Out of Ice-solation (Solo)

A nameless Fae boy stopped in the middle of the road, acutely aware of the rough cobblestones that had replaced the loose dirt that had been outside the city walls. The hot afternoon air rasped at his dry throat. His hands nervously clutched at the collar of his oversized shirt, the only clothing he had.

He had finally come to the source of the distant light at night, just like he had promised himself, but he wondered if he would have been better off just staying in his little forest and wondering about it eternally. The Fae was confused, exhausted, and completely famished, and no-one in this bright, unfamiliar place seemed to be willing to give him the time of day. People brushed against him, chattering loudly in spoken words, a concept entirely unfamiliar to him. His knees quivered, ready to give way at any moment.
The Fae stared at the rows of buildings and crowds of people arrayed before him with no clue as to where he should be. He was lost.

An ore-laden cart pulled by a thickly chained harecat dashed right past him, the wheels spraying mud into his face. The lady dwarf driving it yelled out something harsh - it might have been profanity. Partially blinded by the mud, the boy ducked away, desperately stumbled over the curb, and smashed his head into a wooden sign post.

He gripped the post a moment, attempting to steady himself against the pain in his head. The strangeness, the hunger, the hurt, it was all too much for him. The ground seemed to buckle under his feet - or were those his legs giving way? - and he collapsed onto the street.

((Note; Instances of Cordelia = Concordia, will fix later))


When the Fae next woke up, he was laid in a strange bed, in a strange house. Ratty blankets had been thrown over him. He struggled weakly out from under them and took a good gander about. The entire room was in ill condition; what furniture there was happened to be in deep disrepair, and the paint on the walls was stained and peeling. It was lit by a dusty window, which gave the boy a good view of the sky and the rooftops of other houses in the city. Whenever he took a deep breath, he caught a meandering whiff of mold.
He lifted his shaking hand to his head, trying to think through a thick headache. Though he was no longer tired, he was still hungry, and still very confused. On top of that, he was at the typical temperature an ordinary flesh being would be. For him, that was worrisomely feverish.

Two people entered the room, talking to each other as the boy watched them listlessly. Their words were all gibberish to him, but he listened anyway. There wasn’t much else to do, stuck in bed as he was.

“The kid’s awake.” A lanky man with blonde hair and some very gaudy nose rings sat on a stool next to the cot. The boy stared back at him quietly, and the man turned to speak to the other person over his shoulder. “I ain’t normally of the heart to take in random strangers off the streets, but bless his heart, he’s a mite puny to be out on his own like that. Poor guy looked half-dead when I found him." He placed a friendly hand on the boy's shoulder. "Ya doin' any better now, kiddo?”

A woman with a dark complexion and curly red hair leaned forward to get a better look at him. The boy shrank back in blank confusion, catching the irritation in her amber eyes. “I’m not sure he understands us. What even is he? Some kind of baby elf? He’s got the ears for it.”

The lanky man snorted, returning the boy’s suspicious staring with a gentle look. “Beats me, but I don’t think elves got eyes like that. Lookit, they’re like a green ol’ pair of crystal balls.”

“Damn, man. Haven’t seen nothing like that before, in no elf I've ever met," the woman muttered in agreement.

The man bit his lip and turned back to the boy. “Hey there tiny buddy. Welcome to Forstford. Dunno if ya get this, but I’m Raster, ya hear? Raster.” When the boy didn’t show any reaction to the words, the man pointed at his chest and repeated himself. He enunciated their names slowly, so that the boy would understand. “Ras-ter. Okay? And that’s Con-cor-de-ah.” The boy's eyes widened in understanding and he nodded a little, still holding his head. “You look right sorry there. I brought you some food, at least.”

Concordia rolled her eyes. “You’re all soft inside, Rast, taking in a kid like this. What's next, you gonna adopt a puppy?”

“Ey, shaddup. This'd be a one-time thing, I promise.” Raster shyly reached over and grabbed a bowl of soup off of a bedside table. “I mean, in all them fairy-stories, helping out magic-looking folk usually turns out well," he justified. "Gonna see if that holds true in life, eh? Can ya go get Hart for me please? She’ll be able to fix him right up, I bet.” Concordia snorted and walked out, leaving Raster to nurse the child by himself.

Raster shook his head and grinned as she strode out in a huff, and looked back to his ill patient. The boy had begun to nod off. Sighing contentedly, Raster roused him with a small shake and helped him sit up. “Here. Drink this; it'll perk ya right up.” He pressed the bowl to the boy’s lips. As soon as the boy had realized that something delicious was right under his nose, he startled and grabbed the bowl from Raster’s hands, downing great greedy gulps of the warm soup. It felt good to have something in him after all this time working on an empty stomach.

His gaze flicked over to Raster again. There was a grateful tilt to his grin as he handed the bowl back to the man and curled up in the ratty blankets, ready to get some rest.

Concordia came back within a few minutes. At her side was a wizened woman with pruny olive skin and sunken eyes in a very bright shade of grey. Both stopped at the doorway of the room, and the old one wrapped her robe more tightly around herself for warmth. Inside, Raster had lit a few candles at the bedside table, staring off at at the darkening sky out the window. The boy was curled up and asleep again, tucked into the blankets with care.

“So this is the ‘strange child’ you brought in?” the elderly woman asked as she stepped through the doorway. Thought she was old, her steely gaze was still sharp and discerning. The boy shivered and turned in his sleep, perhaps sensing those eyes on him. “If I were to hazard a guess, I would say this boy is one of the Fae. I've only truly known one other before.”

“Fae?” Concordia asked, startled. “I didn't think they came into cities. Hart, how do you know he's one of them?”

“I don't. They are a diverse group of beings, and he simply fits no other race that I know of. Have you noticed the frost on him? Elemental magics are a staple of their kind. What a Fae would be doing here like this, I don't know." She crouched down and inspected the boy thoroughly for wounds, taking care not to jostle him too much as she did so. "Lucky for you, I can't find any sign of injury on the boy, beyond a light bruise on his forehead. He merely collapsed of exhaustion or hunger. Give him a few days of rest and some food, and he should be fine.”

“Good.” A relieved, sheepish smile quivered on Raster’s face. “D’ya think Bawse’d make a fuss over keeping him? At least, ya know, for a little bit. I don't wanna just throw him out into the streets again.”

Concordia snorted and tugged on one of her curls absently. “Bawse won't care, as long as the kid doesn't cause trouble. Either way, the kid's fine for now and there's a bottle downstairs that's calling my name. See you guys later.” The other two paused and watched her saunter out.

“That would be the second bottle tonight, if I'm not mistaken,” Hart muttered quietly. She hobbled her way over to a moldy pink armchair and eased herself into it. Outside the window, the sun began to set.

“It's just a little wine,” Raster said defensively. “Nothing bad.”

“You won't be saying that when she's on the sixth bottle.”

Resigned, Raster gave a limp shrug and changed the topic. “Anyway, about the kid. Since he don't got a name, we gotta give him one. Right?”

Hart smiled at Raster and leaned back in her chair. “I suppose we must. You already have something in mind, don't you?” the old woman asked him wryly.

“I dunno. He's kinda tiny, right? Reminds me of this lil’ big-eyed fox I had as a pet once. A finicky fox, was it?” Raster said, scratching his chin in thought.

“Fennec,” she corrected gently. “A fennec fox.”

“Finicky, Fennik, it's all the same. He's gonna be named Fennik now. Final word.”

“That's a bit of an odd name.”

“Well, he's an odd kid, ain't he?” Raster said, beaming. “I like it. He will too, I bet.”

And thus, the boy’s name was Fennik.

Some quiet days of rest and hearty meals did Fennik some good, just as Hart as said it would. Soon he was up and about, and as he wasn’t allowed outside, he quietly exploring the rickety house that everyone lived in. Technically, Hart was supposed to be watching him, as Cordelia and Raster had their own business to take care of. The worn old woman didn't pay Fenn much heed though. She spent most of her time reading, napping, and cooking, letting Fenn free to do as he wished.

There were all sorts of funny corners to explore in this house! His first day up and about, the little Fae poked his nose into mouseholes, got himself covered in dust and spiderwebs while checking out the attic, and had curiously investigated out the closet in Raster and Cordelia’s shared room.
There was an array of colorful clothes inside unlike any he had ever seen - not as if he had seen many clothes before. Until he had come to the city, his grubby shirt was all he had.

Gleefully, he tried all of the different kinds of clothes on, piece by piece, discarding them on the floor when he was done. Why would anyone need more than one piece of clothing? What an amusing mystery! Fenn put on a big, soft yellow shirt and long baggy breeches. There was a well-cared-for mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door. Silently giggling, he looked himself over in it and posed in the sort of sultry, pouty way that Cordelia carried herself. How funny!

He didn't understand how some of the attire was made to be worn. There were these funny shirts made of two triangles of fabric and some string that didn't fit him in the least. They seemed a little useless. He tried putting them over his eyes. Maybe it was a blindfold?

All this exploration and fabulousness made him ravenous. Hoping to satisfy his hunger without disturbing Hart - she was fast asleep in the living room armchair - Fenn snuck into the pantry.

He tip-toed in, his bare feet spreading curious swirls of frost on the tile. The kitchen area was cleaner than most parts of the house, and half of it was taken up by an icebox and several large storage cabinets. Upon opening them, Fenn was disappointed that most of them were either empty or half-stocked with raw baking ingredients. He carefully opened a bag of flour and licked the fluffy white powder. Blegh! Immediately, he was coughing and spitting it out. He couldn't eat that!

As he wiped his mouth off on his sleeve, Fenn happened to catch glimpse of several sacks stored on top of the cabinets. One hung half-open, revealing several shiny red apples. Now there was a food he recognized. His stomach growled loudly and Fenn reached up for the apple sack. But even standing on his tippy-toes, the little Fae was not nearly tall enough to reach the top of the cabinet. Jumping didn't get him anywhere close either. Grumpy snowflakes gently stirred the air around him as he frowned upwards.

Wait a moment! There were some shelves hammered into the wall next to the cabinet, and there was a stool under them. Fenn rubbed his hands together excitedly and ran over to yank the stool out a little. He grabbed one of the shelves carefully and hoisted himself up. It was a little like hoisting oneself onto a tree branch, he found. From then on, it wasn’t too hard for him to clamber his way up the shelves until he hanging by his arms from the top of the cabinet, one foot dangling in the air, another up against the shelves behind him.

Triumphantly, the little child reached for the bag of big, shiny, juicy apples. He could almost taste them...

Suddenly, the front door slammed open and shut. “Fenn, Hart,” Raster’s voice carried through the house, “we’re back!” Fenn startled and scrambled the rest of his way up the cabinet. In the process, his foot smacked one of the more loosely-installed shelves on the wall, and knocked it and its content to the floor. A few other shelves came tumbling after. Old jam splattered across the tile, along with thick shards of glass that seconds before were the jars holding it. Utensils and easily dishes clattered and shattered after the jam. Added to the mix were a few bottles of Cordelia’s favorite wine, which also broke into many dangerous shards. Fenn hung off of the cabinet top in silent shock, staring at the mess he had made. Whoops.

The sharp bits of glass all over the floor made him scared to get down. He waited a meek trembling moment until Raster and Concordia rushed into the room. They stopped immediately at the door and gazed in at the disaster, shocked and slack-jawed. Cordelia covered her face with one hand in a defeated, frustrated gesture. “We’re gonna need some new fucking dishes,” she groaned. “And another few shelves.”

“Good thing Bawse ain’t here to see this,” Raster chuckled, drawing a sharp look from her. He was red with embarrassment. “Aww, well. On the bright side, Fennik's able to get outta bed now. I guess we’re gonna have to train him up a bit, huh?”

Upon hearing his recently-given name, Fenn waved bashfully down at them from his precarious perch on the cabinet. Good! They could help him out of this sticky situation. He looked pointedly between the two and the chaos that was now the kitchen floor, looking as clueless as he ever had.

As Fenn continued to perch on the cabinet top watchfully, waiting for the kitchen to be cleared of mess, Cordelia and Raster set about picking out up the glass and mopping up the jam and wine. There was a tense silence over the wrecked kitchen.

“For goodness sakes, the poor kid don't even understand a lick of Common, let alone understand how to behave here,” Cordelia muttered, looking a little sour as she wiped up what was left of the wine she had been looking forward to that night. Her red curls bounced with every swipe of the mop. “We obviously can't leave him to his own devices like this, not again. Wasn't Hart supposed to watch him?”

“Yeah, but I guess she fell asleep,” Raster replied with a sigh, picking up a piece of glass with a glance at the doorway. His nose rings clinked together softly as he moved. “Nothin' short a' damn apocalypse'd wake her up.” Abruptly, his face lit up, energized by an interesting idea. “You think I could look after him instead? It'll just be until he can handle himself, ya know.”

Cordelia stopped mopping and stared skeptically at the hopeful gleam in Raster’s eye. She snorted. “Hell naw. You gotta help me earn our fare.”

He shrugged, waving away her concerns with a sweeping hand gesture. “Aw, Hart can help you with that. She's as quick of any of us, you know that. Probably quicker.”

“Screw that. She's harder to work with. Have you tried dealing with her if she doesn’t get her afternoon nap?” Cordelia made a face, shuddering. “Tongue’s as sharp as my daggers, I swear. I ain’t gonna deal with it if I don’t have to, you hear?”

“Please?” Raster pleaded, clasping his hands together. “I found him. Won’t ya even consider it? He needs a guide, someone to teach him how to live here, and then he can help out around the place. You’d like havin' an extra hand, right?”

That finally broke her resolve. Grumbling to herself, Cordelia nodded in limp defeat. “Fine. You wanna mother him and leave me to deal with Hart, be my guest. That means he's your responsibility.” She handed the mop off to Raster forcefully, accidentally whacking him upside the head. “For his first lesson, why don't you learn him some responsibility? You know that one kid’s song; Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere?”

“Ha ha,” Raster intoned back cheerfully, rubbing the little bruise on the side of his noggin. “Dia, ya serious?”

A dismissive laugh burst from her lips. “Dead serious. We got the glass, so there’s no excuse for him to not to deal with his own mess. Get him to clean a little - he’s gotta learn some basic skills if he’s going to stay with us. That’s a good place to start. I, for one, am done cleaning up this. I'm getting fucking changed. See ya.”

As the tired woman rubbed at the bags under her eyes and swaggered out, Raster gestured at Fenn to come down. “Hey buddy,” he said, waiting as the little Fae carefully lowered himself off of the cabinet and dropped to the ground. “You wanna help me out a little here?”
Raster had handed Fenn a mop and showed him how to wipe up the floor. Thankfully, it was a simple task, and soon the boy was enthusiastically swiping back and forth across the kitchen, sometimes running in front of Raster and over his feet with the mophead. They focused happily on their work, Raster humming to drown out the irked shouting from Cordelia as she discovered what Fenn had done with her wardrobe earlier. The streaks of water across the cracked red tile froze over every time the little kid stepped by them. It was starting to look cleaner in here than it was when Fenn first walked in.

“Gee, good job kid,” Raster said, stopping to ruffle Fenn's hair affectionately, ignoring the frost that crept up his fingers from the contact. The boy beamed, pleased that he could help out. “Help me pick up the up the utensils too, please,” the man asked, picking up a fork and plunking it into the sink in demonstration. “Like this, okay? We’re gonna have to wash everything later.”

Practically bouncing with eagerness, Fenn thumped his chest with a small hand and set about helping in this new way. He imitated his older friend, crouching down to pluck a spoon out of a puddle of water.
As soon as he grabbed it, Fenn flinched and dropped it again, staring at his palm in shock. His eyes watered as red blisters and a burning pain spread over his palm. If he had the ability to whimper, he would have made a most pitiful sound.
“Oh, geez,” Raster gasped and rushed to Fenn’s side. The man kneeled and carefully took Fenn by the hand. He clucked and inspected the burn with concern. It started to darken and char around the edges. Black blood seeped out of the blisters, thick as tree sap.

Raster held Fenn close as he sniffled and quivered in pain. “Don’t worry little buddy, it’s okay. Don’t cry,” he reassured the child. Even if Fenn didn’t understand the words, he understood the compassion behind them. A stray, freezing tear slid down Fenn's face, and Raster wiped it away with his thumb. “Ey, Hart,” he yelled in the direction of the door, “yer up now, right? Take a lookit this, and hurry. A spoon hurt Fenn.”

“A spoon?” Her voice echoed from a few rooms away. “You mean a knife, surely?”

“Nope, a spoon. He's all burned up.” Afraid, Fenn leaned into Raster and buried his face in his shirt. “Hey, we’re gonna figure this out. Don’t you worry.”

The next day, Fenn was mostly bouncing along as usual, dashing through the house and sticking his head into every crooked cranny. Though his burn had been taken care of and wouldn't leave a physical scar, there was a new cautiousness temporarily tempering his curiosity. Hart had mentioned hearing of northern Fae with a weakness to iron when she had patched him up the other day, but Fenn didn't quite understand words yet, so he simply took pains to not touch anything made of shiny metal, ever, just in case.

While Hart and Cordelia ventured out to do… whatever it was they did (Fenn wasn’t sure), Raster stayed in as he asked to do and kept Fenn company. One of the first things he did was clean the house of any unnecessary iron objects. There were old nails lying around, a few unsafe springs sticking out of a sofa, and even some iron-wrought nose rings of Raster’s, among other things.

It was a wonder that Fenn hadn’t run into something dangerous before the fork. “Never thought I’d have to baby-proof this place,” Raster mentioned as he reached under the bed in his and Cordelia’s room, coming up with a few lost nose rings of his and some earrings of hers. “Sorry that we didn’t exactly pick the house for how child-friendly it was. Haven't had enough time to fix it up either, and that's why it looks so miserable.”

One of the other things Raster had started doing was teaching Fenn how to speak Common. Or, for now, how to listen to it. No-one had heard a peep out of him as of yet. The little Fae nodded at him cheerfully, only catching a smattering of his words; I, child, friendly, clean.

It was something, at least.

“You know, lil’ buddy, maybe it’d be less work ta just get ya some gloves instead,” Raster said. Chuckling, he walked over and locked them up in a jewelry box that was supposedly out of Fenn's reach. “Aw well. We can handle a lil’ work, can't we? This place needs some TLC.” As was becoming his habit, Fenn beamed agreeably up at him as he followed in the man’s footsteps. No matter what he said, the kid seemed to agree with him. Fenn had taken quite a shine to this first nice person that he had ever encountered.

The scrawny man bent down to lift him up, setting Fenn on his shoulders. They laughed as he spun around the room. “This is gonna be great. We’re gonna track your growth on the wall, gonna celebrate the day ya came here every year… well, you know, since you don't got a birthday. So, what else d’ya wanna do, Fenn? Learn ta read, ta, write, learn more words?”

A sharp knocking on the door interrupted their festivities. Three quick raps, strong and forceful. It made Raster pause and suck in a deep breath. He knew those knocks well. “We’ll have ta deal with that first, I guess. Fer fuck’s sake though, what’s he want at this time a’ the month?” He looked over at Fenn, who was tugging at his shirt collar for attention, his mouth agape with unaskable questions and quiet concern. The kid had noted his worry.

“It's fine, bud,” Raster said quietly to him. “Nothin’ bad should come a’ this, I hope.”

They made their way over to the front door, Fenn clinging to Raster’s back suspiciously. Even after Raster put him back down, he just scooted over and attached himself to his leg. The man chuckled nervously and placed a hand on the doorframe, dreading opening it just as much as Fenn was. The door swung open as he unhitched the lock and stepped back to let their guest in. “Ey there, Bawse,” Raster said with false levity, hs nervousness masked by an uneasy grin. “How’s your day?”

Bawse was a giant of a man, perhaps even the offspring of a giant and a man. He had grizzled grey-streaked beard and formal, clean attire. There was a subtle emotion always mixed in with whatever expression he was wearing; a curl of the lip, a lifting of the chin. Fenn didn’t have a word for it yet, but later when he did, he knew it to be disdain. The look softened as Bawse’s gaze fell upon the small child, who had stopped fidgeting and skulking behind Raster and peered out curiously at the man in turn.

The great man stared into Fenn, and Fenn stared back as fearlessly as he could. “Raster. Your girlfriend told me that you took in a kid. This is him?”

“Yessir,” Raster said, the words tripping over each other as he flicked a lock of blonde hair behind his ear. His breathing was strained and nervous, sounding rough to Fenn's ears, and he wrung his hands together meekly. Bawse’s mere presence was enough to subjugate him. “Sorry this place is such a mess. We’re doin’ some cleanin’, see. Didn’t anticipate ya comin’ around so soon. We didn’t miss no payments, did we?”

“She said that you were staying home to look after him for a bit,” the great man said, ignoring Raster’s ramblings. Bawse crouched down, still a few feet taller than Fenn. He gently reached out and took Fenn by the cheek, inspecting his frost-bitten features and tapered ears. “Never told me that he was one of the faerie folk. Curious. You’ll take good care of the little guy, right? I may be fine with housing thieves, but I have my standards,” he said, flicking Fenn’s nose playfully. The boy grinned up at him. “I don't stand for neglect. Had enough of it in my own boyhood.”

Surprise caused Raster to freeze up a moment. “Oh. That’s… I didn't know that. Well, we’re gonna take good care a’ Fenn. No worries.”

Bawse stood up and flashed then both a measured smile. “Glad to hear it. In any case, I have other payments to collect this afternoon. Remember your rent. It’s due next week. Have a nice day.” With that, he stepped out the door and strolled off through the rain-drizzled streets.

“That went better than expected,” Raster muttered in relief, peering out of the open doorway at Bawse’s retreating figure. Fenn just shrugged and headed back into the halls. He had more exploring and learning to do.

Months passed since Fenn's arrival, and changes slowly accumulated in the run-down house he had come to accept as “home”. As he had already explored of the corners of all of the rooms, Fenn no longer skittered from place to place sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

During his time cooped up inside with Fenn, Raster took to fix up the place a little. Creaky floorboards were replaced, cobwebs were cleared out, broken things were thrown away, and the gaps and holes in the walls were patched up and painted over. The place started to feel a little more cozy. Their ongoing process of improvement inched along. Some days, Fenn just sat and watched Raster work on the house, marveling at the man’s craftsmanship. Under Raster’s careful hands, nothing seemed too broken to be mended. Fixing things was a hobby for him, as Fenn was told.
The times where he got to be helpful were the best, the moments where Raster asked Fenn to hold something for him or needed him to fetch a took. Those moments made him feel important.

If they weren't fixing the house, the two had other ways of entertaining themselves. Many days were spent shared in the little attic room that had become Fenn’s. There were a lot of books tucked away into a few boxes stacked in the corner, between the wall and the wardrobe. They took out the texts and dusted them off.

Fenn's lessons had begun.

The dictionary was their friend, and so was floor. Raster had learned early on how Fenn could create frost with just a gentle touch to anything around him. He etched pictures and letters into the frost for the little Fae to understand. Bit by bit, the man taught Fenn what all the words in them meant, teaching him how to understand they were strung into sentences both written and spoken.

Fennik was a quick study with the written word - reading, if not writing, came naturally to him. It was but half a year of learning until he caught up to Raster’s level, and then he surpassed his teacher. Books were a good way to go on the sort of adventures Fenn liked to think he could go on someday. He liked pouring over the dusty tomes stored in boxes in his attic room, breathing in the scents of other ages and places.
His new apatite for information and story stretched to everything from atlases and encyclopedias, to tomes of scholarly research, to cheap thrillers and romance novels. The latter was hilarious, though he tended to skip over the copulation scenes - they were sweaty, gross and rather dull. All in all, stories were his main source of information about the civilized world outside of the city of Forstford, aside he could gleam from Raster. Careful not to coat the pages in frost, Fenn flipped through the pages of an adventure novel that Hart had recently given him.

“It's probably about time ya started speakin’, Fenn.”

The boy lifted his nose from his book and gave Raster a confused sideways glance. There was a similarly puzzled look furrowing Raster’s brow. “Just a thought I’ve been havin’. I haven't never heard a peep outta you in all the time you’ve been here. It’d be nice if ya could have a proper chat with me, ya know?”

Fenn closed his book and left it on the faded quilts of his bed, where it would remain forgotten until the next day. His green gaze lifted up from the floor to the ceiling as he pondered his friend's concerns. Why hadn’t he spoken before? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t mouthed the words he had learned along with Raster. As a little test, he mouthed a sentence back at Raster - I don’t know. But no words fell from his lips.
What more than lip-movement did it take to make the words flow from his tongue as effortlessly, like everyone else? He huffed and tried again. And again.

Raster watched Fenn uselessly mouth things for an uncomfortably long time. His expression fell from one of patience to confusion and disappointment. Eventually, he placed a reassuring arm on the kid’s shoulder and went casually back to reading his own book. His next words echoed the same defeat the little Fae felt on the inside, though he tried to sound upbeat. “Nevermind ‘lil buddy. It ain’t nothing to worry yerself over."

But worry Fenn did.

Early in the morning a few days later, the Fae opened his window to take a long, hard look at the sleeping city below. Everything was still painted under the pale pink glow of the sunrise. He yawned and glanced behind him. A yearned yawned in him like an itch; he had stewed all night in his confusion over his own silence, and he needed some time away from the house to clear his head.

The only question was how to leave.

It was a question that was easily answered with a moment’s consideration. Below him was a little rooftop ledge, connected to the street below by a thick wooden gutter.
Fenn stuck his head back inside a moment and rummaged around in the wardrobe for something suitable to wear over his nightgown. The only thing he came up with was a woolspun cloak too big for him. It dragged on the floor behind him, and the “short” sleeves went down to his elbows, but it would do.

Without a speck of hesitation, the Fae hoist himself through the window and grabbed hold of the gutter and shimmied down. It was like climbing a tree, but without any branches or rough bark to get in the way. He dropped to the rough cobblestones with barely even a thump, given how light he was.

Anger and frustration rolled off of Fenn in waves of chilly air as he started off the dead streets. His icy talent was covered thankfully by the season; it had been summer when Fenn had first arrived, and now fall had turned the leaves to gold and given the breeze it’s wintry bite. Ash blew in from the chimneys, and Fenn sputtered and spat every time he tasted it on the wind. He trekked through the streets, not knowing where he should go, or even where he wanted to be. It just felt good to be outside.

Though, he did at least try to remember which twists and turns he took along the way. The thought of getting lost and never seeing his “family” again shook him to the core. Mapping out streets and buildings in his head was easier than trees and landmarks - so much more organized!
As he plodded along, he watched the city come alive in the strengthening morning light. Shops flipped their signs from “closed” to “open”. Street vendors set up shop in their stalls, chatting amongst each other like little birds. Passerby became more and more common, people creeping out of their houses and heading off to work, to shop, to greet the day.

A trio of children wove through the thickening crowds as well, playing a game of keep-away with a palm-sized leather ball. Fenn stopped to watch as it bounced against a brick wall. A girl leapt to grab it, but it ricocheted past her hand, and it hurtled over in Fenn's direction. It smacked into the side of his head.

The unexpected impact caused the boy to reel back and land on his butt. His mouth formed a little “o” of surprise blinked down at the ball and picked it up, still a little stunned by the impact.

One of the kids that had been playing with the ball ran up to him. She was a slight little thing in a plaid dress, no bigger than Fenn himself. Her thick glasses slid down her nose as she looked down at him, and a gaunt hands moved mechanically to push them back up with her middle finger. “Oh!” she exclaimed softly as she helped him to his feet. Fenn beamed at her and handed the ball back, no worse for the wear. “I'm so sorry. We didn't mean to hit you! I'm Abby. What's your name?”

Fenn stood with one hand tugging at his wispy hair, his mouth partially agape. Just as before, no words escaped his lips, no matter how much he wanted to speak. They fluttered against his chest like birds against a cage. The two other boys with Abby caught up with her, giving Fenn a curious look, whispering between each other.

“Is your name a secret? It’s okay if you don't want to tell me,” Abby teased. She shared a childish wink with him. “But I'm good at keeping secrets, you know!” Fenn could only blush and clasp his hands to his mouth uncertainly. “You want to play with us?”

Would he! The Fae rocked back on his heels and pulled his hands back from his mouth, showing off a pearly grin. A nod was all it took for keep-away to pick up again.

The next half hour was spent in a gleeful, giggling revelry that Fenn hadn’t known before. They nipped through the crowds, weaving in and out of throngs of people and tossing the leather ball to and fro between and over each other. First Abby was the one the ball had to be kept away from, then Fenn, then one of the other boys, then so on. A certain degree of creativity went into how the Fae strained to do his best in keeping the game smoothly moving. Fenn startled passerby as he ducked between their legs to stretch for a catch, or dove through street vendor stalls, to much protest from the vendors and scattered laughter from witnesses. The excitement brought an excited flush to his cheeks.

In light of this wild play, this diving and ducking, being careful was not a particularly high priority for Fenn. Eventually, in the midst of trying to block Abby from catching a pass, he stumbled and smacked headlong into someone rather solidly built. Rubbing his head, Fenn stopped and stared up at the boy he had bumped into.

Abby’s eyes widened and she skipped back a few steps from this stranger. “H-hi Quinton,” she said through a meek smile. She adjusted her glasses, as if that would hide the speck of fear that flickered in her eyes.

“You guys didn’t invite me to play. Again. Who’s the weird kid?” Quinton was taller and meatier than most of his age group, and his eyes wore a decidedly unfriendly squint. He didn’t wait for a reply before his attention lowered to the little boy who had bumped into him. “Your face looks funny, dipshit. You have a name?”

That question again. Fenn simply gave Quinton a shy smile in return and held the ball up to him amicably, an unstated offer to join in. To his surprise, the boy knocked the ball out of his hand. “Hey, I asked you a question, half-pint, and you’re gonna answer.” Shocked frost flickered across Fenn's cloak and nightgown as he watched the ball bounce down the street, to be cautiously picked up by one of the other kids. His lips thinned and curled in annoyance.

A sharp finger jabbed at Fenn’s ribcage, and his head snapped back up. “I'm talking to you!” the meaty kid bellowed at him. “Don't ignore me!” The little Fae bared his teeth and glared back at him. There they met, eye-to-eye, beady brown on bright green, an unspoken challenge to each other's impudence.

The other kids backed off. Their gazes fell to the ice that crept forth from where Fenn's feet met the stones, and rose to meet the cocksure grimace of Quinton.

Their description was instantaneous and unanimous. They took their ball and ran, having no desire to get caught in the throes of this oncoming conflict. “Bye,” Abby hissed in Fenn's ear. “Um, see you around later. If you're still alive.” He gave her a tense smile back as she scampered off.

“You made them run off,” Quinton accused with a crack of his knuckles.

Anger pulsed in his chest as he stared back up at the brute before him. To run? To fight? There had been predators out in the wilds, but he had always hid from them, and had always fled. This was different. A challenge, not a threat to his life. Fenn rolled up the sleeves of his cloak and gave Quinton a hard stare, wondering if this would be a good outlet for his mounting frustration.

Thread: Out of Ice-solation
Author: FennWenn
Type: No Judgment

Congratulations!

Fenn receives 1,200 EXP and 140 GP.

All rewards have been added!