Abducted

28

"For what?" he giggled, shaking his head, "She couldn't have done anything to stop it. She wasn't even there."

"Exactly," he shrugged, "she felt powerless for a long time."

"Ah..." Alfred snickered, slurping up more noodles, "I think that's dumb. Being without power isn't bad. It's being used that's bad. But it's not your fault if you're used."

Ivan ran fingers through his hair, "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"You don't have to be," he smiled, "you're helping me rebuild. You don't have to be sorry for me too."

Ivan placed a hand on Alfred's thigh, and Alfred flinched. The broth sloshed in the bowl, but didn't spill. Ivan's hand immediately left, and he placed it on his lap.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Alfred replied, "it's okay."

Ivan touched his arm, dragging his hand over his shoulder before embracing him in a side-hug, "I'm sorry. Please don't cry."

"I'm not," Alfred leaned into him, continuing to eat, "I just... wasn't expecting it. It's fine. I promise."

Ivan pecked him on the temple, leaning his head on his own.

"If Zaltana doesn't show up here in twenty minutes drag her. I don't care if she's drunk off her rocker, I want to talk to her," he said. He felt Ivan nod.

"When Maikoh feels a little better she'll heal your neck."

"That's nice," his image of the long-haired werewolf appeared, the gold and sapphire scepter glistening in the setting sun. Where had that image come from. It was regal, in some sort of cave. Behind the matron of healing came the matron of pain, "can you ask Tala to come with her?"

"What?" Ivan asked, "Why?"

"Because," Alfred sighed, "I want her to eat."

"Of you?"

"Yes," Alfred replied, "unless you also look and feel like a pincushion with the stuffing coming out."

"I... is that a good idea?"

"Hm. I don't know," Alfred said, "but when Tala is fed she is more powerful, right? So, why not feed her. She'll be capable of freeing more of my family."

"Do... you remember what Tala is like when she is fed?"

Alfred thought for a moment. An image was summoned. The matron of pain was smiling, surrounded by bodies. Her long claws were sheathed, with pieces of clothes and flesh caught into the serration. Her black hair was short, flaring around her cheeks.

Her orange eyes bore holes into your very soul. Her skin flared wildly between dark and pale, like someone trying to decide whether they are sick or just irritated. A thin tail swished behind her, with perked black ears.

"Yes. That is what is needed."

"If... you wish," he replied.

Twenty minutes passed. Ivan got up and left the room, leaving Alfred to twiddle his thumbs. He wasn't nervous, just bored. Why would he be nervous when he was just talking to Zaltana?

There is no reason to be nervous.

Ivan cursed under his breath. Zaltana looked over to him and hissed. Ivan grabbed onto her arm and she slumped down. They were in the living room nearest to the back of the house. There was no alcohol, but instead Zaltana, who was napping it off.

"C'mon."

"No," she grumbled.

"Dyami wants to talk to you," he said, "and it's rude to keep him waiting because you're too busy wallowing in your own goddamn grief."