Ever since Patrick had entered the district, he knew there would eyes on him. It was inevitable, what with his humanity sticking out like a sore thumb.

Monsters just had a way of sort of... smelling it on you, your differences.

Odd. Weird. Freak. Other.

Even with the scent talisman stuck in his pocket, he didn't look like a Ferin, he was too skinny and short. All Ferins, from what Pat had seen, were different flavors of divine beauty.

Naiads? Wet Beauty.

Demons? Bad-boy Beauty.

Angels? Literal Divine Beauty.

Ferins were loud, their presence demanding your attention.

Being a human was a quiet fate, well, quiet in how no one will be allowed to talk about your death.

Wow, Patrick was just amazing at making himself more anxious.

In the back of his mind, he could feel himself walking towards his destination, but there seemed to be too much going on for something as easy as manual walking.

It faded into the background, the whirring of Pat's thoughts ridding anything that wasn't terror.

Maybe he should be terrified, his parents had taught him never to interact with a Ferin if he could help it. Yet here he was, waltzing into one of their parties.

Pricks of attention washed over the boy as he passed through an alleyway, much to clean to match the movies.

He really, really, really wanted to go home to where some rich boy won’t either buy you or murder you.

It was too late for that anyway, he had days to do it. Patrick overheard a pair of foxes in the Nexus talking about someone from Vinike hosting a back-to-school party.

How cliche, right?

But well...

"If I'm going to die, might as well do it in style."

That's what he said, at least. Truth was that Pat had been so dreadfully lonely for so long, he couldn't bear it anymore.

It was only this or...

Flashes of a red-eyed boy, too sweet, too caring... and much, much too close.

He couldn't go back through the Nexus, it was too late for him. Pat had doomed himself, so he might as well see how alcohol tastes before he dies.

Honestly, he had been doomed the minute he began imagining drunk Ferins trying to court him because he was just the prettiest person there.

He hated Ferins, definitely, but they were still hot... look but don't touch, right?

Pat said all this, but he already planned to avoid any halfway attractive boy. It was a temptation, Ferins had always been good at it.

His legs had stopped, perhaps they had stopped moving a while ago, Pat wouldn't have noticed while devoured by his thoughts.

He forced himself back into the present with some difficulty. Apparently, if you could just perfectly anchor yourself to the present, anxiety wouldn't exist at all. What a world that'd be, but it's not his.

Patrick glanced up at the castle-like home, it was literally like a king's keep.

Neither is this...

His world was waiting back in the Nairiq district, this sort of decadence was alien to him.

Towering stone-brick walls, royal blue roofing that just screamed opulence. This was a whole other dimension. Syca's world, where order was prized, anything out of the ordinary would be eliminated.

Maybe that's why it was so quiet, volume was disorderly and chaotic and interesting. Can't have that, of course.

The quiet was odd though, wasn't this some guy's party? Are there like... He didn't know... sound-proofing spells? Sure, that sounds magic-y enough, let's go with that rather then the fact that you got lost in Canti.

The dedication to order, right, let's get back to that. It was easier to swallow.

The sentiment was unnerving, the promise to eliminate disorder.

Not very comforting message especially when your whole existence is "out of the ordinary".

Patrick looked back at the house... it didn't even feel like a house...

Spires and towers and iron knockers, Pat would appreciate the dedication to an aesthetic but there were a few things off.

First, the castle looked disappointingly new, mowed lawn, scrubbed bricks, the works. The only thing hinting at the castle's original age was the cracked stone, but even then it looks like most of it was repaired.

And speaking of the lawn it looked extremely manicured, forcefully tamed by the residents.

How could you be so rich, yet suck this badly at decorating? If I was a quadrillionare or whatever, the first thing I'd invest in is seeds to make this damn lawn look less like a suburban nightmare, like that garden over- wait what!

Over off to the side of the manor, almost as if the family were trying to hide it, was a massive garden!

"They for sure were trying to hide it, it's a wonder they hadn't burnt it down, the Zantiri's seem like the type..."

A massive, magical garden!

It was full of colors and scents. It was chaotic, and it didn't try to hide it. Flowers of all shapes and sizes, colors and scents, swirled about the ground. Some were glowing, some burning, some seemed to move unaided.

Magic plants were fun like that. Pat wanted to get some, but his father wouldn't like it. He wouldn't like the boring ones either though, Varian Alixa simply hated plants.

The flowers grew wild and free, unaffected by Syca. As If Mivos freed them herself from the captivity of order and control. It all was beautiful, it was disorderly, and it was amazing. Whole trees grew in the garden, branches winding and growing unbound, unabashedly chaotic.

It was a breath from fresh air, a haven from the outside's expectations, and the roles.

Woah, look out Crito.

Patrick wanted so badly to say "fuck it" and just stay here all night, but alas.

Pat was almost sad returning to the door, he felt poor just standing before it. The double door was made of oak, carrying a sense of importance. The knocker was made of solid iron and had the insignia of a lion's head engraved into it.

As he stepped closer to the door to examine said knocker, magic slammed into him.

It was quite odd since he had never been able to sense it before this. Too much weird stuff was going on, he just wanted to get inside before he questioned too many things and got, like, black bagged by the lord.

But as he took in the waves of power gently slamming into him, he could only reflect on his pitiful talent with magic.

Pat could barely use it, could barely sense the stuff sloshing around his own body, nevermind anything outside. A mana bolt could be flying at the back of his head and he'd still be drowning in... maybe he should go inside before Pat manifested something.

Just as Pat began the tedious process called "gathering enough courage to go in and not wuss out" a piercing voice rang out, not annoying, but the kind of voice that a king would have.

"Are you gonna move your ass, or just stand there?"

Fuck.

***

Nicholas only had two things on his mind tonight, getting blackout drunk, and getting laid.

Nick had spend days preparing for this, and it was going to be epic. He'd make sure of it. As he almost ran up the driveway of Jackie's house, he saw a blockade.

A blockade wearing too tight jeans and a lost expression.

Perhaps he was just going to complete his second mission...