like a newly-minted oasis, water flooding to return to its ancestral basin, and tighnari thinks - the look suits him.

it's what prompts him to snort again, entirely inelegant, as he reaches for a handtowel left on the headrest of the divan. ]

Flattery won't help you, for whatever it is you're trying to get at. [ he gestures cyno forward. ] Come here. Let me help you with the make-up. It's smearing, and you look ghastly. You know that parents often invoke your name as punishment when children don't do what they're told? This look on you won't help.

[ and just as quickly as that smile had come, it soon fades into mild bemusement when tighnari urges him closer. ]

It wasn't flattery.

[ tighnari will soon learn that cyno does not say things that he does not mean, honest, perhaps to a fault. but also obedient. after a moment's thoughtfulness, he unfolds himself from the sofa to move to tighnari's side instead, seating himself beside him. ]

And no, I wasn't aware. I hardly remember my parents.

[ within reach, it's easy for him to lean in and wipe at the smearing paint around his eyes with the rough side of the hand towel. little by little, the orange of cyno's eyes recede without the blinding contrast of the paint - but the natural glint of it is not less pleasing, tighnari thinks, like a flower without accompaniments.

his tail settles next to them as he works. ]

Do you not? I apologise if this is a difficult topic. I'm not surprised, however; you have the look of someone from the desert, and those from the desert who live in the forest often leave much behind.

[ this close, tighnari is even more pleasing to look at. his tongue is sharp and hard, but his features are soft, delicate, and his eyes are lovely, his partial heterochromia reminding cyno of the depths of sumeru's rainforests, rich browns and greens. ]

Mm. It's fine. I hardly recall them enough to miss their presence.

[ though cyno could certainly admit that it had led to a lonely beginning of life. lost in the sands, overwhelmed by the power of hermanubis, he had been so achingly alone until cyrus had scooped him into his arms, a starving waif of a thing, with wild amber eyes and a tangled mane of unkempt hair. he's come a long way from the feral orphan he once was. ]

And I would like for us to get to know one another. So you may as well know.

[ even tighnari's scent is attractive, sweet and floral, shot through with the gentle musk of his lustrous fur. ]

But you're correct, I was born in the desert.

[ there's a story behind this, behind whatever that's reflected in the jeweled-edged eyes of a man, like that of a miniature sun. tighnari weighs the timing and the need to understand - you may as well know, he says, but he knows from experience that not everyone as amenable to being read as they seem.

he considers this. ]

What do you remember of the desert? Tell me, while I fix the terrible things you did to your hair.

Mm..

[ a thoughtful hum, and cyno's brow pinches just slightly as he searches his memory. he was very young when he was orphaned, and his recollection of his time before being taken in by cyrus is hazy, but there are choppy images floating in his mind. ]

It seemed so vast, when I was small. Bigger than it seems to be now. I lived on the outskirts of the Hypostyle Desert, near the Sobek Oasis.

[ he remains sitting still, while tighnari works, his gaze settled on his face. ]

My tribe was small, but powerful.

[ it doesn't come naturally to him, these things associated with grooming. his fingers are better suited for the sprouts in the dirt, for the petals of flowers and the thorns of cacti growing long, and proud, and tall within the greenhouses of the akademiya so far from their native homelands. much like cyno, he thinks, as he listens to cyno's recount, his fingers reaching into cyno's hair and gently teasing out the minute tangles there. spun silver through his fingers, like wayward moonlight.

it seemed so vast, he says. ]

I've been told that the Valuka Shuna were companions to large, desert dogs that roamed the region. I've never been to the desert. I've seen pictures and read descriptions, certainly, but the vastness of it has never been something I could imagine.

[ after a moment, he offers: ]

The first time I had that feeling was when I left the Sanctuary of Surasthana for the first time.

[ that tighnari has never been to the desert before is.. not terribly surprising, given how secretive the sages are about the presence of the valuka shuna in general. cyno gets the impression that they are incredibly sheltered creatures. prisoners. dusk birds in gilded cages. ]

The desert is.. harsh, but beautiful, in its way. The days are blistering hot, the nights are bone-chilling. It does not possess the lush greenery and color of the forest, but it still feels like home.

[ in some ways, at least. cyno spent much of his childhood and early adulthood in sumeru city, and the walls of the akademiya feel like home as well. he's torn between the two. though tighnari's fingers may be unused to the grooming of others, cyno finds that he does not dislike the feeling of them in his hair, working through the tangles and snarls left behind by the clasps and baubles. ]

Have you lived there your entire life?

If I had, I wouldn't know the first thing about redcrest cacti, would I? Perhaps I'd lack so much sense that your suite would be decorated with them from floor to ceiling.

[ but there's a proud tilt of his ears as he says this, as if sharing in a secret joke. ] No, I convinced them that I could be trusted to roam. The place where I best spent my time were the greenhouses of the Akademiya. There's at least hands-on learning, there. You could touch something real.

- there. [ he smoothes out the tail-end of cyno's hair. tighnari sits back to observe his handiwork, and then, satisfied, allows cyno the return of his personal space. ] Better?

I can't say. I have no idea how you lived, there.

[ for all he knew, they were provided books in the sanctuary, or access to all number of things, but that seems not to be the case. cyno can't help but feel discomfited. that there are people being kept in the sanctuary, people to be gift-wrapped for the mahamatras, to be used and seen as valuables, does not sit right with him. it makes him feel uneasy.

when tighnari sits back, he takes his sweet scent with him, and cyno exhales softly, smoothing a hand back through his hair. it's still wild, unkempt, but less unruly than it had been before. ]

And yes, thank you.

[ leaning back, cyno drapes one arm listlessly against the back of the sofa. this close, tighnari will easily see the myriad scars that criss-cross his body, a tapestry of his history winding down his arms, cut across his abdomen, a story to each one. some that cyno has forgotten. ]

I grew up in the Akademiya's walls, I would have noticed someone like you. Did you disguise yourself?

[ in theory, tighnari knows scars. he'd spent six months with his ears pinned back beneath his veil pepper the brightest medical minds from liyue regarding eleazar prognoses, observing the excising of necrotic tissue from acute scaling and monitoring the long, extensive and painful healing process that followed. before that, it had been the specialty doctor from the bimarstan hand-picked to keep the valuka shunas healthy and hale, and before that - well, tighnari has always stolen knowledge from wherever he can.

cyno's scars speak of war, not illness. they crisscross his body like the unflinching grip of a claw, paler against his skin wherever nerve-dead tissue sunk into skin. he counts and loses count in the brief span of time it takes for cyno to raise his arm to the couch proper the number of individual scars that he wears much like a matter of fact statement. he wonders if he feels anything there, or if the nerve tissue is beyond repair.

tighnari slowly nods his head. ]

You would have remembered the ears. [ he says, another joke shared. ] But I'm not being facetious. With my ears and tails hidden, I look like any other human, though perhaps I may be less coffee-filled and sleep-deprived.

You resided in the Matra quarters, then. All your life?

[ he certainly would have remembered the ears. for better or worse, they absolutely stand out. cyno can't claim to know everyone in the akademiya, nor did he spend an exceptional amount of time near the greenhouses, as a spantamad student, but he nevertheless knew many, many faces, and he did not forget any of them. people watching has always been a pasttime of his. ]

No. I didn't become a Matra until I graduated.

[ again, there's that pinch to his brow that conveys his thoughtfulness, his mild uncertainty, as he seems to wrestle with a silent question. how much to tell tighnari. yet he had insisted himself that they get to know one another, and cyno's power is no secret. ]

How much do you know about my abilities?

[ at this, tighnari smiles.

before he is able to speak, the door's soft, silver chime interrupts them. the household staff carries in their meal: a steaming platter of vegetarian biryani, perfect, fluffy golden grains of basmati rice cradling a bouquet of saffron, cilantro and delicate sprigs of freshly-picked mint. six gleaming roasted figs arranged artistically around a sumeru rose-shaped ceramic container of a pale, white cashew dip, escorted by a crescent of assorted smoked and dried meats soaked in enough spice that tighnari's nose twitches at its scent. two, pale-white namkeen lassis stand in tall glasses rimmed with padisarah petals carefully pressed into salt-and-sugar crystals.

the head of household introduces the platter, her eyes only lingering a little upon the scandalous hitch of tighnari's sleeves, still tied back like that of a common port-side labourer. to her credit, she says nothing - the platters are placed in front of them on the low table, and the household files out in neat, orderly lines. tighnari watches the door slide shut behind them, and then, because he can, he pushes his sleeves up just a little more. ]

Food, first. [ his eyes glint. he holds out a fig to cyno. ] And then I'll tell you about how this isn't the first time we've spoken.

[ cyno isn't sure that he'll ever get used to this. being waited on. having a staff. and some of the staff, he is sure, are less than pleased to be waiting on him, an orphaned desert-dweller daring to besmirch the lofty title of general mahamatra. to say that cyno's promotion had been contentious would be an understatement. that, however, is a conversation for another time. nodding his thanks, cyno watches quietly as they file out, one by one. the door snaps closed, and cyno releases a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. ]

You..

[ cyno's pale brows lift in surprise, his sunset eyes narrowing, darting to the fig, then to tighnari's face again. ]

I'm a patient man, but you see fit to test it.

[ he drops information like that, then insists that they eat, first? cyno plucks the fig from tighnari's grasp. he does not often forget a face, but then, tighnari is still wearing his veil. ]

[ when cyno holds his breath, the entire world seems silent in return. interesting, tighnari thinks. he watches the household as if he himself is prey, not predator.

a fig for himself, and a tidbit filed away for later perusal. tighnari's eyebrows quirk. ]

You also seem like a driven man. I have my doubts that you'd eat while we talked, unless I were to wrangle a promise out of you to that effect.

[ carefully, cyno takes a bite, finding the sweet flesh of the fig tender and soft, still warm. ]

You have my word.

[ tighnari's suspicions are likely enough, but now that the food has arrived, looking delicious and smelling irresistible, cyno feels a pang of hunger in his gut, saliva pooling beneath his tongue. the fig is finished in two more bites, before cyno is leaning to scoop some fragrant biryani into a small serving bowl. he hasn't forgotten what tighnari mentioned about smaller portions. ]

Go on.

[ it suddenly occurs to tighnari, sitting across from the general mahamatra with a veritable feast for the eyes and soul between them, that he's never had anyone's word before. the realisation that he doesn't quite know how to gauge it, or even what to do with it - that rankles at him in a way that he can't quite parse. but even valuka shuna are the children of sumeru. like the children of liyue, who uphold contracts at the expense of their soul, and the children of mondstadt, who choose freedom above all else, any child of sumeru would choose to seek wisdom beyond the pall of what's reasonable. even a little thing like this piques him, it has him hungry in a way that has nothing to do with food.

so, his ears flicker. he takes a bite of his roasted fig. the caramelised flesh of the fruit melts like butter upon his tongue. ]

One more thing. [ he's pushing his luck, he knows. but curiosity sits nestled in between the sharpened points of his incisors, and he's always wanted to know what it would taste like if he bit down. ] After I explain, I'm going to ask you for a favour. I would like your word [ he savours the words there like the sugary aftertaste of a well-roasted fig, slowly and with no little pleasure - ] that you would consider my request seriously.

[ this fox is certainly trying his patience, but thankfully, cyno has plenty to spare, and where others might find tighnari's audacity shameful or infuriating, cyno thinks he's simply fascinating. he speaks his mind. he's sharp, strong-willed. these are things he values in a person, and he did say that he had no interest in owning anyone. let tighnari behaves however he sees fit, so long as he is not harming himself, or others.

so, cyno is quick to nod, while he stirs his biryani to cool it, steam rising in aromatic puffs. ]

Yes, whatever it is, I'll consider it.

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