Hotel California

Iskra

Follow me when it's dark out

Sand sprayed up around wet paws as Goose shot down the shoreline at full stride. A terrible sound pursued him, like the keening of a wounded animal lost in the throes of rising peril, unable to do anything more than forfeit its final breaths to terror. Iskra knew better though. That was the high-pitched keel of excitement, the kind only born of truly unbridled happiness. He smiled as he watched the dog glide across the shore, the frenzy of his body unable to properly expend the exhilaration coursing through him, and so he sang to the skies like an untrained bard as he flew.

The ball Iskra had thrown rolled to a stop in the sand, already forgotten behind the paws that carried the husky onward. "Damn dog begs to play fetch and can never uphold his end," Iskra complained into the mouth of the tequila bottle, shaking his head after taking a sip, as much to rid himself of the bite the drink gave back as exasperation at the animal. He swirled the bottle absentmindedly between his legs as he sat in the sand, hunched over his knees, arms lazily draped across them with two fingers barely holding the bottle steady as it hung limp, nearly an extension of him at this point. Nearby a fire merrily chewed on logs that Iskra had collected this morning, though the wood was new and resisted the flame, resulting in a bluster of smoke as the fire struggled with its meal. The light was barely noticeable beneath the brilliance of the setting sun, but soon it would be the only beacon out here, and the warmth it provided promised he'd live to see the coming sunrise. As if noticing the chill just then, Iskra pulled his coat closer over his shoulders.

At the waterline Goose and the sea chased each other back and forth, barks and teeth brandished at salted bubbles and straggling kelp strands. The tide roared its might, its power evident with each wave that broke into a spray against the sand, and its endurance unmatched as it hypnotically rushed in and slithered back out. Each wave break threatened to tumble a memory loose onto the sand, its dredged-up body left to gasp and grow glassy-eyed while the water receded. Iskra frowned and hoped the buzz from the liquor would conquer the ocean.

It normally could, but the ocean was loud. It reminded him too much of her.

Damn dog loved the beach though.

A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed
You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs

Iskra isn't the only young man with an insufferable companion who loves the beach. Winter has brought Pipsqueak to a new level of noodley nonsense, her nature as wild and unruly as her thick coat of oil-slick fur. It is all Koa can do to keep up with her; the little wyrm is energy incarnate, claws tearing grooves in the cold, dark sand, jaws snapping eagerly as she tries to eat an errant leaf.

Koa watches from a distance behind her, as unimpressed as his companion is delighted. Lacking a fur coat of his own, the young Dragoon has been forced to bundle up as best he can, with layers of flannel and fur obscuring his tanned physique. Copper-glinted eyes glare out from over a deep blue scarf, more amused and resigned than truly angry. He can feel Pipsqueak's exhilaration through their shared bond, and it keeps him from sinking into any real aggravation, even as cold bites his nose.

Another sound, keening, breaks the calm repetition of the surf, and before Koa can caution her against it the dragon is off in pursuit. A curse snarled into the depths of his scarf the Dragoon sets off after, boots unsteady in the shifting sand as he runs along the shore. "Pip!" he calls, muffled, as the dragon bounds and glides, large wings splayed to catch the breeze in as close a facsimile of flying as she can pull off. Ahead, a dog bounds through the water, massive compared to the miniscule dragon and yet clearly the beast feels no qualms. She stops close by, snout to the ground and long tail in the air, a puff of smoke blown from her nostrils as she tilts her head and wiggles her wings in a universal display of Wanna play?

Koa, too, falls into a stop, his gaze cast around for the keeper of the mutt. There-- and he raises a hand in weary greeting, pulling his scarf down to reveal a weary grin. "Hey!" the boy calls to the stranger, eyeing the bottle in his hands. "Sorry about Pipsqueak - she's impossible. Harmless, though," he adds pointedly, earning a squawk of indignation from the dragonling.

Koa Carpenter

Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within
Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin

Iskra

Follow me when it's dark out

The approach of the wyrm pulls Goose from his game, tongue lolling wildly down the corner of his mouth as he turns his head to better regard the winged lizard. He liked chasing lizards. A confident woof is his initial greeting as he stands taller and more square, tail lifting higher behind him automatically, but he relaxes just as swiftly as Pip draws closer. She is small, and she looks fun!. The dog responds in kind by dropping eagerly into a play bow, rear waggling for a moment as Goose's mouth eases into a grin just before he shoots forward, front paws dramatically lifting at the smoke as he charges at her in a feint, only to dash away with an invitation of tag.

The tequila holds Iskra. It makes the air thicker. Slower. He can feel it pushing on him like a humid day. He can feel it curling up around his brain, as cozy as the smoke that wrathed the fire; the haze was a familiar comfort that kept him from himself. All of this made his awareness of the approaching duo dulled, and were it someone more nefarious perhaps this would have been Iskra's final night (although maybe the damn dog would have helped out in that case). As it was, Iskra only had the threat of company, and at that, he smiled.

"Hey," he called back, softer as Koa had drawn near, dipping his head in a nod of greeting. In response to Koa's explanation, Iskra burst out with a short, hard laugh that roused deep from his gut. He tilted his head back with the energy and finished with a grin too wide to fade quickly from his face, "so we're the same, except mine's name is Goose." Beneath the humor, Iskra regarded the man, who seemed to carry himself with an ease as equally obtainable as a command. This was someone who could prove dangerous in a different setting, of that Iskra had no doubt. Unthreatened though, and with a fresh night settling upon them, Iskra pat the sand next to him in offering. "Don't be shy, there's fire and drink enough to last you until they've run themselves to sleep." Iskra paused suddenly, eyes flashing with another broad smile. "Or so I hope anyway," he seemed to sigh, like a weary father running on sleepless nights after a toddler, except Goose was as much the parent as he if he was being honest. The tequila swirled in his hand again, a pointed reminder of how much of a baby he could be by the end of the bottle.

Iskra proffered it to the man without looking, arm outstretched as his attention shifted towards the shoreline, watching the happy idiots play. "I'm Iskra."

A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed
You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs

Well accustomed to interactions with larger beasts than she, Pipsqueak shows no evidence of being intimidated by the dog. Instead she responds to the lunge with a snap of needle-sharp teeth, catching little more than air as the larger beasts feints away. A trill of excitement peals from the dragonling; she responds in the only way she can, long claws scrambling through cold damp sand as she sets off in pursuit.

Koa shakes his head at the antics, relaxing now that he's fairly certain his idiot noodle isn't about to be a snack. He doesn't see the grin as it fades from the other man's face, attention still half captured by the animals at play. "Goose, huh? Love it."

The invitation isn't not tempting. Koa eyes the firelight, the bottle of tequila, a soldier's careful calculation flickering behind the easy grin. The decision is marked by an an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, lips pursed and eyebrows raised as he decides, yeah, fuck it, why not. Honestly, the guy seems harmless, and Koa could use a drink.

"Koa," he replies as he takes the bottle, pack dropped down beside the fire. Koa follows, settling into the sand with a tired sigh before taking a pull of the drink.

And promptly pulling the bottle back, his face screwed up and comically aghast. "Oh, the fuck is this?" Koa demands, equal parts appalled and impressed. "Tastes like Mort's piss," he adds - before taking another, longer pull.

He's a young soldier after all, and booze is booze is booze.

Koa Carpenter

Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within
Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin

Iskra

Follow me when it's dark out

Iskra is always brighter when he has others to shine for.

Although a lighthouse must argue with the darkness each night, it's the ships at sea that inspire it to turn on; the ocean does not care either way, and it sometimes swallows the motivation, a keel the only thing that breaks it free.


Iskra's grin almost hurt as Koa practically breathed fire after his first sip. Perhaps he'd forgotten what it was like to care about how it tastes, too often was he striving just for its efficiency and availability to make it in his hand from the shop. This might have been a red flag moment, but Iskra only found it delightful. "What a compliment, godly piss is still godly." Iskra chuckled, settling quickly into relaxed antics as Koa was a stranger no more after a name and a shared draught. "Only the finest," Iskra sucked his teeth, tilting his head as he surveyed the endless horizon with a lighter stare than he had just moments before. That Koa was not deterred put a spark of mischief in Iskra's gaze - this was good company.

After a moment Iskra abruptly mused, "what would you do if you woke up one day and were a worm?"

A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed
You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs

"And still piss," Koa counters easily, a mirror of Iskra's grin nullifying any real complaint. The bottle is passed back between hands, Koa already feeling the sweet burn of the tequila seeping through his blood, sliding teasing fingers over his brain. It sands down any remaining edge of uncertainty about the stranger, leaving only smooth contentment as he watches the animals at play.

Contentment that is thoroughly unsettled by Iskra's next question, because, um, what? Koa blinks once, twice, his expression bemused as he turns back to Iskra, wondering if he hasn't thrown his lot in with a madman. But the other lad seems sane, or sane enough, and honestly? It's not the weirdest question a drunk man has asked our lad.

He's friends with Mateo, after all.

So he laughs instead of panicking, all skepticism exhaled in that rich, boyish sound. "How big a worm are we talking?" he wonders, letting his gaze slip back to the horizon, firelight glittering in crinkled copper eyes. "Normal size? Probably see how deep I could dig into the earth. Find out if the middle is really made of cheese." A calloused hand reaches for the bottle, the boy ready for another sip. "But if I was, like, giant?" A thoughtful hum against the bottle, followed by a snort. "Maybe get a nice white coat. That way people would have to call me Doctor Worm."

Again the tequila is offered back, each exchange another thread added to their new bond. "How 'bout you? Put a lot of thought into life without bones?"

Koa Carpenter

Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within
Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin

Iskra

Follow me when it's dark out

Iskra leaned to the side as he reached for the tequila bottle, simpering as he tilted back another burning sip while Koa asked about worm size. Swallowing quickly so as not to risk choking on any with an abrupt laugh, Iskra nestled it in the crook of some sand between them, the bottle gleaming in the firelight with shared merriment. "Cheese?" Iskra interjected with a mixture of admonishment and confusion. "Isn't that what the moon is supposed to be made of, and the center of the earth is where old beasts and lava live?" It was a question, but he said it with well-practiced confidence, as if Koa was positively mad for thinking otherwise because clearly Iskra's answer was the right one, as everyone learned it in their childhood.

With cheese threatening to derail his admittedly wavering thought process, the heat of liquor curling each sentence, Iskra refocused on the rest of what Koa had to say, which was equally thought-provoking. "Are you saying that normal-sized worms can't wear coats and be Doctor Worm?" Iskra pulled at the tips of his beard in thought, gaze drifting heavenward as though he might be able to see the answer drift by in the stars, or inside his thick skull somewhere, as if this kernel of knowledge had also been passed down with his cheese tutoring. "And if you're saying there are worm doctors, then by that logic there have to be other worm careers, like judges and soldiers and kings." Clearly this idea troubled the woodcutter, who actually had not given much thought to the dirt-dwelling creatures before tonight but had simply assumed they thrived in a manner lacking society which was now being called into question. He paused for a moment, cradling his worry with a brief stare into the dancing fire, willing some kind of peace from the destructive element and its endless hunger. For some reason, it was soothing, not unsurprisingly so this time of year most of all. "Naaah," Iskra said, waving his hand dismissively towards Koa as he leaned back into the sand, resting on the angles of his elbows which held him barely upright on his back.

"There's no way they'd have a worm city and worm doctors, or clothes," Iskra pointed out, eyebrows lifting with serious emphasis, "they've got no hands. No established society can be built without hands." Iskra nodded, agreeing with himself. It made sense, after all. "Although, being without bones could be useful. Imagine if a worm was as big as us, it could just absorb the impact from things that'd hurt it. No punch or falling log would hurt again, they'd just hit my boneless body and bounce off." Maybe Worm Soldier wasn't out of the question.

A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed
You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs

"How would you know?" Koa counters, really getting into the swing of the insane discussion. "Have you traveled underground, to where the great Wormtopia lies? Who needs hands when you can survive being cut in half? Maybe worms have a deeper magic than any mere mortal can understand." Thick fingers burrow beneath the sand for emphasis, a pantomime of invertebrates going about their day.

His nose wrinkles at the prospect of bonelessness, because as he explains, "I can think of at least one bone I wouldn't want to give up." He glances pointedly toward his lap, an eyebrow raised, cheeks flushed above his grin. Like Iskra, Koa leans back in the sand, legs crossed at the ankle, elbows bearing his weight. It's a comfortable posture, a 'settled in for the long haul' posture, the boy content to discuss worms while his tireless companion chases and snaps at Goose.

"As someone who throws a lot of punches, and has a lot thrown at him, I have to say that being boneless probably wouldn't help." At least with bones they can punch back. "Now, if you add more bones- like an exoskeleton. That would be the move." He grins, imagining all the sick kick flips he could land if he didn't have to fear for soft tissue damage.

Koa Carpenter

Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within
Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin

Iskra

I'm chasing starlight to find it's died away

Well, Koa certainly had him there. He had in fact, not traveled to the magnificent Wormtopia, and he was going to hazard a guess that neither had Koa. If he wanted to settle this once and for all, he'd probably have to ask a worm. Maybe there was someone in Halo he could bother about this later, assuming he'd remember after tonight was over. "I hope not," Iskra said with an abrupt somberness as Koa beautifully summed up that worms were just too mysterious for them to even fathom understanding. "If Wormtopia is underground then they miss out on stars and sunsets each day, how bleak." Iskra decided that was enough reason to never be a worm.

There were more worms at hand than the ones underground though. A wolfish grin emerged on the woodcutter's face as the conversation twisted like a sick kick flip. He was in wholesome agreement with the dragoon on the preservation of at least one bone. "I hear you can break it." Iskra's voice had lowered as if saying it too loud might invite the awful fate to descend upon them, the outcome of some wicked cryptid whose sole purpose in life was going around to break the necks of sideways cyclopses.

Briefly, Iskra wondered what a worm's penis was like. Did worms have funny names for their worm? Maybe something like a dirt dragger.

"We already have that," Iskra interjected. "That's what armor is and it's a heavy bitch." Not that he was anywhere near as trained as Koa was by the sounds and looks, but surely the dragoon wasn't about to tell him armor was a breeze. "But, you might be on to something about adding more bones, just maybe add more of them on the inside." He'd helped prep enough birds for eating to have learned and seen a thing or two. "That's what birds do, they have lots of bones in their neck and it's why they can spin it all the way around. Maybe if you had extra bones you could dodge better." Plus, birds eat worms, so it's full circle.

In the distance, Goose had found a particularly juicy strand of kelp and was trying to entice pipsqueak into some good old-fashioned tug of war.

A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed
You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs

Can worms even see? Koa doesn't ask, only hums a thoughtful note of agreement as Iskra espouses on the tragedy of a world without starlight, without the vibrant colors of sunrise painted in watercolors across the sky.

The tilt of the conversation shifts along, from worms to the worm-like appendages all young men seem so entranced with, our young soldier being no exception to that rule. "Terrible," he whispers back with a shudder, not wanting to imagine the agony of snapping that particular bone. He takes up the tequila bottle again, staring down into the sloshing liquid as though scrying for answers within. "I heard of this kid once - kept a coconut under his bed. Used it to... y'know." His voice drops in decibel, knowing glance thrown Iskra's way.

"Anyway, apparently one time he forgot to prepare and... well. What went in did not come out." As boys they'd laughed about the legend, using mirth to hide their fear because honestly, who among them hadn't stuck his dick in something questionable at one point or another? "Supposedly by the time they'd smashed it open it'd been too long - the whole thing had gone sour, and they had to go in and click--" he clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, attention now fully on Iskra as he waits for a reaction to his story, "--take the tip right off."

Gross, Koa. Gross.

He drinks while Koa talks about bones some more, the burn of the tequila dulled considerably by the pleasant buzzing in his head. "Horrifying," Koa states, placing the bottle back between them before reclining back into the sand. "Sounds like more bones to break. Though now I wonder- do Attuned get more bones, then? When they shift?" The image of Sohalia's head spinning like an owl's pops into his brain, causing Koa to snort out an unstifleable laugh.

Koa Carpenter

Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within
Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin

Iskra

I'm chasing starlight to find it's died away

"A coconut?!" Iskra says incredulously, pivoting onto his side to better regard Koa as he weaves the cautionary tale. "That can't be worthwhile," Iskra continues, still in disbelief. "Can it?" Perhaps he's a bit tempted to try, later, now that Koa planted the idea. He'll make sure to prepare though.

"Ooooh" Iskra nearly shouts, balling up a bit and protectively covering his groin with his hands as if he would experience sympathy pains. But Koa wasn't even done, and sickly, Iskra was hanging onto every word of this horror story, absolutely entranced even as he puckered up down there. "Nah," Iskra nearly swore, grabbing quickly for the drink once more. "If that happened to me, I think I'd beg for them to snip my throat too." The way he said it seemed to imply this was the most honorable choice he could make as if something sacred had been broken otherwise.

With visible willies, Iskra was more than happy to redirect the conversation to other bones, though he was certain he'd have a fitful sleep full of awful nightmares tonight.

"That's always seemed a bit fucked up to me," Iskra said after a moment. "Shifting," he clarified with a raise of his eyebrows. "There's only one way to have your guts rearranged that feels good, and that ain't it." He stopped, eyebrows dipping down in thought, the alcohol's haze a thick layer that rebuffed the scholarly pursuits of this evening. "Or, I mean, I don't think there's any good way, but women seem to like at least one way." He laughed a bit at himself, his cheeks flushed with either alcohol or embarrassment or both.

"But I supposed they do get more bones. Which... is also fucked." Iskra wasn't trying to say he hated Attuned, but their body morphing was something he very well could do without.

"Anyway, if there are more bones to break, do they matter as much if they're broken?" Iskra pondered, suddenly aware that, "I wouldn't know, I've never broken one." It was often like a right of passage for kids to break at least one bone, but Iskra hadn't. Maybe it was a testament to the strength of his body, but it somehow felt shameful, as if an indication that he had not been carefree enough. What should have been something to be a bit proud about instead felt terribly isolating and nothing more than an indication of his failure to kid correctly.

He licked his lips, mouth suddenly as dry as the coconut dick.
"Will you break one of my bones?"

A joy hard-learned in winter was the warming of the bed
You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs

"It's pretty wild to watch," Koa agrees with a nod and a shiver that's due in equal parts to disquiet and cold. "Much as I think flyin'd be neat... I dunno, man. It ain't for me. 'sides, I can't even teach Pip to fly. What if I turned into a bird and was stuck waddling around? Fuckin' embarrassing," Koa laughs, shaking his shaggy head. "No thank you."

Koa may be feeling the tequila, but no amount of drunkenness could prepare him for Iskra's next request. "Uh, fuck no?" he laughs, turning toward the older man with an incredulous lift to his brow. "I mean - not on purpose. Training's different, obviously. Broke the nose of the girl I like, couple months ago." Not his proudest moment, but the tequila soothes the memory's sting. "Anyway, breaking bones isn't all it's cracked up to be. Get it? Cracked up?" He cackles at the stupid joke, flush with unearned pride.

And so it goes, evening wearing into dusk as the boys chat and the animals play and the logs of the fire burn out. It's a great deal more non-sequiturs later when Koa finally takes his leave, a little unsteady as he rises, flush with the satisfaction of a night well spent. Or, well, maybe not- but he's made a friend, and in this day and age that counts for quite a bit.

{fin}

Koa Carpenter

Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within
Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin