72nd of Ash, 120
It didn't fit. How could it? No matter how hard he tried or strained the fabric, he couldn't fold it enough to squeeze in. It wasn't as a matter of trying hard enough, as Arkash pressed until it radiated a dull throbbing ache at the base of the appendage. He knew not why, but the difficulty brought on intense feelings of frustration and misery, but it didn't take much to topple the lizard's thin sanity.
It was his tail. He tried so desperately to fold the appendage against himself and squeeze it into the fine pants Taelian had offered him, but it was too thick at the base. Layers of fat and muscle hindered its flexibility, and he could use it for little more than a club or a counterweight while running. What was more was his lower legs, and the way they pulled at the fabric with their extended ankle joint. It was... incredibly uncomfortable, and it felt as though he'd rip the seams with so much as a bend of his legs.
He'd always known that the world was made for humans and elves, his experiences with chairs had taught him such. But to know that the fact ran so deep that Arkash couldn't even dress like them, to pretend to be one of them for even a day, stung.
He stood at Taelian's vanity, staring into the yellow of his one eye in an effort to ignore the mangled left side of his face while he leaned forward and rested on his stump arm while his claws pulled at the lip of the pants he tried to squeeze into from behind. He didn't want to break them or cut a hole in them just so that he could fit in.. Well, he did, but he wouldn't. It was Taelian's trousers, not his. Unknown to him, his claws had already frayed the fabrics there and left several scrapes and peeling threads in wake of his frustration. His arm shook with strain and his teeth bared at the pain while he tried so desperately to fit the lip of the garment over the base of his tail.
Tears born of frustration and agony ran from the right side of his face while he actively bent and forced the joint out of shape in a crazed effort to make it work to no avail. His tail was an extension of his spine; he'd need to effectively break his back to make it work. Luckily, the fabric gave way to his claws before his bones or his will did, and he tore four long streaks in the fabric with a sudden jolt that saw him lurch forward in a sudden jerk.
Outraged and hurt, Arkash slammed his fist on the table of the vanity and curled both his arm and his stump around his head as he pressed his face into the surface. There, he cried and sniveled pathetically into his scuffed, scarred scales. As the adrenaline of his obsessive-compulsive frustration receded, the white-hot agony at the base of his spine set in and left his whole body tender and raw with its radiance. Arkash lifted his head to see his streaming eye while he came down and caught his breath, then glanced at the reflection of his claw. As he unfurled the tightly-wound digits, he found a scrap of fabric that had been ripped from the pants, all jagged and frayed around the edges.
His immediate reaction was a frustrated, pain-laced sigh that saw him rest his head against the table again, followed by a press of his open palm into the fine wooden surface. Next, he resolved to remove the pants and surrendered whatever hope he had of ever fitting in. It was made for humans, not for the likes of him.
It felt as though the base of his tail throbbed as he stepped out of the legholes, though Arkash returned his gaze to the broken stare that peered from the mirror. There, he saw the flipped brand that had been carved into his chest, still a scar. He'd hoped it would fade as his scales shed, but it never did. His eye once again lifted to his reflection while he traced the scar with his claw. Perhaps the world wasn't meant only for humans, perhaps he was just too broken and jagged to fit anywhere.
After wiping the tears from his cheek, Arkash took a step back and collected the pants. A glance around the room set his eye on the window on the far wall, and he quickly stepped over and unlocked the mechanism with the use of his one hand while his jaws clenched the ruined pants. Taelian couldn't discover what he'd done, so Arkash threw the frayed, torn pants from the window and watched with his one eye as the billowing winds caught it. Like a flag, it flowed and glided through the open air before disappearing somewhere in the white-out beyond Arkash's range of vision. Hopefully, it wouldn't be discovered.
With an exhale, he shut the window, then shivered a little at the resulting chill. A glance to his discarded garments yielded a nod of affirmation, and he began to lay them out on the floor, and gave them a brief wipe-down with his cold bath water to remove any loose grime and stains before he began to dress in them once again. Oh-so-carefully, he eased his tail into the sleeve stitched to his breaches, then hissed as the fabric wrapped the bruised scales in the area. It hurt, but so long as he didn't try hitting anyone with it, he would be fine in time, he believed.
He'd hoped to walk the halls to wherever Taelian was with impressed, approving looks, but he'd weathered repulsion and disgust so many times that it barely phased him. Though, he knew he was hardly in the mood for such sneers in his emotional state. So, he resolved to ignore them before his eye met his dagger where it rested on the bed. The chrome blade with blue embroidery on the handle; the same knife that had been used to carve the brand on his chest a few months prior. Just in case, he assured himself as he tucked the blade into his boot, then straightened up and looked to the door. He somehow had to find Taelian in the building that... Honestly seemed quite large when he considered how far off the ground he was.
With a sigh, he leaned over the bed and lowered his nose to the sheets before he carefully pulled the quilt aside. There, he drew a lungful of air and collected the half-elf's scent, which...oddly smelled more akin to an elf, with so little human in it that Arkash couldn't tell by the scent alone that Taelian was a mixed-breed. Maybe his lover's an elf, he figured, and straightened up when he had the scent he needed.
A deep exhale saw him expel the various smells, and he straightened out the sheets once more before he proceeded to the door and sniffed at the air. His odor clung to the air in the path he'd most recently traveled, so Arkash stepped out into the hall and reached with his hook to pull the door closed behind him, only to realize that he hadn't brought it with him. It was still in his Inn room in Lienburg. His nostrils yielded another exhale as he pulled the door shut, then proceeded down the halls, following the scents in a trail before him.
He could spend eons marveling at the work of the building, and how much time it might have taken someone to craft and design each hall, but he focused so little on his damaged sense of sight that he barely took notice. Instead, he proceeded quickly and without pause. All the disapproving scowls and glares were ignored, and he arrived at the room Taelian had entered after a short trek and a few flights of stairs. A deep exhale left him and he fluttered the lid of his one eye as he gripped the handle, then turned it and let himself in with a peek of his head. It opened to the left, so his blindside was the first thing to enter. Arkash squinted and took a few short, sharp sniffs through his nose to confirm whether or not Taelian was there before he opened the door fully and entered without knocking.
Wylen looked to the interruption with something of a disapproving glance to Taelian but spoke nothing of the rathari's poor manners. A clearing of his throat poised to snatch the elf's attention while he stared off into space and a motion of his head aimed his attention to Arkash as the rath turned to put his sighted side on the pair. Arkash focused on both of them for a moment with his eye wide and his lips pursed to the best of his ability.
After an uncomfortable silence, Arkash lifted his one set of claws and gave the two a wave of greeting. "Hia," he spoke in tandem, then looked over the table that Wylen loomed over, and saw a severed arm lying there, covered partly in scales and skin alike. Its digits were claws, shaped like his own. It almost looked as though it was his own severed arm, it caught him off guard, and he froze while he looked upon it. His immediate instinct told him he'd walked into some scene of brutality where someone had just lost their arm, but that wasn't the case at all, and reason unwound him from his defensive stance. "Uhh, thank 'ew, sers. I'm propa' chuffed 'bout 'iss new arm, an' I p'omise t' make it up to th' both of ya's." What else was he supposed to say? It seemed proper to express gratitude.
"You can start by knocking next time," spoke the lanky, thin human with the beginnings of a grin.
Arkash's one eye widened, and he looked to the door in a fluster. He'd forgotten to knock? Damn it all! He was already off to a bad start. "Ah-! Sorry!" He returned with a visible cringe. He'd never had to learn such manners living in a one-room house his whole life, though he knew it was proper, just not a habit he'd ever developed.
Wylen merely shook his head lightly with an audible 'tut', then looked at Taelian a glance before he proceeded with the grafting of scales. "Ser Lange tells me you need a new eye, too. Is that right?"
Ser Lange? Oh, Taelian. That was right, the half-elf(?) had asked Arkash to address him as Stephan in public. "Uhh, ye. Steff's a real pal. I propa' owe 'im one."
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