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070 » through the morning you're the light

[it's an innocuous thing, at first — just a little book he finds in his grandmother's library, past a bundle of medical volumes that looked ancient enough to still prescribe leechings. it catches his attention because it is leatherbound and roughly hewn, but when he opens it up, he discovers, much to his amusement, that it purports to be some sort of witch's spellbook.

was grandmother interested in this kind of... pagan tomfoolery? it would be a shock if she was, considering that she raised baurendouin to be a devout halonic adherent, and he his children in the same tradition. and yet francel keeps the book in his messenger bag through the coming weeks, reading every single one of its handwritten words. unfamiliar terms like thaumaturgy and ashkin pop out at him from every page, but he allows them to wash over him until, eventually, they make sense.

the author had a vivid imagination, francel thinks. there are spells to conjure ice and fire, spells to channel one's sorrow and negativity into crystals. yeah, as if that's a valid cure for depression. there's a spell to hex someone into turning into a toad, too, but when he tries it on emmanellain as a joke, nothing happens.

the last spell in the book is one to conjure a voidsent familiar.]

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[of all the spells in the magic tome, this one appears to be the most complex. the ingredients aren't the problem; it requires only a magic circle and an incantation, but the magic circle is so large and complex that francel would need an exceedingly large canvas, or perhaps a private studio, to be able to draw it. the author provides the general layout on a scale suited to the book; the instructions stipulate that it must be drawn at at least five times the size given.

so every line and rune has to be perfect — and then the incantation, which appears to be in the ancient elezen tongue, must be recited properly. most ishgardians don't speak a word of ancient elezen nowadays — the only reason francel has any knowledge of it is because of his interest in old ishgard through fantasy books and video games.

but it just so happens that he has an art project for one of his general electives due in several weeks, and he's a little eager to try it — so he picks up a length of canvas at a local art supply store, he sets out some brushes, and he gets started. it will be very striking, he thinks, if he uses some of the best ink in his calligraphy collection: he has one shade called dragon's blood which is a deep red inlaid with gold flakes, and another called tanzanite sky which is actually made of crushed lapis lazuli. it will be gorgeous. a testament to the beauty of real ink — not the ballpoint, standard inks people these days are accustomed to.

it takes many days, and lots of time set aside between his other coursework, but when at last the circles are complete, francel stands back, and voices his fervent prayer.]

...maintenant et toujours pour les sičcles des sičcles.

[he's not sure whether he expects anything to happen or not.]

Edited 2020-01-04 02:31 (UTC)

[ At the center of the magic circle, the canvas tears like the earth itself cracking open. The inked lines begin to glow, resembling rivulets of lava as their light spreads to the circle's outermost runes. Tendrils of a dark mist spill forth from the tear, snaking along the floor, up toward the ceiling. Denser and denser, the mist fills the room to shroud it entirely within moments.

It forms a darker shape suspended above the summoning circle, something tall and humanoid. The figure unfolds a pair of wings, and the mist grows thin, coiling about its body until it stands wrapped in shifting shadows, as if even a demon thinks to respect notions of propriety.

Curiosity gleams in the demon's green eyes as his gaze lights upon Francel. After a moment, he kneels before the boy, horned head bowed. ]

Master.

[ The demon's voice is low, smooth and quiet. ]

[poor francel goes through a lot at once.

when the canvas tears (he worked so hard on it!), he yelps and jolts backward — when the lines begin to glow ("eh?"), his eyes widen in surprise. the lights, so reminiscent of magma, make him think briefly that the canvas somehow set itself on fire ("oh!"), but then the mist comes rolling in ("w-wait!"), so thick and dark that he can barely see or breathe ("h-help!")...

...and then the familiar arrives.

the man — the demon — is so glorious that for a moment francel feels that he must sink to his knees. he appears to be an elezen, but he is handsome enough to rival even the best-looking elezen celebrities; that he is nearly nude only seems to underscore his divinity. francel's eyes are wide with shock. his legs tremble.

then the demon calls him master, and kneels, and francel...

...squeaks.]

M-Me?

[ The demon tips his head back, but remains on his knees, peering up at his overwhelmed new master with unabashed interest. If the boy merely stumbled upon the incantation and the summoning circle already laid out, if he thought it nothing more than a game, the ritual should have failed, with no intent and no skill behind it. ]

Are you not my summoner? You and I are bound to each other.

[ The demon's lips twitch at their corners, curving into a small smile. With a graceful flick of his long, slender fingers, he gestures toward the length of canvas covering the floor. Its torn center seals shut. ]

What do you ask of me?

[ Though the words he utters are sounds belonging to no human language, lyrical but strange, each sentence conveys its meaning. ]

I, ah... I don't... I'm not quite...

[such long, beautiful fingers... but that isn't the point of this! francel's mind feels strangely assaulted, first by his new familiar's appearance and secondly by everything that is happening — magic is real, he can understand this demon's language, it's so beautiful, magic is real. the boy scoots, awkwardly, to his feet. (he fell, rather undignified, onto his rear in all the commotion.)]

E-Er, forgive me — I'm a little overwhelmed. I wasn't... expecting this? I thought a "familiar" would be something cute and small... like a rabbit, or a cat...

[contrite, and faintly apologetic, francel laces his fingers in front of himself. his heart races in his chest, pitter-patter.]

Well, ah... um... what can you do?

[ Yet to rise from the floor, the demon lowers his gaze, seeming contrite himself. His lashes brush his curve of his cheekbones. ]

My most sincere apologies, then. Something must have gone wrong... [ Raising his hands, he examines his palms, his knuckles. He brings one hand to his face, tracing his features. ] Ordinarily, your wishes should influence my appearance to some extent, but I am neither cute nor small.

[ Whether the demon's appearance is his own true form or indeed molded in some way by an unconscious wish on his master's part, it changes without warning, shrinking before Francel's eyes. The shadows preserving his modesty envelop him, only to dissipate.

Left behind is an exceptionally fluffy, green-eyed cat. The same intent gaze fixed upon Francel, the boy's familiar — cuter and smaller now — rolls over onto his back.

It offers one answer to Francel's question. ]

Edited 2020-01-07 05:54 (UTC)

[kitty... belly... kitty belly...

momentarily overcome by this sudden development, francel crouches on the floor and reaches out with a shaky hand, trying to resist the overwhelming urge to plunge his palm into the demon's plush fur. it looks so soft! although... if he had the choice between a cat and the gorgeous elezen man from earlier...]

A-Ah — n-no, that's not what I — I mean, I liked the other one — I-I mean, you can take on whatever form you want! Whatever's most comfortable for you...

[those eyes... so cute...]

...C-Can I pet... you a little bit...?

[ Catching hold of Francel's trembling hand, the demon's paws tug it closer, guiding it to land nestled in his thick, soft fur. Like a real cat, he lets his eyes slide shut into blissful slits, and he is just as warm. Implicitly, Francel may pet him as he pleases; the demon even purrs, arching into his master's touch. The tip of his fluffy tail flicks against the floor.

Perhaps it seems that he prefers this form, utterly comfortable. As no rodent infestation plagues Francel's home, however, a cute cat's company serves no immediately practical purpose. ]

[francel is overcome by the demon-cat's cuteness — he tugs at his master's hand with an intellect and understanding too keen to be that of an ordinary cat's, but that only makes francel feel more confident as he rubs the demon's belly all over, allowing himself to be soothed by its softness and sweetness and warmth.

heaven...

emboldened, francel gently pulls the cat into his lap. with one hand, he continues to rub his new familiar's fluffy belly; with his other hand, he scratches the demon behind his ears and around his cheeks, plunging him into what must surely be pampered kitty bliss (unless, of course, demons do not process sensation the same way that cats do).

francel, at least, seems delighted by this new development.]

Oooohhhhh, so fuzzy... so fluffy... so cute! Do you have a name? What should I call you?

[ Francel's demon-cat blinks up at him then, solemnly attentive. The next moment, Francel's hands rest on fair, silky hair and smooth skin; the demon sits in his master's lap, no longer in his feline form, oddly no heavier than he was as a cat. His wings are tucked out of the way, folded upon his bare back. ]

In this realm, I have none.

[ Briefly, the demon's gaze wanders across the room, around it from corner to corner, noting its layout. He glances at Francel again before long, evidently content to stay seated where he is until required to move. ]

You may address me by a name of your choosing.

[for a moment, francel stunned into quietude by the beauty of the man in his arms, his heart corrupted by impure urges. he's mine, something in the boy whispers, greedy in a way that he did not know he could be. i don't need anyone else as long as i have him.

but he shakes such avarice away. the man in his arms may be his familiar, bound to him by some sort of contract, but he still does not know what such a contract entails. this may very well end with him being eaten, or his soul condemned to eternal torment, or worse. this may all have been a horrible mistake.

...he finds it difficult to regret his actions, however, when the demon in his arms is so beautiful... and so thoroughly unclothed. francel has to swallow on a pang of saliva in his mouth, an overwhelming desire to continue exploring the demon's skin.]

...R-Really? But you must have some preference. Let's see... Well, I can't very well call you Haurchefant. What about Saintrelmaux? Or... Reymanaud? Or... Zephirin?

Zephirin...

[ Something in the demon's expression shifts, pensive, as if Francel's last suggestion fits like a tailored glove. The demon nods his approving assent, a movement that nears nuzzling the crown of his master's head for their proximity. ]

Call me Zephirin, Master.

[ As the boy has gone disappointingly still, his eager petting ended, Zephirin takes the liberty to act on what he perceives of Francel's secret wants. His arms encircle Francel's waist, and his wings unfurl to curve around the both of them.

Mine, his embrace echoes. ]

If you ask it, I shall guard you wheresoever you go.

[he likes zephirin as his name, francel thinks to himself, excited and giddy, before — before the demon — zephirin — is suddenly much closer, and then francel's head spins with greed. he wants to fall into this. more than that, he's longed for this. the problem with having a perfectly ordinary modern life is that it can be so very, very boring, and it occurs to francel, dreamily, that this could be the thing that sparks the change in his life he's so long desired.

but no — he has to stop himself. what kind of fool would he be if he rushes headlong into something that could very well portend danger? he's been fool enough already, summoning a familiar into the world without fully understanding what that might mean.

caught in zephirin's embrace, francel fidgets nervously, trying very hard indeed to suppress the overwhelming urge to just lean forward and kiss...]

W-Will you? And you... you won't... eat me, or anything of that sort?

[ Embracing Francel has failed to coax him back into his earlier delight — the boy seems flustered again, afraid to touch his familiar at all. As his timid questions shed some light on his unease, Zephirin leans away just enough to study his master closely, head cocked. Another slight, faintly amused smile plays about the demon's lips. ]

I suppose you look appealing, but I would never harm you.

[ Francel's death would sever their contract, in most cases, and Zephirin has no pressing desire to be released from it. Already, his new and unusual master intrigues him.

Fingers curling toward his palm, he touches his knuckles to Francel's cheek where the boy's jaw meets his ear. He rests his head against Francel's. ]

It seemed to me that you might eat me instead, just now.

[at this, francel flushes purest pink, tender as some perfectly cooked cut of meat still sizzling in its pan. the demon is correct, of course: his delicious morsel of a master is still wrestling with the urge to continue petting and touching his new familiar, though of course he knows it is wrong, and morally dubious besides.

but if they must do this — or continue cuddling on the floor like two overgrown kittens — then they should at least move out of the corner of francel’s kitchen that has been converted into an art studio! and if the magic circle is real, and works, then he can’t possibly display this during class, and he needs a different art project to turn in, and...

...and nothing. the barest brush of zephirin’s knuckle against francel’s ear makes him shiver, makes his eyes glaze over. now he seems like the cat spiraling into pampered kitty bliss.]

W-Well... maybe a little bit... But it’s because you look like... everything I’ve ever wanted.

[ugh, how... sappy and embarrassing. he has to focus —]

It’d be easier to know where to look if you put some clothes on...

[ Zephirin's smile lingers. Once more, the demon hides nothing of his interest in his master, gazing at Francel as though the boy is the world's center, and everything else unimportant, fading far into the background. He moves his hand, making deliberate contact with Francel's ear.

Familiars are summoned for their power, not their beauty — this boy, however, has no particular ambitions to pursue. He seems satisfied with a companion, at least for the moment, be it a cute animal or a fantasy made real. ]

What shall I wear?

[ Feigning innocence, Zephirin looks himself over. ]

Your fashions are unknown to me, I fear.

Nnnn...

[a pleasantly helpless whine escapes from behind francel’s lips as he leans into zephirin’s hand, chasing the heady rush of sensations that tingle across his scalp and neck every time the demon strokes his ear. ambition is far from the boy’s mind, though things like sin and purity remain at the forefront. in truth, his heart would command the demon to stay bared for his viewing, but his principles demand otherwise. blushing, fighting off desire, the boy shyly mumbles:]

Well... Maybe you could wear what I’m wearing? At least for now?

[francel is wearing a plain hoodie and t-shirt. the hoodie is emblazoned with the skysteel manufactory’s logo; his jeans are of a plain, unremarkable wash, though they sit rather snugly about his hips and thighs. zephirin will not wear this ensemble as his master does, though of course there is room to improvise the fit.]

Edited 2020-01-14 23:07 (UTC)

[ It would be a simple thing to don a glamour, weaving the illusion of appropriate attire worn, their fit as their wearer chooses, and perhaps Zephirin's young master is aware of just that. Even so, the demon allows his hand to trail to Francel's collar, taking one dangling drawstring between forefinger and thumb. He traces the hoodie's zipper, the logo. His hand pauses on Francel's chest. ]

You would lend me your garments?

[ The very garments on Francel's person, or clothing kept elsewhere — Zephirin neglects to specify which of the two is implied. Either option necessitates moving apart, out of the kitchen. Relying on magicks does not, but his master's answer, he is certain, will make it worthwhile to forgo effortless illusions. ]

Wh-Wha — but I — thought...

[surely a powerful demon should be able to transform his appearance and add clothing to his body! but... well. in truth, he's not quite demonstrated that power yet, has he? zephirin transformed into a cat, but perhaps that doesn't translate to being able to manipulate the shadows just barely preserving his modesty into proper clothes...

...just... barely...

no, no, no — again, he must be rid of this!

another master might pry further, or else demand compliance, but francel chooses to do neither of these things. instead, blushing furiously, francel nods, as if he is the servant and zephirin his master. he extricates himself from zephirin's embrace, not entirely willing to part with the demon — several longing glances over his shoulder make that clear.]

...A-All right, then. My closet's just this way. My clothes might be a bit narrow in the shoulders for you, but everything else should fit you decently enough.

[the boy seems embarrassed. for some reason, he is covering his mouth, as if to hide the tiny, bashful smile playing about his lips — yet that doesn't stop him from mumbling quite distinctly:]

You're so cute... It's just not fair...

[ Francel's garments will serve as the template he intended, but as anticipated, his reaction is akin to a tasty treat, and Zephirin finds himself relishing it even as he releases his master. Soundlessly, the demon follows Francel's lead, close on the boy's heels. Each glance cast his way gives him more to savor.

Again, amusement flickers across Zephirin's features. ]

How so? It gladdens me to know that you approve of this form, Master. It bears no resemblance to cats or rabbits, after all.

[ The contents of Francel's closet stay undisturbed; Zephirin only inspects them as he did his master's current outfit. Finally, in place of shadows, he conjures a short-sleeved shirt and pair of jeans, instantly dressed in his take on an ensemble that emphasizes the lines of his frame — broader across the shoulders, tapering into a slender waist and long legs. His wings and horns vanish from sight.

Now the demon has the appearance of an ordinary young man, albeit one whose canines remain noticeably sharp. ]

Will this do?

[it’s not as though francel didn’t like zephirin’s wings and horns — in fact, he wanted very badly to touch them and see how the demon responded — but something about seeing his familiar in the guise of an ordinary elezen man strikes francel to his core. it makes all of this more real than he would have believed if zephirin kept his appearance in the realm of beautiful impossibility.

for a moment, francel simply stares at his new “roommate,” pink-cheeked and full of obvious longing. he does not move from his closet doors.]

...

[when he finally stutters once more, it is in the unmistakable tone of an order.]

...O-Open your mouth.

Edited 2020-01-17 13:27 (UTC)

[ The demon obeys, not without a returning glint of amused interest in the look he turns upon his master. Lips parting a sliver, he reveals the pointed tips of his canines, lightly pressed against soft, pink flesh. His mouth is barely open then, and so he opens it a little wider, and then he holds still.

Francel has a view of his familiar's flawless white teeth, a glimpse of his tongue. ]

[francel has yet to reveal why, exactly, he felt he needed a familiar — but there is something openly, unashamedly needy in his expression as he peers at zephirin’s sharp, perfect teeth. his fascination with the demon’s canines is difficult to place, but his eyes seem to sparkle with some mixture of excitement, adulation, and — indeed — wanton lust. his voice comes out as a strained coo.]

Oh... oh no, that’s so cuuuuute...!

[does he see some hint of the adorably fluffy cat he so enjoyed in zephirin’s sharp teeth now? or is he attracted to something else — the vampire aesthetic, perhaps? regardless of what might have sparked his interest, he seems close to kissing zephirin’s teeth in his excitement.]

You have little fangs! Oh, oh, what am I going to do with you...

[he hopped up onto his tiptoes to peer at zephirin’s mouth; he settles back onto his heels now, inexplicably shy as he looks bashfully up at zephirin and gnaws fruitlessly at his lip.]

All right, you can relax now. I just got so... so...

[ Relaxing as prompted, Zephirin bows his head slightly. Rather than lending him an air of deference, the motion makes the demon appear serenely pleased, not unlike a cat curling up in its owner's lap, claiming it, smug. Thus far, his master has asked little of him, every wish expressed an innocent thing, but one would think them great feats accomplished, to see Francel so delighted.

And Zephirin has his answer, it seems: this will do perfectly. ]

There is much that you might do with me. [ His master's exclamation was no question; nevertheless, Zephirin remarks on it as though Francel requires his encouragement, another reminder. ] You need but direct me.

[ Much like the kitchen, however, nothing in Francel's bedroom suggests that the boy purposefully summoned a familiar to achieve some clear end. ]

That's not what I meant!

[with sweet, clear laughter, francel flops back and takes a seat upon the edge of his bed, clearly more at ease now that his familiar is properly clothed. (he is still immensely pleasing to look at, to be sure, but no longer quite so... distracting.) he props himself up on his arms, smiling at zephirin.]

In all honesty, I don't know what to do with you. Have other people summoned you before? What did they want?

[francel does not quite allow zephirin time to answer as he moves on in his line of questioning:]

Do you want me to conquer the world, or anything like that? Will you get bored if I don't do anything exciting with you?

[it is plain by the boy's tone that he thinks world domination a fairly unappealing prospect...]

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