𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 - Hawk & Stri

Orpheus breathed out, letting himself stare up at the sky for another few seconds before his gaze drifted back down to L. He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know how to know what he wanted. All he knew was that he and L were here, that the sky was just as alive as they had been, before. He didn’t know if they counted as alive, now. Their hearts still beat, then still needed to breathe, to eat, to drink, to sleep… they still woke up and experienced the world, touched it as living people did. Even L, who had existed for so long as a shadow. He had been part of the world, too, if only on the outskirts. Perhaps he wasn’t so much a shadow as he was… a predator, stalking its prey. Only he wasn’t a predator, and Orpheus wasn’t prey… it was complicated, but Orpheus wasn’t entirely certain they were on equal ground. He didn’t know nearly as much about L as L knew about him, but it was Orpheus’ fault that L was here in the first place… he just… he wanted things to be simple, as they had been, once. Before. Before Eurydice. Before the curse. Before four hundred years of wandering. Before the Northern Lights. There were still things that took his breath away, it seemed. He was still alive… or as alive as he could possibly be, given the circumstances.
“There are plenty of people who think they know what they’re looking for,” Orpheus allowed, giving a small shrug. “People who work for years to get the job they want. And… I think some of them find what they want when they do that, but the vast majority of them… they stumble into it. People who are pursuing love only to find that what they wanted all along was just a place where they felt safe. People who were just trying to escape home, not knowing what, exactly, they wanted, who found it in the least likely of places. I think… I think we just have to keep looking.”
Orpheus didn’t say it out loud, but he found he couldn’t help but hope that the thing he wanted was the same as the thing L wanted. He wanted to be able to find it with him. He wanted to share it… perhaps, what he wanted was not to be alone. Perhaps, he would get exactly what he wanted in helping L find what he was looking for. Perhaps. It was a poetic thought, more optimistic than he usually allowed himself, but… he found he couldn’t push this tiny hope away. It was just a spark. How was he to know it would one day light a wildfire?

Orpheus didn’t really mind that he didn’t know as much about L. He wanted to, of course. He wanted to know the story of the man he was travelling with, but they had all the time in the world. If L ever felt comfortable sharing it, Orpheus would be there to hear it. Until then, they would walk together and Orpheus would make sporadic conversation, and L would talk when he wanted to. Orpheus already knew more about L than he had before… it was a start, even if it was a small one.
Did immortality bring out the prominent qualities a person had displayed in their mortal life? Orpheus had yearned for company and companionship when he was growing up, even if he couldn’t stand it all of the time. He had wanted to connect with someone. That yearning had only grown stronger as he became one in a matched set, the only two people in the world who would ever share each other’s’ experiences. Had L always been this deeply suspicious? Orpheus found he thought the answer was both yes and no.
Yes, because instead of giving Orpheus back the lyre as soon as they were cursed, he had decided to follow to make sure that Orpheus wasn’t going to hurt anyone else. No, because L’s first instinct upon seeing the lyre was to return it. A lyre, lying forgotten by the side of a road, and a boy who had left it there because he was more broken than he could ever express. It would have been very easy for L to just leave it there, but he had picked it up and tried to bring it back home. It was difficult to imagine the man in front of him now doing something like that. Four hundred years had changed them both.
“Perhaps we will,” Orpheus murmured, giving a tiny nod as he met L’s eyes. “I… I find I hope we do.” Together. He couldn’t say that. They weren’t friends yet, they were just… temporary travelling companions. Orpheus wanted them to be friends, but he could be patient. No… he had to be patient.
Orpheus let his gaze drift back up to the sky as he considered that. This wasn’t what Orpheus was looking for, but he knew he had been changed after having seen it. You couldn’t see where the sky met the Earth and leave the same person as you were before you had seen the way the lights danced down, a legion of stars paying courtship to the steadfast Earth.
“If that’s the case,” he said after a moment, watching his breath puff out in the cold air, “Then I’m especially glad we came here. Finding one thing you were looking for means… well, I guess that you can start developing more things to go looking for.”

Orpheus had fallen silent, lost in thought as he stared up at the stars. The melody he had been playing was still looping its way around Orpheus’ head, embellishing itself and rewriting itself near constantly. A song was never perfect until well after it had been written down. In fact, there was little use writing a first draft down unless you wanted a tangible record of how much it changed before it was completed. Of course, the first draft wasn’t bad, per se, it just… wasn’t as good. It was a little bit rougher around the edges. More… real in a way, Orpheus thought, though that was a rather romantic way of looking at it. The point was that the song he had been playing was far from finished. It had scarcely been more than a chance to mess around with the lyre and take some inspiration from the lights that felt like they should have been impossible. Orpheus had seen a great number of impossible things in what was supposed to be his short, mortal life, but there were still some things he found difficult to believe. Things that, because times were changing, probably seemed perfectly mundane to plenty of people. Perhaps the lights were mundane to some of the locals. Orpheus found that hard to believe. He never stopped looking at the moon in wonder, why would the people here stop regarding the lights that way as well?
“Oh,” Orpheus murmured, lurched from his thoughts by L’s voice. It was soft, gentle in a way that Orpheus wasn’t quite used to. He also found that he hadn’t really expected L to be the sort to apologize. It was far too easy to make character judgements, but L didn’t seem… well, he seemed like the kind of person who scarcely needed to apologize, if only because they were right most of the time. It was hard to tell with L. Sometimes it seemed like he was still more of a shadow than a person.
“I can play literally any time,” he added after a moment, shifting so there was a little bit of room beside him if L wanted to shift. “I don’t… mean to be rude, but it’s not often you’re willing to talk. I would rather hold off on playing for a little bit and have a chance to… I don’t know, exactly. Converse? Share in discussion?”

Orpheus knew his music had done amazing things. He knew that the flowers wouldn’t be blooming the way they did in the spring if it weren’t for the way he had weaved a story that was ingrained in the very fabric of the Earth. But that was a song that had already existed. That was a song Orpheus had remembered, more than written. He was fairly oblivious to the effect his own music could have. His own music wasn’t nearly as powerful. He was no god. He couldn’t make flowers bloom with his regular music – or, if he could, it was a skill he had only happened upon once. He had a feeling that he would have to remember more songs if he wanted to influence the world in that way. He wrote music because he liked it. Because he felt indescribable emotion when he looked at the world – at the people – around him, and the only way he could possibly express the magnitude of the feeling was through music. Because… he had a lot to say about the world, and just saying it wasn’t nearly enough.
“I won’t forget it,” Orpheus replied quietly, giving a small shake of his head. “I mean… it won’t ever be played like I just played it, and I’m sure I won’t remember every single note, but that’s not because of you. That’s just because… well, I remember the feeling of pieces more than I remember every individual note. It’s only when I write things down that it starts to become something I can replicate every time. That wasn’t so much a song as it was… something alive, I suppose. Something growing and adapting like the lights do. I guess… I thought something that fluid would be fitting.”
Orpheus stared at L for a long moment before he allowed his gaze to drift back towards the sky. He didn’t exactly know what to say. He was always better with words when there was music to go along with them, which seemed like something of an oxymoron. He spent his life making people feel things just through the power of his words, but he couldn’t command them to do what he wanted them to when he didn’t have the time to sit back and compose them into something lyrical.

Orpheus glanced over at L, trying to read him. It seemed he was still unsuccessful. L’s mask had only dropped for a brief second as he looked at the lights, and once it had come back down, it was back to being impenetrable. Orpheus couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever be able to see past it, or if L would ever willingly let it up around him again. This time, he supposed, hadn’t been willing. It had just been the shock of seeing something that still took your breath away after all this time… Orpheus doubted there was much that could still do that for them. Although, sometimes, just looking up at the sky was enough to make Orpheus gasp. It was enough to remind him why he felt lucky to be alive. Here they were, standing somewhere amazing, filled by things they could never understand no matter how long they spent on Earth. Just because things didn’t change as much as Orpheus had expected didn’t mean that he wasn’t amazed by the things that stayed the same. The flowers died year after year, but they came back every time. Persephone kept them blooming. The stars rose and sank every night, the sun continued to arc its path across the sky, and the mountains stood firm and tall. The Earth itself, it seemed, was immutable. How long would it take before they didn’t even recognize the ground they walked on?
“Perhaps,” Orpheus agreed, giving L another searching glance. He would say that was accurate. It was the tongue he spoke most fluently, the only ability he had to get across everything he felt on the inside. He spoke dozens of languages and dialects now, but none of them were enough to get across the fire in his soul. Only music could do that, and it could do that without the lyrics being understandable at all. It was the passion behind the lyrics. It was the chords and the vitality in the song.
“I suppose it would be easier for me if everyone spoke it,” he managed lightly, placing his hands delicately in his pockets.

Orpheus didn’t know what the future was going to hold. He didn’t know if they had already missed out on things that would have taken their breath away that had gone away long before they had been aware of it. The world was vast and wide, and they had only seen a small part of it in spite of how long they had been alive. Orpheus had done a lot of traveling, but he knew that no amount of travelling was ever going to permit them to see everything. He wanted to, though. He wanted to see everything the world had to offer and taste humanity as much as humanly possible. He knew… he knew it was more complicated than that. He knew life would never allow that, and he knew that if he and L didn’t get along as well as he’d hoped, he would be alone again. Orpheus couldn’t remember the last time he had been truly alone. For as long as he could remember, he had been surrounded by people. For as long as he had been immortal, there had been L, always a few steps behind him. Orpheus had only ever experienced being truly alone for a few seconds, and it was a feeling he would never forget. It was a feeling he never wanted to have again. Eurydice, falling. Eurydice, being pulled back. Orpheus, alone. Orpheus, left with the knowledge that he had been her death, that she was going to suffer and that he might never see her again. It was the loneliness that had made him abandon the lyre. With nobody to listen to the music, what point was there in playing?
“Perhaps,” Orpheus agreed breathlessly, leveling his gaze at L. “Perhaps it’s something that can touch everyone’s soul, even if not everyone knows how to speak it. I don’t know. It’s… not as precise or clear as regular language, though. I find… words fail me, often. When they’re not part of a song.”

---
Orpheus had taken to cooking right in front of L. He hadn’t been asked to, of course (L was a little too skittish for that), but he figured it might help alleviate the other immortal’s worry. If the food was prepared in sight, then there were fewer opportunities for poison to slip through. Additionally, Orpheus had started making dessert first, so L would have something to eat while Orpheus waited for his own version of a main course to heat up. There were, of course, times when Orpheus considered whether it was really worth it and decided to go for the sweets with L. They were good, even if he knew he would probably get sick of them after a while. There wasn’t as much variety in baked foods as there were with other food sources.
Sugar, flour, butter… ah, cinnamon. Orpheus lifted up the stick of cinnamon he’d been holding, tilting his head a little bit to invite L to address him if he had concerns. He mixed it together, then looked up and smiled. It was about to look like something that was actually edible.
It could, of course, still be poisoned. That was always a risk, but more and more it seemed that they were risks that L was willing to take. Orpheus wasn’t entirely certain why that was, but he was grateful. Perhaps it was L deciding more and more to step out of the shadow and become whatever they were in relationship to human beings.
“I have mint leaf today,” Orpheus commented, giving a tiny smile. “I didn’t want to actually put it in the loaf this time, but we could definitely try it on top. I think… I think that might be good.” He gave a small shrug, then stirred the dough quickly before putting it back over the fire.

L's mind, as it usually was, was far more active than Orpheus’. He was content to sit and watch dinner be made, content to knead the bread and wait to put it over the fire as they sat in companionable silence. There was music in his head, as there so often was nowadays, but he didn’t give voice to it. He didn’t ask L to hear it, and he didn’t broach any topic of conversation. If conversation occurred, it would occur naturally, as it had over the past few weeks. Some days, they didn’t talk. Other days it was as though the two of them couldn’t shut up. Orpheus found he didn’t mind it either way. He had expected a little bit of awkwardness when it came to traveling with L, if only because he had never traveled with L before, but it seemed his fears had been unfounded. He enjoyed the time he got with L, almost exclusively.
“Oh,” Orpheus replied, picking up a small sprig of mint. “It’s good. It’s not bitter like spinach or anything… it’s a little bit sharp…” he pinched off two tiny leaves, placing one on his tongue and handing the other over to L. “It’s not really… sweet, but it accents sweet flavors really well. I… don’t really know if you would like it,” he admitted sheepishly. Oh well… only way to find out was to get L to try it, right?

Orpheus couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up in response to L’s complete and immediate disgust. So the mint leaf hadn’t gone over very well… he would have to try to find a way to prepare it that L would enjoy. Plain obviously wasn’t going to work, but Orpheus had a feeling that if he cooked it with the right amount of sugar, he might be able to make it into something that L enjoyed. After all, most of the food he’d eaten that involved mint had been sweet. Mint wasn’t really a savory ingredient… it just wasn’t very sweet on its own. Which gave Orpheus a few ideas.
“If I never make you try a plain leaf again,” Orpheus murmured, brow raising as he glanced over at L, “Will you try the flavor if it’s mixed in with other things? It’s… you know, it’s like vanilla! The actual food itself doesn’t taste great, but it really adds to things when you put it in things.” Orpheus didn’t know if L had ever tried raw vanilla, but he hoped he had. It would at least make the comparison something that L could relate to. Orpheus remembered the first time he had tried vanilla raw. He had spit it out in much the same fashion as L had spit out the mint leaf. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t good in the slightest, but somehow things that were made out of vanilla tasted amazing. It was like some sort of magic.
“Oh!” Orpheus exclaimed, attention diverted as he realized it was time to start cooking the sweetbread.

Orpheus made a face, shaking his head emphatically. “Raw vanilla is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted,” he replied, though it was a bit of hyperbole. It wasn’t actually the worst, but at least when he tasted other bad things he expected them to be bad. He had thought vanilla would taste good, and he’d been sorely disappointed. He gave a small sigh, then lifted his gaze to meet L’s, a soft smile on his lips. “Sorry I made you try mint. It was about 50/50 whether you would like it plain, and I guessed wrong.” The apology was genuine, Orpheus’ voice dipping low as he spoke. He hadn’t meant to give L something disgusting, but he hoped that the bread would make up for it. Even if he wasn’t going to put mint leaves on top.
“It’s plain sweetbread with a little bit of lavender,” he replied, a smile touching his face. He had found lavender the day before, but he had kept his find from L. He wanted to surprise him, because… well, because lavender was good. And it complemented sweet things, just like mint did, only he had given L foods baked with lavender before. He hadn’t been rejected when it came to those dishes, so he hoped this was alright for this time. “It’ll be done pretty soon.”

“I’m sure there are many things we agree are awful,” Orpheus replied, brow raising as he looked over at L. “I mean… just off the top of my head, I really don’t like bell peppers, and I know you’ve probably never had one, but I don’t think you would like them either. I… I don’t like the taste of squid, I think it’s too rubbery. You would absolutely hate it… and…” he frowned a little bit, tilting his head. “It seems like every food I’ve ever disliked just left my head. I can’t think of any more right now, but I’m sure there are some. There’s plenty of food I don’t like, you just never see it because I don’t gather it or buy it.” He shifted so he could make sure the bread was cooking properly, then shot L a smile. “Next time we go to a market I’ll have to show you all of the really bad stuff that I don’t like at all.”
Orpheus was silent for a few moments, though it didn’t feel awkward or uncertain. It was just… comfortable.
“What is the worst thing you’ve ever eaten?” Orpheus asked, looking up to meet L’s eyes as he did so. He was preparing one of the plates to serve the bread with – it wouldn’t take that much longer to be done. He couldn’t cook it the normal way, but he could make do with what he had, even without an oven.

Orpheus gave L another small smile, both eyes on the bread as he waited to make sure it was perfect. It would need to cook a little bit more when he took it off the fire, but it was very nearly done. The crust was going to be nice and crunchy, the inside all soft and warm… yes, that was the best sort of bread. Orpheus didn’t always see the point of bread if it wasn’t warm. Unfortunately, being on the road as much as he was had taught him that he couldn’t always afford the luxury of freshly cooked bread. Sometimes he had to live on stale bread and be okay with it. He didn’t know if he could starve, but stale bread was better than finding out.
“Ah, cilantro,” Orpheus replied, tone neutral. “I’ve never had it. I’m afraid to, honestly. Mr. Hermes used to say it tasted like soap, and Lady Persephone would laugh at him about it, because it didn’t taste like that at all to her. I doubt that I would like the taste of soap, so I’ve never dared tried it.”
The bread was finished, at least on the fire. Orpheus shifted it to the plate, stepping back from the fire so that he could appreciate its heat without worrying about getting burned.
“Give the bread a few moments. It still needs some time to cook all the way through – some of the baking happens once it’s removed from the heat.”

“I’ll heed your warning,” Orpheus laughed quietly, dusting flour off his hands and sitting back down on the ground beside L. He didn’t begrudge L his odd food choices. It was easy enough to make, and Orpheus himself found that he enjoyed sweets enough that it wasn’t too much of a hassle to make enough for two. Of course, enough for two meant a very large portion size for L and a more normal portion size of dessert for Orpheus, but it still worked. It had just taken a little while to figure out the ratio. And to figure out how to find time to cook for himself, too, since he didn’t think he could live on the limited diet that L enjoyed. He would miss the variety, even if some of his favorite foods were sweet things. He actually enjoyed vegetables and meats, and you couldn’t really get that from desserts.
“If you don’t take it off,” Orpheus replied, leaning back on his hands, “then the outside will get burned. You want the outside to cook while it’s over the heat, and then the inside itself can finish baking when the bread is resting. That way it all cooks nicely and you don’t end up with an undercooked inside or a burnt outside. I think this one will turn out decently enough – I have had a few centuries to perfect the process.”

Orpheus considered L’s question, tilting his head as he regarded the bread. It was almost done, and then they could eat it. Good… Orpheus was getting hungry. He gave a small smile, turning his expression towards L.
“It’s sort of a visual change, yes,” he confirmed, then shook his head a little bit. “It’s more than that, though. You get a feel for how long it takes. On one hand, it’s when the crust starts to get golden brown, though that’s more of an indicator for things that don’t need to be taken out to cook on the inside. It’s usually a good indicator for things that are a bit smaller, like biscuits and the like. But… mostly it’s knowing how long it took last time and estimating how long it will take this time. Eventually you start to get a feeling when you need to take it out – I could always be wrong, of course, which is one reason we don’t put out the fire, but… I’ve been correct without fail for the last year or two, so I think this one is probably right, too.”
Enough time had passed, it seemed, so Orpheus reached forward and cleanly cut off a piece, taking the heel for himself and passing the other slice to L.