Ceremeth Selamputo's Story

Chapter Two

Ceremeth ran to meet her nephew as he limped in. He looked... bad. There seemed like so much blood-- but she'd expected blood. It was a battle, this rage, and wounds were to be expected. His muzzle, and a few spots on his forelegs and toes, smoked vaguely, fur eaten through like by acid-- she'd expected that, too, with how many xenodragon hybrids had come to try and impress the black queen. He'd broken through xeno carapace with his teeth and claws, drawing acidic xeno blood. That was impressive.

What she didn't expect was how bristled he looked, the thick fur of his neck standing on end and the rest of it ruffled and ragged-looking, or how confused and off-balance he felt. Stuck inside, hovering around the indoor entrance to Mishuvel's balcony room, she hadn't seen anything. And, as promised, she'd kept her thoughts to herself while the rage took place, even when the emotions went-- wrong.

All she knew was Wisumoth most definitely hadn't "won".

Now, though, she could ask, and did as she took his wounded forepaw when she reached him, to keep him from putting more weight on it. It was bitten through between the tendons by someone's uneven, unusually sharp teeth. He was leaving bloody paw-prints. ::Wisumoth, what in the world happened?::

He bared his teeth at her at her touch to the bite, and she responded in kind-- for the form she was in, anyway-- and smacked his nose, hard. She was his aunt; he wasn't allowed to growl at her. That seemed to shake him out of whatever he'd been in the grip of, and he looke abashed. ::Sorry....:: She let his paw go so he could shake himself more vigorously, fur settling. ::Another dragon rose,:: he explained briefly.

Too briefly. That hardly explained anything. ::Another dragon? Who?::

Wisumoth shrugged, and winced. His shoulders and the arm of his wing were both bloody. ::I don't know. She was red, black-horned-- a pair of xenodragon mixes from the fighters seemed to know her.::

::Probably Kailaveth,:: Ceremeth said thoughtfully. She'd made a point to know everything she could find out about the other combatants.

::Whoever she was, Kalhati was-- displeased.::

Ceremeth thought "displeased" was probably an understatement, especially given the careful way Wisumoth said it. The... very careful way he said it. ::It wasn't her who-- did this, was it?:: she asked with a frown. She'd half-expected Kalhati to be violent if something went badly, but....

::No, no....:: he dismissed the idea, shaking his head, though it looked more like he was shaking off a fly than negating. ::One of the xenos decided he wanted me in pieces, and another was helping that three-headed one and thought I was too close to Kalhati. It worked, too; the three-headed one caught her on the wing.::

::Well, that's just cheating,:: Ceremeth snorted.

Wisumoth heaved a weary sigh. ::Well, at least I avoided the explosion....::

::I felt that one-- what was it?::

::Dark magic of some kind. One of the others....::

Ceremeth shook her head, now. ::I'm sorry you lost.::

::It's all right,:: Wisumoth sighed. ::I'll live. She probably wouldn't have looked twice at me, anyway. Maybe I'll look dashing, now; I'll have a few scars now, I expect, unless they have people here who heal better than you do.::

::Wouldn't take much. Come on, let's get you patched up... you look like hell.::

::Or like a ghost of vengance?:: he suggested wryly. ::Smoking and dripping blood ghoulishly....::

Snorting, half amused at his play on her nickname for him and half disgusted at the very idea, Ceremeth teleported them both to the medical center of the Citadel. Even if she had to bully and threaten, her nephew was getting the best treatment possible. She watched like the belligerent relative she was, and the concerned bond she was pretending to be, to make sure they repaired the worst of the acid damage and knitted up all of the cuts cleanly, and she handled spurring on the regrowth of his fur everywhere that was ready to support it. Healing she might have been poor at, but for some reason hair growth wasn't difficult at all. After a bath and some basking in the sun, he looked nearly as good as new, but for a few spots left bare on his by xenoblood muzzle and one forepaw.

He assured her he wasn't upset about losing, as it were, but he was even quieter than usual. Still, he didn't feel like anything other than a little disappointment, calm acceptance, and a bit of leftover restlessness. Well, Ceremeth could relate: she was a little disappointed, too, and though she didn't take out her own dissatisfaction in a desire to move around, she knew he did. So once he was dry and she was certain he wasn't in pain anymore, she let him go to wander the Citadel alone again. After getting geared up for that rage, battling and anticipating the possible choice, he wouldn't want to be shut up with his obsessive nephew, serious aunt, and scholarly housemate.

The whole affair seemed sour to Ceremeth. Kalhati, no matter how arrogant she might have been, still deserved some choice in who she mated with. From what she'd wheedled out of her newphew, she'd been caught by-- not chosen-- Cemedot, and that largely because his brother Esfedzra had been chasing away other suitors. The fact that Esfedzra had caused the worst of Wisumoth's wounds on his shoulders and wings, of course, didn't make her any more disposed to like him. But it still didn't seem fair, to the other suitors or to Kalhati, herself. She'd been given little choice. Deceit and conspiracy had won out over a gentleman like Wisumoth, who Ceremeth thought certainly deserved a queen, self-titled or otherwise, for his first dalliance.

All the more reason never to participate in one of those horrible flight things, Ceremeth thought, and made herself put the incident behind her. Wisumoth seemed to have done so, so it was pointless to fret over it needlessly, herself. She let him go his own way, walking off his residual dissatisfaction, and she didn't hear from him again until after dark. That didn't surprise her; she'd expected he'd be gone late, again. What surprised her was what he said.

::Are you still interested in-- experimenting-- with Mishuvel?::

Ceremeth didn't look up from her book, curled up on the chair by the fire, but she did quite suddenly lose interest in what was written in it. Ziar and Heskuliath had both gone to bed, but she hadn't felt ready to sleep, so she'd fallen back on her usual mainstay: reading.

::I suppose yes,:: she replied cautiously. ::Why do you ask?::

::Because-- Kalhati wanted me.::

He sounded like he still didn't believe it, himself.

::But the fight's over--::

::The fight, maybe. We're flying, now.::

We're. We're. We're flying now. ::Congratulations,:: Ceremeth sent back, surprised and, she realized, proud of her nephew. The gentleman had won out, in the end, after all.

::If you want Mishuvel,:: Wisumoth interrupted that thought, ::you'd better get moving.::

Ceremeth got moving.

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