Stitched by the Stars

A final hum is given from the pump as the air mattress reaches its fill, the device shutting off by itself. The action is ignored by the two individuals settled in the apartment, their chatter overriding attention to the items around them while they prepare for the night. Then finally, an absence of a particular sound is noticed by the duo, their gaze setting on the air mattress in the middle of the room in unison.

“I still do not get why you chose a place here first instead of home.” The slight expression of irritation on Melyha’s face has not failed to leave just yet, their left hand adjusting the dark gray dreads braided down their back while the right hovers over a bowl of mango. They continue in Q’kny, their native tongue, naturally expressive with tonal variations. “You cannot feel the neighboring homes seeping through? That energy is no good.”

Zenyiia waves a hand at Melyha, the other coming to scratch her head through her head covering, a slight glint of her goggles presented as she adjusts her stance. “Rude,” is all Zenyiia replies with in the same language, walking to the air mattress, unplugging and packing up the pump. Despite her reply, she knows well what Melyha is sensing, the atmospheric differences between the clan’s territory and Tehreign is as clear as day.

Melyha munches on another piece of mango, the tips of their dark claws and fingers meeting their tongue to clean off the lingering sticky sweetness. Their kinky, tundora tail swings freely through the back opening of the stool, the coils seemingly glinting under the light. They then gesture to Zenyiia’s apartment. “Not here though. Feels better in here. Filled with your good essence.”

Zenyiia holds back her laugh, tucking the pump away in the hallway closet, the tails of her black scarf slipping over her left shoulder. “This is why I had to move out of my kaa’s place. I adore her, but she brings in a certain scent after not being home for a while. Qaa and I have to do almost a whole hour’s worth of cleansing.”

Quickly washing their hands at the sink to clean off the residue, Melyha then trudges over to the air mattress and starts fixing up the covers. “Yet you chose a place in the middle of said scents, instead of starting the build around your family’s home on Q’kny. Personally, I would not put myself through it but—”

"You are not me—"

"I am not you." Melyha points to Zenyiia as their voices overlap. ”Exactly."

“Does Denetre live here or on the land?” the rhetorical inquiry is prompted by Zenyiia while she helps fit the sheet over the charcoal-colored air mattress.

Melyha straightens their back, their hands on their hips. “The children. They are asking about you.”

“One, the children are fine, I was just there; I saw them when I went home to get you. And two, stop talking about them like we formed them ourselves.” Zenyiia’s touch smooths over the sheets, before she tosses the pillows on top of everything.

“Okay. Then Iiseo is crying out for you all the time.” They attempt to bait her with her bonded animal back in the village.

Mid-pat of the pillow, Zenyiia hums in disagreement. “I would have heard him.”

Narrowing their eyes at her, Melyha sighs heavily and lolls their head back, groaning after.

Their return to the kitchen is simultaneous as they get back to indulging on the snacks set out. The comfortable silence is short-lived, impending words expected while Zenyiia watches the wheels turn in Melyha’s head. Taking a sip of her heavily-iced water, she waits patiently, fork hovering over the bowls of fruit then eating a few pieces of the mango before her option changes to the puffy chips nearby.

“So, if you start your build on your portion of your family home, I can make a bridge—or tunnel—to your place. This is what will heal me.” Melyha jabs their index finger Zenyiia’s way, eyes narrowing slightly. “Or what? You are done with me?”

Zenyiia sighs. “Yes. I am so done with you, Melyha. That’s why I have spent the last twenty-five springs around you; because you are just so despicable.” She smacks the side of Melyha’s head playfully. “Pull it together. I’m thinking about it.”

“Then I will start on both our places, fuck it. Give you a head start before you make up your mind.” Melyha walks over to the fridge and pulls out a mason jar, earning a groan from behind them. “Hush. I have not even poured it yet.”

“The memories are coming back.” Zenyiia’s face scrunches as the thought of the caapalo digs up a muscle memory gag from the individual. “Mel, last time I took form halfway. Had my tail and ears out. Scratched up my floor a bit with these damn claws.”

Melyha guffaws, stopping theirself halfway when they meet their companion’s glare. “It was not embarrassing. I got the pictures.”

A confused expression replaces Zenyiia’s feigned petulance. “How’d you get pictures with your paws out?”

Raising their hands, Melyha sends a message to their system and forms them into big paws, wiggling them. “They can do what they must when the time is right. Now!” Melyha changes back to their clawed fingers before grabbing and raising the mason jar, sticking their tongue out.

“I need something to go down with it or I might just snap and bite you up.” Zenyiia pops one last chip into her mouth then dusts her hands off to the side. “Is there any more of Jenesihs’ juice? Please say ‘yes’.”

Without checking the fridge, Melyha answers, “There is nothing in there but the jars I brought and fate.”

The first words of Melyha’s response activates Zenyiia, her movements already on the way to the foyer, the jingle of her keys sounding through the apartment. “General store is like, five minutes away. Me and whatever’s in that jar have nothing to do with each other if something isn’t chasing it down. Forget that.” She motions to the jar in her friend’s hands. “Put that down and let’s go.”

Melyha gives an exaggerated exhale, bringing the jar down from their lips and halting the impending sip. “I thought I would not have to leave after coming here. How about we order it?”

Zenyiia’s lips tighten and she points to the front door. The silent demand brings another sigh from the individual before they close and put down the jar, following Zenyiia into the foyer and putting their borrowed shoes on. Complaints tumble from Melyha’s lips, but nonetheless, they leave the apartment with their companion, eyes squinting once they leave the preferred containment of the small abode.

The duo descends from the 2nd floor by elevator, the lot below the building awaiting their arrival. Their footsteps thud along the cement, tracking down Zenyiia’s designated parking spot near the end of the row. As Zenyiia walks up to her car, Melyha circles to the other side, hand grazing the passenger side handle and waiting for the distinct chalky click that emits signaling the unlocked mechanism. The two settle into the car at the same time, seatbelts coming across their bodies and securing against their sonsie figures that are clad in Zenyiia’s leisure, loose clothing.

“Seriously though I could have paid for the delivery,” Melyha pipes up, earning a side-eye from Zenyiia as the car starts.

“I don’t think the clan’s Tehreign fund is supposed to be used for ordering in.”

Melyha furrows their thick brows, head jerking back lightly. “That’s exactly what it’s supposed to be for.”

“Welp, keep crying. I deal with this energy everyday, you can cope. I believe in you.” Zenyiia’s right hand settles naturally on the side of the passenger seat as she looks back, maneuvering the black car out of its spot.

“I wish Tehreign could sense it, maybe they could do something about it—it isn’t good for them anyways.”

Zenyiia huffs lightly through her nose. “They do, kind of. It’s easy to live in a way when others show no concern for the same thing. Plus, our sensitivity to these regions isn’t anyone’s problem but our own. That’s why the clan is settled where they are and Tehreign takes the land they have. No qualms. No” —she gives her attention to Melyha for a quick and pointed glance— “complaints.”

“That is just it though. Sensitivity is a very light, almost dismissive, way of putting it. Tehreign, they do not care about it. That is why they are always so...the way they are.” Melyha purses their lips, looking out the window.

Zenyiia tilts her head slightly as she thinks. “Clans getting on one page to push forward with what’s best for themselves and the land is something Tehreign minds cannot even fathom. And since they can’t sense it, they have no problem with it.”

“Well, tell them I have something to say.” Melyha lets their head rest on the seat, left hand reaching out to fiddle with the radio. Their companion’s dimpled smile in response to their statement brings a small grin onto their own dark brown lips before a tempo sounds out from the speakers.

Leaving the lot, Zenyiia navigates to the store rather quickly, peering up through the windshield and spotting the pale orange moon, its full display making her point to it to bring Melyha’s attention away from the people walking along the sidewalks. Following the gesture of their friend, Melyha’s gaze meets the moon, pupils dilating slightly.

“A full phase. Fate’s about to sew a harmony—if it didn’t already.” Zenyiia takes a right on the upcoming street then slows as the parking lot to the general store comes into view. “Wait, did it happen and I just don’t know?”

Melyha shakes their head, examining the parking lot with an evident expression of judgment. “Mmm, no. I think it will skip; most of them usually come before the suns set.”

“A harmony before a certain time is just a general percentage of what has been throughout history. But you know...” Finding a wide enough parking spot that doesn’t have carelessly parked cars on either side, Zenyiia settles into it, putting the vehicle in park and turning off the ignition then reaching in the backseat to grab a reusable nylon bag. “It isn’t a rule, especially not for what is meant to be. Didn’t our parents let us meet under a full moon?”

“Fortunately.” Melyha climbs out of the car, smacking their lips in dismay at the influx of soiled energy that comes their way. The gray, fur-covered ears extending from their head twitch slightly, the left carrying two hoop piercings of a silver and gold composition. “But the general sense of it is a good clean version for the younger pups. The curse of being sewed past the sunset lives well and is always ready to hook you into the needle.”

"Curse?" Zenyiia quirks a bushy brow, closing the proximity between herself and Melyha as they come around the car, starting their trek into the store together. Her hand pulls lightly at the afro exposed from the back of her scarf, unflattening it from the car ride. “No one has ever been cursed, Mel.”

The duo is met with a force of cold fresh air when they enter, passing by the overhead mechanism as the low whirring of the automatic doors shutting behind them sounds. Zenyiia plucks a basket from the stack nearby, laying the reusable bag inside. Sights fall onto Melyha and Zenyiia, the scarification along both of their faces and bodies attracting the customers’ attention; that and the tail swaying from Melyha’s backside while their perked up ears track the multiple noises in the store. Zenyiia, having been raised between the two regions, easily ignores the looks, trying to track down the aisle where her needed supplies should be. Returning these stares is Melyha, territory-bred and raised, receiving these sights as a provocation.

“This isn’t your first time around ’em. Happens every time I come in here—and I don’t even have the tail or ears,” Zenyiia reminds them.

Melyha looks down at a child gawking at them then its parent. “These are the same people who say it is rude to stare, no?”

Laughing softly, Zenyiia finds the right aisle and directs Melyha into it first. “They say a whole bunch of stuff they don’t follow; it’s kind of their thing.” She starts to look at the shelves of refreshments, bringing the taste of the home caapalo in mind to find the perfect drink to counteract the concoction’s taste.

As Melyha crosses their arms and acts like they’re doing the same thing as Zenyiia, their gray eyes dart around aimlessly, trying to take their mind off of the antics of the Tehreign—it reminds them why they barely leave the territory, and if they do, it’s for their beloved, longtime companion. At least when there is a lingering stare within their homeland, it means the action could end with a conversation, friendship, a fight, or in the other’s bed.

“Where is that stuff?” Melyha voices, breaking into Zenyiia’s focused search. Their hands raise to mimic what has come to mind as an image but fails to bring the word with it. “The-the stuff.”

Zenyiia squints. “What? Sprinkles? You don’t eat that.”

“That stuff you put in the ice cream last time. I cannot remember the name.”

"Oh...Peanutt butts.” She points her thumb over her shoulder, gesturing to the aisle just behind the one they are in. “Should be in the candy aisle.”

Melyha jerks their head back slightly, humored by the name. “That is really what it is called?”

“Absolutely.” Zenyiia plucks a couple of her preferred beverages from the shelf. “Hold on a sec, I’ll help you look.”

“You said this aisle?” Melyha begins to walk out of the row, entering the main walkway before taking a tight left into the aisle riddled with sweet snacks.

A body slams against Melyha’s thick, stocky frame, garnering a grunt from the individual; she stumbles back and nearly falls. They look down at the person, expression concerned as they watch her regain her balance. Their gazes meet and the stranger’s mouth parts slightly, eyes widening while her gaze settles on Melyha.

“Sorry,” the person mutters, straightening while her dark eyes roam Melyha’s figure. In a hurry, she scurries, clutching her basket full of various items tight in her hand.

Melyha’s gaze follows the individual until they refocus on what they came to retrieve from the aisle before them, the worry on their face dissipating as they continue into the aisle. The arrays of sweet make their expression brighten slightly, gray sights darting around the options on the shelves.

“Peanutt butt...” they mumble, looking from side to side, trying to track the familiar packaging. The aroma from the delicacies fill the aisle, never failing to bring the comparison of the homemade sweets and what Tehreign creates.

Melyha stops in front of a random collection of sour treats, pursing their lips once they pick up a bag, reading over the label, pretending to care about the ingredients to indulge in their lollygagging. Returning the package to the shelf, Melyha continues to survey the options for their target find. Faintly sniffing, their mouth parts, interest piqued when a particular scent attracts their attention. Melyha blinks, a soft breath escaping as their heartbeat thumps with a prominent effort, the resounding action rippling through their body and diminishing the atmosphere’s presence to hone in on what is causing the reaction. Right ear twitching, they follow the direction while their tail raises slightly.

“...Stuff for class from the store. An’ jus’...stuff.” An individual who clearly needs a basket enters the candy aisle, the multiple packages within his large arms rustling as he tries to hold the phone his dialogue is directed toward. His peripheral adjusts to notice Melyha, voice quieting when he repositions the earphones connected to his phone. Squinting at the options in front of him, his expression changes from confusion to slight irritation. “Assignment is for a loaf. Got most of my list done.” He pauses, listening to his companion’s response.

A shrug accompanying a furrowed brow, it is clear the person on the other side of the phone said nothing to help their case. “Yeah. No.” He laughs. “Listen. They got most of the ingredients I’m jus’ bringin’ my own—they said to add flare, so I’m tryin’ to do a traditional twist.” He bumps his glasses up the bridge of his nose, moving from his position at the end of the aisle once realizing what he is looking for isn’t on that shelf. This time his full focus shifts to Melyha, meeting the other’s glowing stare that immediately triggers a spark of heat across his dark brown skin. He turns back to the shelves, feigning a studious squint as he looks over the packages.

“Why are you still goin’ on about that, Leioh? Get off my damn phone...?” The individual’s voice raises in surprise at the end of the sentence, switching cadence completely as the sudden proximity of a stranger sniffing him lightly processes, making his heart skip a beat and his copper eyes widen.

“Mel! Find the butts yet?” Zenyiia saunters into the aisle, gaze busy with the contents of her basket. The moment she looks up to her companion, her steps quicken as she makes her way to Melyha. But upon recognizing what’s happening, Zenyiia keeps her distance, treading lightly.

The mind and body recalibrate, inducting the newfangled connection within both the strangers’ systems. For Melyha, the scent and energy of this individual carries a distinct note, an aspect that garners an innate defense while furthering their intrigue. For the other, it is...another perspective, not quite as indulging or one based in understanding—alongside the fear, another foreign emotion builds, blanking his mind for a moment.

“Aarthir?” Leioh’s voice comes through the slightly disheveled earphones. “What is purring sound? I thought you were at general store. Now you are purchasing pet?”

The voice of Aarthir’s companion brings him from his trance partially, hesitant steps retreating his body from the stranger. He now notices the other person behind the one closest to him observing the interaction while surveying both ends of the aisles. His movement brings two sets of stares onto him, kickstarting his flight or freeze. Clutching the items in his hands tightly, Aarthir forces another foot behind him, gradually widening the space between them until he leaves the aisle the way he came without retrieving what he wanted.

“Someone jus’ came up to me,” Aarthir whispers frantically into the earphone’s microphone, a slight tremble coming to his body. “A-an’ sniffed me!” He looks behind him, the light sweat on his body building. A sudden intake of breath ensues when he sees the individual leave the candy aisle before the grasp of the accompanying, presumed companion halts the advances.

Leioh furrows his brows, taking the joint from his lips in the same moment as he sits up in his armchair cozied into the corner of his quaint living room. “Oh?” A quirk of his brow is simultaneous with the following statement, “You did not like? Or did you like?”

Aarthir apologizes to the multiple people he bumps into in the store, hurrying to self-checkout. The sight of the empty line is met with a sigh of relief while he sets down his things, quickly swiping them across the scanner. “Why the hell would I like it?”

Ashing the joint, Leioh narrows his eyes. “Just simple questions I am asking.” His hands are raised to no one in his empty apartment. “But if you give description...I could handle it for you.”

Aarthir smacks his lips with irritation at the fact he has to use another bag to fit all of his items and in reaction to the statement from his friend. His heart still pumping as if he just sprinted down a track, Aarthir continues to dispose of the remaining items into the dark plastic bag before digging in his pocket for his wallet. “You keep sayin’ shit like that. I don’t know what that means ’cause your jokes, and statements that ain’t a joke, damn near sound the same.”

“No, not joke,” Leioh replies plainly.

The receipt takes its precious time to print while Aarthir’s awaiting hand is stretched out near the mechanism, a hard stare on it. A prickle comes to his skin, a force beyond himself bringing his eyes to look to his left. The feel and noise of the receipt finally printing out comes to his senses but are not fully registering, the freeze aspect of his instincts setting into place. That person enters his vision again, the deep discussion they are having with the other individual from the aisle halted as his lingering gaze catches theirs.

“What is that sound again?” Leioh questions.

Aarthir quickly grasps the receipt, stuffing it into one of his two bags before hurrying out of the store with the items.

A light huff emits from Melyha’s nose, lips downturned. Again, their advances are halted by Zenyiia. The look they give their friend is anything but tamed, the darkening and enlargement of their irises gazing into Zenyiia’s modulated, unmoved gaze. Immediately, Melyha recognizes theirself, dampening their heightened sentiments.

Zenyiia’s arm is hooked around Melyha’s as she quickly swipes her items through the self-checkout device, packing the beverages and candy with quickness and then paying with a pace that almost makes the actions look like a series of blurs. The bottles clank and the packages rustle in the reusable bag Zenyiia holds in her left hand before marching out, Melyha by her side. It is the energy flow from her companion that brings Zenyiia’s brows to furrow once she approaches the parking lot.

“What’s up? Nothing bad happened,” are Zenyiia’s words, gently relayed. She unlocks the trunk and fits the bag securely inside then shuts it, watching Melyha retreat quietly to the passenger side. “Mel...” She continues to the driver’s side and opens the door, hopping in and instantly looking to Melyha.

“Let us just get back to your place,” Melyha finally speaks up firmly, unfurling a fist to wave their hand in the air dismissively. “We have a night to start.”

Despite their words, there is a slight flare to Melyha’s nostrils, the scent of the person lingering in the parking lot and following them to the interior of the car. The name they heard from the individual’s earphone echoes in their mind—Aarthir. Blood heated, Melyha closes their eyes, breaths coming under their control while Zenyiia starts up the car and makes her way out of the parking lot.

The quick ride back to Zenyiia’s apartment is quiet, the impending conversation building by the moment. Sentiments are evident not only with a deep knowledge of one another, but the natural emission of energy from both of their bodies. As soon as the door of Zenyiia’s apartment shuts behind the two of them, Melyha begins cursing in their native tongue, earning a concerned side-eye from Zenyiia while she places the bag full of novel goodies on the countertop. She then walks to the cabinet and takes out the cups to serve the brew in, plus extra for the juice.

Pop. Hiss.

Zenyiia turns around to see the first dangerously confident gulps of the caapalo make its way down Melyha’s throat. She sighs. Still, she brings the cups over and fills them with ice at the fridge before cracking open a recently bought bottle of a sweet beverage, pouring the dark purple contents into two of the ice-filled cups. A cup with only ice and one with juice are gently pushed towards Melyha while Zenyiia studies them carefully, thinking of what to say as she takes the mason jar from its placement on the countertop. Tentatively, Zenyiia pours some of the caapalo into her other cup and then takes a test sip from the jar.

“When would the disassembling start?” are the first words to leave Melyha in Tehreign.

The brew torturing Zenyiia, her reaction to the statement is drowned in the midst of her contorted expression before the refreshment in the glass follows, easing her consumption of the drink. She stifles a cough. A choked ‘what?’ leaves Zenyiia, her caramel-colored eyes squinting.

Melyha meets Zenyiia’s stare, their common tongue returning to say dishearteningly, “I cannot repeat it.”

Their body nudged gently, Melyha brings theirself out of their mind, refocusing on Zenyiia’s slightly humored gaze.

“You think a Tehreign running away from you suddenly coming up to them and doing what you did—no offense—fits the signs of having the harmony disassembled?”

Melyha doesn’t hear anything that makes the matter better, bringing a look of distaste to their face, smacking their lips as they jab a finger at Zenyiia, sharp tones of their language communicating, “What I said about a match under the moon. Cursed!"

Zenyiia winces, physically recoiling slightly when Melyha takes another hearty gulp of the caapalo, nodding to herself as she realizes her words didn’t make the impact she wanted them to. Plucking the mason jar from Melyha’s clutch, though a bit of a tug-of-war ensues, Zenyiia prevails, earning their attention.

So they can understand more clearly, Zenyiia prompts firmly in their native language, “There is no damn curse.”

Their expression steeling over, Melyha adjusts their standing position slightly, effects of the brew settling in. They drop their gaze, separating their tongue from the top of their mouth to take in a breath. “I am putting it aside.” They pick up the cup full of the beverage Zenyiia bought, sniffing it lightly then taking a sip.

That is a statement Zenyiia can only respect, fingers tapping the side of her brew-filled glass before grabbing it and taking a sip that is quickly followed by the sweet and sour refreshment. Although Melyha said what they did, there is still a distant look in their gaze. Tapping their arm repeatedly, Zenyiia waits to earn their attention and then points to the small speaker beside them.

“Or should I put my music on?” Zenyiia offers.

Panic comes to Melyha’s face, concentration settling in quickly. Their hand is stuffed in their pocket, pulling out their phone—that is only used when in Tehreign with Zenyiia—and connecting to the speaker. Their face brightens as the first beats come in, mouth retreating from its frown to a smile as they start to sing along with the lyrics.

Slightly offended by the dramatic reaction, Zenyiia narrows her big, light brown eyes in a playful manner, then she slowly starts bobbing to the beat, the brew processing into her system. It takes no time for Melyha to dismiss their earlier demeanor.

Conversing near the countertop and sharing the caapalo, a short session of indulging in the snacks laid out is taken before the two make their way to the living room with another round poured. With the scent of the sweet brew, burned herbs arise amongst the essence after the activities are agreed on.

Melyha smacks their lips, tossing a card from the spread in her hands onto the pile in the middle of the coffee table. The recently lit joint lays in between their middle and index fingers, the smoke ascending gradually. “Why did Unihke offer to hunt for the night of no moon?” They take a puff before ashing it and passing it to Zenyiia.

Raising a brow, Zenyiia takes a hit, thinking of the individual. “And she is just...allowed to?” The tips of her fingers tap the top of the cards in her possession before plucking one out of their clutch and setting it on top of the pile. “Not for the event, no way.”

“Adore her but—” Melyha’s face scrunches slightly as the memory of a certain teaching moment comes to mind. “It has been repeated, hunts have no place for babysitting—that is, of course, if we are not teaching an actual child how to hunt. I think a decision is still being made though.” A mischievous smile comes to their face and they thwack down another card, earning a huff from their friend.

“I can come by and help,” Zenyiia offers. “The first hunt is what...in a few phases or so?” She passes the joint back to Melyha, a slight furrow in her thick brows as she thinks for a second. “...I can call out of work.”

“Obviously. I would have come down to drag you from it. You are not missing important clan event preparations to tend to this region instead.” Melyha’s eyes dart away from their cards to meet Zenyiia’s. “Do not mind the offense.” There is a faint smile on their face as they bring the tip of the blunt to their lips and inhale.

She scans her cards. “That’s not how the phrase goes, ass. And this region, with a few others, might I remind you, is part of the reason your dear ol’ bestie exists.” She finally picks a card, a giddy shudder shaking her body.

Smoke blows out from Melyha’s lips. “Unfortunately.” A quick move to the right evades them from Zenyiia’s smack. They stick the very tip of their tongue out while tossing a card directly onto the pile, a triumphant hum emitting. “That is going to be that cup and another shot.”

Realizing Melyha has no cards in their hands, Zenyiia throws hers down, still able to reach them and strike their thigh lightly. “Stop cheating. I’m shuffling this time; you keep doing it and winning.”

“I hear a lot of nothing and not enough drinking,” Melyha lilts, gathering the cards up and setting them in front of her as requested.

Zenyiia starts to mock Melyha while she picks up her glass with the portion of brew before swallowing the shot, quickly chasing it down with juice. A groan emits as she watches her friend pour the next portion of caapalo in the cup still in her hand. Curses in Chenet tumble from her lips, a deep breath taken before the next shot goes down her throat, quickly soothed by the juice. Slightly tossed from the mixed indulgence, Zenyiia sets down her cup a bit hard, earning a chuckle from Melyha. “Just pray I don’t do a partial reform. That last shot almost made me bark.”

Melyha’s chuckle turns into full on laughter, knee hitting the coffee table from their movement, a short moment of a pain expression joining their action after. A taunting cackle coming from Zenyiia only makes their laughter continue, the inebriation from both the drinks and herbs carrying on the sound for a full minute. Tears blurring their eyes, Melyha sits back up from their curled-up position on the ground, taking deep breaths as their laughter fades. They bring the dead joint back to their lips, the lighter coming into their grasp as well, before they courteously bring it back to life, handing it to their friend after a small puff.

“Can I ruin your mood?” Zenyiia questions lightly, accepting the pass to her with a nod. She takes a hit while waiting for Melyha’s answer, bringing the deck of cards closer then shuffling them.

"Fuck no,” Melyha says in a playful cadence, taking a small sip of the brew.

Pursing her lips, Zenyiia mutters, “You’re being dramatic about it.”

The ‘it’ is known to Melyha immediately, their gaze narrowing at Zenyiia. “I put it aside.”

“Yeah, more like drowning it while it’s begging for air. You didn’t even let any of it process.” Smoke travels from Zenyiia’s mouth as she speaks, hands animated while she clutches the joint between her index and middle finger.

“Oh, it is processing, I promise you that,” they grumble, sights set on their cup of brew, tilting it side to side absentmindedly. They swallow dryly, skin heating with embarrassment when they remember the way Aarthir looked at them.

“And what is it processing as?” Zenyiia searches their face, her voice deeper and smoother when she returns to speaking in Q’kny. “You are...off.”

Melyha sighs. “It...is nothing serious. Just thoughts.” They hold their hand out, beckoning Zenyiia to pass the joint.

Humming, Zenyiia nods as she gives Melyha what they want. She stays silent for a moment before continuing with a small, teasing smile. “So this person, a name is known?”

“Aarthir,” Melyha has the name on the tip of their tongue, the action of saying it out loud making their heart thump.

Zenyiia tracks Melyha’s reaction, her grin growing. “And they carry the stature you prefer.”

Melyha eyes them pointedly, quirking a brow. “He does.” Their own figure is full and broad, past intimate relationships following the build reflecting their preference—stocky and large; Aarthir fulfills that requirement well. They think about the short moment of closeness between the two of them, mouth parting while the scent recomposes as if the stranger is within the space.

“Okay, don’t drool on my table.” Zenyiia huffs lightly through her nose, the cards in her hands going through the motions of being shuffled. “Now, didn’t it feel better to share instead of being all sad over nothin’?”

“A single conversation does not change what I did. It was...” Melyha trails off, the words followed immediately by a swig of brew as if to take the statement away from their tongue.

“And?” Zenyiia starts passing out the cards after a firm final shuffle. “The next time you two meet, simmer your advances, you know that the kind within these lands are...softer, more delicate.” She makes a motion with her hand. “Carry that information close before you end up devouring him whole.”

Melyha grunts in understanding, slightly perking up at her words.Next time.Sustained in the worst of their thoughts, Melyha forgot that a path to meet again is slowly being concocted by fate—if it has not been already.

And this next time, it will be different.

Melyha- Mel-ee-yah

Zenyiia- Zen-yah

Q’kny- Kay-nye

Tehreign- Teh-rain

Denetre- Deh-net-reh

Kaa- Kah

Qaa- Kah

Aarthir- Ar-thur

Leioh- Lay-oh

Unihke- Uh-nee-keh

Chenet- Keh-net