Obsession.

Who.. are you?

"No, nothing that would really cause such an odd sensation." Touching the side of the cup, you burnt your finger slightly on the ceramic. Still too hot to drink, for you at least. Ursen hummed, growing silent once more. It was a few minutes of increasingly uncomfortable silence before she spoke again, bringing up a different topic.

"I think there's something you should be aware of. Nothing major, but it does concern you in a way." You took a sip as she spoke, with your tea finally cooling down enough to drink. She pursed her lips, causing you to raise an eyebrow before she spoke again. "You know, I don't think Lord Mothrax knows that his magic isn't entirely soundproof." She clicked her tongue, looking down to her tea. "It was quite the experience trying to sleep last night with all the noise-"

The realization of what she was talking about hit you like a truck, causing you to cough and launch hot tea into your nose. The old woman instantly went into action, grabbing you a towel as you wheeze, patting your back soothingly. It still didn't help the crushing embarrassment of knowing a little old grandma heard you get laid.

"Arceus almighty- please tell me no one else heard." You pleaded as you wiped your face off, snorting and trying to get the tea out of your nose. Ursen hummed sympathetically, taking her seat once more.

"Well, we didn't mind the noise, due to the act being a sign of vitality and prosperousness. It's only natural for a lord and his consort to have intercourse. Though... next time, could you ask him to be a little quieter? It was difficult to explain to the children what the moaning was from." She smiled nervously as your jaw dropped. All of Village knew that you banged Mothrax.

"I- I gotta go-" In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly stood up, storming out of the hut in shame. You could hear the grandmother calling out to you in apology, trying to comfort you, but it was too much for you, so you just hurried to your ship, trying to ignore the growing headache that you had from the sting in your neck and-

You heard something burst beside you, causing you to yelp and jump away from the bang. Looking down at the origin, you stopped for a moment, taking in the sight of a smoking bit of coral that had just spontaneously exploded, leaving a small crater in the ground. You poked it, squinting through the headache you had, and noted it was cold to the touch despite the fumes.

You looked around, trying to see if this was one of Mothrax's jokes, but he was nowhere to be seen. Confused, you got up and stumbled the rest of the way to the ship, weighing anchor and sailing out so you could rest. Your head was killing you.

—————

Hours later, and you were across the sea, sitting on the edge of your boat with a fishing rod in hand. The stinging headache you had has yet to let up, twisting your vision like a migraine would. Taking some of the painkillers that were nestled into the first aid kit had helped slightly, but every little noise sent a sharp stab into your brain.

At this point, you were right about to just quit for the day and curl up in your bed like a pillbug. You moved to get up to do so, but were suddenly met with the jade stare of a deity hanging upside down. You were in too much pain to really flail away this time; simply startling a little before your headache took the rest of your fight out of you. He blinked, remaining wide eyed and dead still. His ears were high, on full alert.

"Are you here on patrol, or do you want to hang out." You grumbled, holding your head as you rested your pole against the ground. Mothrax stayed silent, leaving the question unanswered and cocking his head like a bird as he observed you. You were in no mood for his shenanigans however, not even for a gentle cuddle session, so you just resumed walking to the back of the ship to store your gear away.

He didn't let up with his stare. In fact, it just grew more intense as he rotated to be right side up and hovered by your shoulder. A confused and off-put furrow of his brows was the only indicator of what he was thinking, categorizing what he saw into mental boxes as he folded his ears back. He only really touched down when you opened the metal cabinet that protected your gear. You could feel him right behind you, perched on the railing as he practically burned a hole into your head with his glare. Grimacing, you practically shoved the gilded rod into its place, slamming the tackle box you brought with you into the little cubby on the floor.