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Vepar gasped in quiet delight at the first speech from his new pet. Turning, he took him in--and that delight turned to empathy. The faerie was frightened! Well, why shouldn't he be? Waking up in a strange place would do that to anyone, Vepar imagined. Still, it was a surprising pleasure to hear him speak, and something about the timbre of his voice left the Goetia feeling oddly warm towards him, more compassionate than he usually felt towards pets.
He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, tucking a leg under himself, smiling as he looked the little one over.
"If it is too cold, I am happy to provide you with more blankets, or to move you to a more confined room. I do not know much of your people, and my research turned up little more than that you do best when in the free air. This," he gestured towards the room around them, "is the best I can offer in that regard, my pet.
"My name is Vepar." He smiled again, touching his chest and giving a little bow of his head. "And you are in Hell. Specifically, an abyssal plane that is completely closed to travel from anyone without explicit permission to be here--or without the power and knowledge to traverse it. Your brother offered you to me as a gift, in exchange for my aid should he require it, and how could I say no? I've never had a creature as exotic as a faerie before!" This was easily the least dignified Vepar had ever been, and the little crest of feathers on his head was halfway up with his excitement--as high as it ever went. "You are my prisoner, I suppose, although pet seems a much more civilized word.
"Now. Please. I was informed that you can eat nothing but fish and cat milk? We do not have cats, at least, not the sort it seemed Balekin referred to, but I was told that," he indicated the milk on the nightstand, "would be an appropriate substitute. Please, do tell me if it is inadequate. I wish to care for you, my darling pet, and see that your health does not suffer.
"How are you feeling? You were handed to me in a rather... stuffy bag," he admitted, voice darkening with disapproval, "which did not seem to have adequate ventilation to keep anyone alive." The Goetia reached out with a gentle, careful hand to run his claws through those curls. "You need not fear. This is the home of demons and monsters--and, if Balekin is anything to go by, that means it must not be so very unlike where you are from?"
Were one to inquire about it, Cardan cannot quite remember the events leading to his current disposition; he recalls pieces, tiny fragments of memories, such as being situated upon his bed within his chambers in Hollow Hall, reading Alice in Wonderland all the whilst taking nibbles of the cheese a mortal servant delivered to his room as dinner, for Balekin wished him not in his way as he worked on something he called "finalising affairs". If he is to be frank, he does not even recall falling asleep — merely the occasional darkness of his eyelids falling heavier and heavier over gold adorned eyes, and then, gradually waking from what feels like a solid slumber into the shivering cold of winter, in a room he does not quite recognise, with a looming voice he cannot quite link to a face.
The Prince strains to chase awareness, falling short just about every time he begins to climb the wall back to consciousness — and yet, it is not until he feels the couple of digits lightly touch his brow that the easiness finally sinks in, and the next times he attempts, he manages to come to. Black eyes rimmed with a halo of gold are unfocused for a brief second of time, seeing the world around him as a mosaic of blurred colours and shapes, the sounds distorted in his sharp, elongated ears as though a cacophony of voices each speaking over the other and none making sense. The Fae's brows furrow and his lips curl to release a pained groan as the landscape before him dawns clear and clearer, until all he can see is a lattice stone wall with a snowed-in window, and a night stand with a white liquid inside — could it be milk ? —, stirred with a stripped thing he cannot quite put a name to.
Although Cardan's mind is swimming like an aggravated group of sprites, one thought dawns clear in his head; he is not in his room, and he is not in Hollow Hall. And, though habit had it that whilst attending his brother's revels he would wake up disoriented and naked amongst many bodies of courtiers he has no recollection of the night before, this has a different feel to it; A feel of danger and panic, as he can feel his heart plummeting from his torso right into the darkness of his stomach.
Where in the Mab foresaken earth is he ?
Jolting into a sitting position, the Fae's eyes grow double their size in panic as they feveredly take in his surrounds; the glass of milk, the snowed windows, the iron-made door leading to the outside. . . And then the tall looming figure of what he can assume to be a bird staring out of one of the lattice stone windows, as though contemplating the fate of the world — or, well, some thing equally as important. Cardan knows him not, and he does not wish to know him; in fact, the only conversation he wishes to have with him is one that provides him with directions as to the fastest, swiftest way he can go back to his brother's estate in the Hollow Hall.
❛ Where am I ? ❜ Inquires Cardan, his words dragged together and barely audible, as though his tongue has yet to come awake like the rest of his body has. Swallowing hard, he can almost feel the dryness of his throat as well as the still growing heaviness of his eyes as they pierce through the Falcon's back. Did he take him from Hollow Hall, or is this yet another one of his reckless, careless antics while under the influence of Faerie Powder ? ❛ Who are you ? And why is it so cold in here ? ❜
Honestly, the lack of Manga Fukidashi merch is a fucking travesty. That boy's design lends itself to a bookmark card. Not even a pin ???? Breaks my heart.
Just look at him. Manga Fukidashi, you deserve your own merch even if people don't appreciate your swag (v_`v٥) smh my head