“Who is that?” Giff asks, nudging Fen with his left elbow and Nort with his right. “Don’t look, dumbass. Chill,” he hisses across the table at his brother Gaff, stopping him mid-turn. The Craven siblings are nearly identical twins, like most laelaps that aren’t mixed. Gaff is two inches taller, and Giff has a tan ear in his canine form, which shows in his Obvious glamour as a blaze of ash-blonde in his otherwise chocolate-colored waves.
“Woah,” Nort mumbles from behind the long black hair cascading over his face and the hand it rests on. “That’s a big dude.”
“It’s amazing you can even see anything at all,” Grif says to his nachtbeule friend. Nort shrugs and yawns, still tired from the previous evening’s activities. Nocturnal Obscurities such as his kind find the Obvious insistence on mandatory daytime schooling frustrating at best, and today, he is feeling it at its worst. He’s determined not to let his exhaustion set him back another year—he’s already the oldest eleventh grader because he couldn’t stay awake through middle school when he’d mastered his noise but before he learned to control himself.
“He’s new. Seems nice,” Fen says between chips. “I cracked right into him running away from the shithead on my way out yesterday, and he didn’t mind.”
Giff turns in his seat, surprised. “Guess you weren’t in full defense mode?”
“Oh no, I was, that’s the weird thing. I’m pretty sure he made contact when he kept me from falling.” Fen’s brow wrinkles remembering.
Nort leans across Giff and says, “Um, that’s kind of serious?”
“Yeah, how’s he not, you know, dead?” Gaff asks and gets a kick under the table from his brother, who spits, “Eyes this way. Do not turn around, dipshit.”
“I’m not, I’m not. But what is he then?” Gaff huffs.
“Maybe sun ox? We didn’t really talk much after I checked to see if he was ok. I mean, I ain’t dishin’ out lethal doses in school, man. C’mon.” Fen frowns. “I’m not a kid.”
“The forecast didn’t call for rain this week,” says Nort.
“And you immediately think of me, like I’m the only one in town who can fuck with the weather,” Fen scowls.
“You’re the only one I know, man. Not gonna bother blaming anyone else when I got a storm eft on speed dial,” Nort shrugs.
“Do I accuse you of every unexplained sound in the dark?”
“I wouldn’t be offended if you did, but I can’t take credit for my family’s work. Plus, aside from us, this area’s got a shit ton of koboloi. Like I lost count of how many I saw last night in the wilds.”
Gaff perks up at the mention of the wilds. “Take me with you next time?”
“No, I don’t want company,” Nort answers.
Gaff’s smile and shoulders drop. “But I like your sounds,” he protests softly.
“You’ll have to make do with my drumming at practice.”
“I like that too.” If Gaff’s glamour had also dropped, his tail would be wagging.
“A sun ox, huh?” Giff thinks out loud. “They have healing powers, so that’d make sense, maybe?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. But I don’t think that’s it. Don’t they put out a lot of heat? He doesn’t seem to.”
The subject of their conversation finishes paying for his lunch and turns, tray in hand, to scan the tables and spots Fen with his friends in time to see the one next to him nudge him. Noting an empty seat next to the guy across from him who has turned to see what they were looking at, he heads over.
“Ouch, gosh, you’re so bossy,” Gaff whines, nursing his leg as Keir arrives.
“Hey, Fen,” he interrupts with a rumble. “Is this spot open?”
“Sure is,” Giff and Gaff say in unison, and he nods, setting his tray down and stepping over the bench, takes a seat. “Thanks. I’m Keir.”
“Gaff.”
“Giff.”
“Nort. If I fall asleep don’t mind me. It ain’t you.”
“Nocturnal?” Keir asks.
“Yep,” he yawns, and black nailed hand to chest, adds, “nachtbeule.”
Kier returns a sympathetic nod. “It’s gotta be rough being here all day.”
“You said it, man,” Nort agrees and tries to sit up without propping himself up.
“Salad, huh?” Gaff says, glancing between their trays. His is piled with three burgers and a pile of fries covered in gravy. The rest of their trays combined contain only a few leaves of lettuce and one tomato slice by way of vegetables, and even these are between slices of bread. “I can pack these up for later if it bothers you…”
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s not a problem, but thanks for asking.”
“Cool,” Gaff beams before stuffing some fries into his mouth, eyes half-closed in happiness.
“Would anyone give me directions to…” Kier pauses and pulls a schedule out of the chest pocket of the worn charcoal button-down he is wearing open over an Icefall shirt from their Hazards of Outdoor Recreation tour. The opposite pocket has a black patch embroidered in white with the name Douglas, and the elbows are worn. Skimming over the schedule, he continues, “Mr. Iwason’s lab? There’s no number, so I’m not sure what floor to even start looking.”
“Ah, yeah, all the flammable classes are over in the old building. Fen’s got Bio after lunch too,” Giff helpfully points out, nudging Fen’s foot discreetly with Gaff’s sneaker he’d accidentally put on in his morning rush.
“Yeah, I’ll show you,” Fen says, taking a swig from his bottle of water. “You can borrow my notes. It’s not even been a month, so there’s not too much to copy.” He returns his attention to his chicken salad sandwich and contemplates how ripped so many of the ungulate types are despite not being carnivores. Glancing down at his own lithe frame he cringes to himself at being the perfect example of a carnivorous species not known for bulking up. It’s fine. Statistically or whatever, I’m probably his type. Right?
After lunch, as they cross through the covered walkway to the older building, Fen finds their distance shortened drastically and looks up to see Justin Jackson heading in their direction, scowling at him. Kier leans down and asks in a low growl, “What’s this clown’s problem?”
Fen stops walking, closes his eyes, and laughs, loud and wild—a full-bodied gale that startles a rat into picking up the pace as she darts through the boxwoods and sends a cluster of chickadees into the trees. Heads turn in their direction before continuing on in their hustle to beat the next bell. Justin Jackson slows for a moment and thinks better of opening his mouth at the warning of a fierce grey-green glare. He hurries past, unnoticed by Fen, who is quaking with a combined hysteria and relief. Someone has dethroned Melitown High’s former number-one tough guy. Not that there aren’t scores of deadly students—the elementary school alone always has at least a handful of potentially lethal kids destined to be bullied for their small statures or “girlish” features who are already well versed in the need to let the Veil handle retribution. Or the Moon, depending on your spiritual leanings. Fen has waited, biding his time, and the Veil has answered his orisons. Finally. His heart crackles with electric excitement. Veil-sent. For me. Mine.
The sky has opened once again; the metal roof of the walkway, a low-pitched drumhead above them returning Fen from his tempestuous reverie. Keir, looking the other way as he composes himself, reaches a hand out into the deluge and inhales. On exhale he sighs, “I love how much it rains here.”
“Oh?” Fen asks, full attention back on the colossus whose sleeve he had latched onto before he settled down. He decides not to unhand him yet. What’s the rush?
“But are you going to tell me what’s up with that little human who was chasing you yesterday?”
“No, let’s go back to rain and saying nice things about it.”
Keir wrinkles his brow. “You just want us to stick to talking about the weather?”
“What? No, I…,” he pauses, looks down at his hand gripping as much of Keir’s forearm as his fingers could circle, and, swallowing his reluctance, lets him go to make a sweeping gesture to the downpour with his palm upturned. “None of this was forecasted, and I’m pretty sure this is on me.”
“Elemental magic?” Kier asks, trying to temper his excitement.
Fen shrugs, “Yeah, but I’m kind of shit at it.”
“It’s new, right? I think we’re allowed to be shit when we’re new and still figuring things out. And this,” he tips his chin to the rain keeping his gaze on Fen unmoving, one hand frozen in a hesitant reach toward him, “This is certainly more advanced than ‘shit.’ And calling rain is… well, if I could pick my gift from the Veil, that’d be it. Wow.”
Fen notices his still hand mid-grasp and decisively finishes the motion, Keir’s forearm held tight once more and then his other arm’s bicep in the other hand. Practically climbing him, he launches himself upward to Keir’s surprised face. His voice is low as his words flood the lessening space between them. “Do you want this kiss?” is all his trajectory has left room for.