Chapter 115 - The One-Legged Kraken II

Claire awoke to a series of loud bangs. Someone familiar was calling her name whilst violently bashing their fist against the door of her temporary bedroom, but she couldn’t quite pin the voice to a name. Groggily, she sat up from her stiff, dysfunctional bed and lazily moved her eyes to the source of the commotion.

Sylvia happened to enter her line of sight as she shifted her gaze. The fox was still sound asleep, her body curled up within one of the countless floating bubbles scattered throughout the tiny living space. The spherical bed didn’t exactly look comfortable, given the indent at its center, but it seemed to make up for it by keeping any unwanted variables at bay. Case in point, the rude visitor. A ripple formed in the barrier’s surface each time the uninvited guest attacked the door, but none of the sound ever seemed to make it through.

“Claire! Open the door right this instant!” The high pitched, hysterical shriek was followed by another series of bangs. “Claire!”

Creasing her brow with a hiss, the lyrkress created a flat piece of ice and took a moment to stare at her reflection. She wasn’t exactly in the most presentable state. Her hair was a mess, there were still bags under her eyes, and her nightgown was half see-through. Yawning, the unperturbed halfbreed wobbled around and fixed the issues in the order she noticed them; she combed her fingers through her hair, washed her face with a stream of stale water, and transformed her negligee into a thick cloak. Only after checking again and subsequently turning into a lamia, did she finally reach for the door’s handle.

When she opened it, she found Lova standing on the other side. The moth’s eyes were warped into a teary glare, her cheeks were stained with visible streaks of liquid, and her jaws were clenched. There was clearly a problem, but Claire was unfazed as ever.

“What?”

“Don’t you ‘what’ me! How dare you! How dare you steal him from me! You two-faced harlot!”

The lykress could do nothing but tilt her head as the weaver balled all four of her hands into fists and trembled with rage. Even the bug girl’s antennae served to express her displeasure. They were curled all the way up, just as they would have been in the midst of combat.

“Steal what now?”

“Carter!” screeched the moth. “You stole Carter!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” For once, the statement was relatively genuine. It took her a moment to process the insect’s claim, but even then, she only barely got it. The entire scenario would have gone right over her head had she not a number of prior experiences. “I’m going back to sleep. Good night.” Knowing that the entire conversation was more trouble than it was worth, Claire moved to close the door, but the Kryddarian was one step ahead of her. Lova jammed her arm through the entrance before the half-lamia could slam it shut.

“Claire… please.” The spellweaver’s voice trembled as her anger was usurped. “He’s the only man I’ve ever loved. Please don’t take him from me.” Tears streamed down her face as she broke into an outright sob.

It’s far too early for this. All of this. The lyrkress heaved a tired sigh. “I don’t want him. Never did. Never will. Now leave me alone.”

“Then why did you take him!?” screeched the moth.

“I didn’t.”

“Yes you did! He’s been obsessed with some girl with ears for the past few days, and I’ve finally figured it out! It was you this whole time!”

That pudgy weirdo is obsessed with me? Great…

“You have the wrong person,” said Claire. I thought she saw my ears already. Maybe she just doesn’t understand how pretty they are.

“That can’t be right! Dozens of people saw you last night, Claire! And they all agreed that you looked just like the person he was describing!”

Claire rolled her eyes. “It wouldn’t matter, even if it was me. I don’t want him. You can have him.”

Lova sniffled as she slowly raised her gaze to meet the halfbreed’s. “It’s too late for that.” Her eyes were empty, soulless even. “You already charmed him. Give him back.” The moth grabbed the lamia by the shoulders and shook her back and forth. “Give him back! Make it so he isn’t obsessed with you anymore!”

Heaving another sigh, Claire pushed the other girl out of her face with her tail and gave her an annoyed glare. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know! Just do it!” screeched Lova.

The bluescale was tempted to eject the insect with a force push and shut the door, but she refrained. Though too desensitized to be disturbed per se, she didn’t exactly like the idea of being stalked by the plainsrunner. He wasn’t as disgusting as the old lechers that worked in and around the other noble houses, but she still found his passion unpleasant. If Lova was volunteering to take the role off her hands, then she saw no reason to dismiss her outright.

“I would. If I knew how.”

“Reject him! Reject him so I can heal his wounded heart!”

“I’d rather not have to speak with him. Ever.”

“And why not?”

“He’s a fat creep.”

Lova’s expression rapidly shifted between confusion, anger, and relief before finally settling on a glare that mixed all but the latter. “He’s a wonderful gentleman,” she said, in haughty denial. “He does seem a little misguided at times, but he’s incredibly kind, even to his enemies. It’s something that you won’t understand until you speak to him.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “I thought you were trying to keep me away from him, not sell him to me.”

“I am trying to keep you away from him, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll allow you to sully his honour, even if it means that you start to see his charms.”

“I won’t. He’s too much of a creep.”

“He is not a creep!” Another glare was fired in the lyrkress’ direction. “He is a gentleman,” she repeated, with a brief pause following each word.

“I’m not having this conversation with a literal insect,” grumbled Claire. She tried to shut the door again, but it was blocked by the moth girl’s face.

“Just admit it, Claire! He’s the most handsome centaur you’ve ever seen!”

The lykress paused for a moment to see if she could recall an uglier mug among the knights, but none came to mind. Even the most scarred face was more appealing than the blubbery plainsrunner. “He’s hideous. If he was Kryddarian, he would be hairless.”

“Please stop trying to provoke me,” said Lova, with a miffed glare. “I know you’re just saying that because you know it’ll rile me up.” She took a deep breath before continuing with her voice calmer and more mellow. “If you really aren’t interested in him, could you please help me? I haven’t been able to get his attention, and I’ve tried nearly everything.”

“No.” Claire pulled on the door’s handle and gave the Kryddarian’s face a squeeze.

“Can you at least talk to him to prove that you’re not some sort of mysterious goddess? I’m sure he’d find himself disillusioned if he was ever exposed to your personality.”

So that’s where… The bloodthief narrowed her eyes. “My personality? And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

“W-well, I’ve just heard him say that he’s more attracted to fair, delicate maidens…” Lova clasped her four hands together and fiddled around with her fingers. Her face was decorated with a light blush, just faint enough to be made out. “And he’s always seemed rather interested in ladies of a higher social status. I used to be a countess, so I thought…”

“I am a fair maiden,” said Claire, as she subjected the moth’s head to a slight increase in pressure.

“Fair maidens do not resort to violence at the slightest provocation! And when they do, it’s never physical!” The weaver pushed her hands against the door and tried to pry it open, to no avail.

“By Kryddarian standards maybe,” said the halfbreed. “By Cadrian standards, it’s more important not to shriek, even when you’re in pain.”

“I’m a Kryddarian, I don’t go by Cadrian standards,” said the moth.

“But he does.”

There was a moment of silence as the lyrkress fought the urge to simultaneously pinch the bridge of her nose and kick the overgrown caterpillar out the doorway. She was ignorant, far more so than even Cadrian traditionalists. At the very least, they understood that different tribes had different values, despite caring little therefor. That understanding was the only reason that the cottontails, thorae, and centaurs were no longer at each others’ throats, the only reason they had been able to unite the three groups under a single banner, some five thousand years ago.

“Do you understand the problem now?”

Slowly, Lova nodded.

“Good. Now go away and leave me alone.”

“Wait, wait! Please wait!” Pushing forward again, the moth finally managed to get half her body through the door. “I would really appreciate it if you could teach me a little more about Cadrian courtship.”

“No. I’m busy. And I don’t know anything about it anyway.”

Cast through the right lens, the statement was more of a half truth than an outright lie. Claire knew how the nobility went about arranging matches. She had been educated on the related subjects when she was younger, but none of her tutors had ever told her anything about how it was handled amongst the common folk. While many other noble ladies had a relatively unreasonable amount of reading on the matter, Claire had always preferred horsing around the manor to subjecting herself to the salacious affairs of fictional characters.

That wasn’t to say that she was completely disinterested in romance. She had participated in many a related discussion with other girls her age; discussing the love lives of others was commonplace, especially given the lack of war that came with the eleven horned king’s most recent policies. The issue lay instead with an awareness of her circumstances. She couldn’t relate and she simply didn’t see the point in trying, not when her father saw her hand as nothing but another weapon in his arsenal.

“That can’t be right,” said Lova.

“Well it is.”

Claire released the door handle and stretched her back as she brought a hand to her mouth. But not because she was willing to indulge the moth in a conversation. The yawn welling up inside her was simply too powerful to resist. Despite the momentary lapse of strength, the moth was unable to make it any further into the room. The lyrkress kept the tip of her tail pressed against the older lady’s forehead and held her where she was.

“Ask a centaur if you want to learn about Cadria. I’m not a centaur.”

Backing off just a bit, Lova pursed her lips into a frown. “You’re not?”

“I’m a lyrkress. I introduced myself to you as such.”

“But I saw you transform into something like a centaur yesterday night, and everyone that’s seen your ears is saying that they’re either weird cottontail ears or exaggerated centaur ears.”

“That means nothing. I’m a lyrkress.” Claire pointed at the shard in her chest. “I wouldn’t have this if I was a centaur or a cottontail.”

The glimmering spike was one of the things that Claire didn’t hide; she liked how it looked and all her outfits left it completely exposed. Not even her armour would shroud it. There was no point. It was much tougher than stone or metal, and it could even be used as a weapon if its tip was left exposed. By all means, it should have been something that the moth girl had long noted. Still, she took the opportunity to lean forwards and carefully observe it nonetheless.

“Please excuse my ignorance,” said the moth, “but what exactly is that? I’ve never heard of, let alone met any lyrkresses before.”

“A natural catalyst.” The half-moose moved its tip up and down before retracting it and crossing her arms. “See? I’m not a centaur.”

Lova’s eyes widened. “Oh, how embarrassing of me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just… everyone else was talking about all the similarities, so I assumed…”

“Because they don’t know that I’m a lyrkress. Now go ask someone else. I saw several centaurs in the cathedral. I’m sure they’ll be able to answer your questions.”

“I’ll go do just that. Thank you, Claire, I know you were reluctant, but you were very helpful.” The moth flapped each wing seven times in quick succession to express her thanks. “And I’m very sorry I called you a harlot. I’m not sure what came over me.”

The not-centaur rolled her eyes. “I don’t care. Just leave me alone and let me sleep.”

With one last “thank you,“ Lova stepped back out the door and closed it behind her. Technically, she had left the lyrkress alone, but she continued to disrupt her rest by cheering and bouncing around the other side of the door. “She’s not interested! She said she’s not interested! You’re still in the running Lova, don’t give up!”

“Why can’t she do that somewhere else?”

The blueblood grumbled under her breath as she turned her eyes on the floating fox, who was somehow still sound asleep. Seeing the bubble’s pristine state led her to grit her teeth. She coated the tip of her tail with a spear of ice, slithered over, and poised to strike at the magical orb. But that was as far as she got. Turning back into a humanoid, she removed her tail and called off the attack. There was no reason to make Sylvia share her pain.

It was all the moth’s fault; she was the one that would have to pay.

A small smile crossed Claire’s lips as a thousand petty schemes raced through her mind. Settling on one immediately was difficult, in part because there were so many different options, and in part because the commotion just outside her room made it impossible to focus.

Looking at her canine companion provided just the inspiration she needed to solve the second problem. Claire crafted a pair of ice blocks around the base of her ears and sealed off the outside world as she changed her clothes and lay back down. Much to her annoyance, the earplugs were even more temporary than she had thought they’d be. They began melting away as soon as she tucked herself beneath the less-than-silky covers. Their efficacy plummeted dramatically as their temperature rose; the drunks’ voices soon returned to leaking through the walls and into her mind.

Sighing, she took the solution one step further and turned herself into a portable ice box. The air around her turned white as the tiny bits of moisture floating around within it froze and turned into tiny icy crystals. Her earplugs were fixed, turned right back to ice. But that was not all her aura affected. The fox-free bubbles floating around the room were also frozen solid.

They began plummeting from their positions and crashing into the furniture as they iced over. One particular sharp ice ball happened to land right on top of the bed’s headboard and left a large scratch as it rolled down its length.

“Oops.”

Though it was clearly her fault, Claire was far too annoyed to give it a second thought. She plopped her head into the pillow, closed her eyes, and went right back to sleep.