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Soul-touched creatures, he has learned, do not all express their affections the same way. There are a myriad of different ways that they show their care for one another, and a great deal of conflict can arise simply because two of them don’t speak the same love language. So of course it was important that they learned how all of their new friends communicated their feelings.
Words of Affirmation
Laudna is quick to praise and encourage. She whispers praise when Chetney or Ashton pick a lock. She applauds when Dorian performs a song. And if Imogen is the one who has accomplished something? The praise is relentless.
One afternoon, their group was leaving a tavern where they’d been seeking out information. It was Imogen, in the end, who had been able to lower the defenses of a man who had known where they needed to go.
“Absolutely magnificent, Imogen,” Laudna said, beaming, “Not at all surprising, of course. You are nothing but capable. But nevertheless, absolutely magnificent.”
Imogen’s gaze drifted towards the ground as her cheeks flushed.
“Laudna,” she admonished, brushing a piece of hair out of her face, “You- I don’t need you to congratulate me every time I do somethin’ right.”
The tall undead woman frowned.
“I’m not trying to be condescending,” she explained, “I really do believe you’re capable, after all. But… I don’t know, isn’t it nice to hear it every once in a while? What’s the point of keeping our cards close to our chest?”
“It’s much easier to cheat if your cards are bleeding,” Fearne mused.
Dorian’s head snapped to look at Fearne, but Imogen paid the rest of them no mind. Her lips twitched, and a soft smile formed.
“Thank you, Laudna,” she mumbled.
“Of course,” Laudna said, a warm smile on her cold, pale face, “And if you ever feel as though I’m smothering you…”
“I’ll let you know.”
The women linked elbows, walking arm in arm as the group moved ever forward.
Quality Time
It was a late night- or more accurately a very early morning- and Ashton had finally decided to get some rest. But he was feeling a little antsy, and so, was combing the tavern one last time for folks to help before powering down.
Things were quiet; most of the patrons had left or gone to bed hours ago. Moonlight streamed through the windows, aiding the dying fire in lighting the empty room.
Well, almost empty. There were two figures sitting at a large table in the corner. After a moment, they realized that the shadowed figures were two of their own group, and an unlikely duo at that.
Chetney was sitting hunched over the table, sandpaper in his. He ran the paper over some small wooden part that he couldn’t identify at this distance- a short stroke, and then another, one long drag, and then turning the piece in his weathered hands. As he worked, it was clear why he had the title of master craftsmen. Every minute twitch or movement was imbued with such dedication and focus that he had no doubt that whatever the finished product was would be a masterpiece.
Across from him sat, of all people, Dorian. He had several sheets of parchment laid out across his side of the table- not a single one crossing over to the other half where Chetney’s tools rested. In his mouth, Dorian had a quill that he was biting down on as he stared at his papers.
The room was all but silent, with the only sounds coming from the scratching of sandpaper against wood and the dying embers in the fireplace.
Until, quite suddenly, Dorian began to sing under his breath.
“Are we what we say? Are we what we do? Is what makes a hero that his heart is fair and true? If he was the man he claimed, that I ne’er can tell. But I would not be here to this day were it not for Bertrand Bell.”
The tune was jaunty, and even from a distance, he could see the corner of Chetney’s mouth twitch, almost looking like a smile.
“That’s much better than the last one,” the old man said, “That one sounded like shit. This is actually okay.”
Much to their surprise, Dorian smiled softly.
“Thank you, Chetney. I appreciate the feedback.”
“You’re welcome,” Chetney huffed back, “Now, do you think Fearne would like pink or purple better?”
“I’m not sure. Couldn’t it be both?”
Chetney mumbled some choice curse words under his breath, but there didn’t seem to be much- if any- venom behind them. Very strange, he thought. It must be an artist’s thing.
Physical Touch
Fearne was a strange one to him, even compared to the other soul-touched creatures. There was something wild and unpredictable about her. You could never tell exactly what she was thinking, especially with the way she joked sometimes.
But then, every once in a while she’d get cuddly. It was something that they all knew happened- she shared a bed with Dorian and Orym every night, after all. But it was a different thing altogether to witness her physical affection. A rat scurried up Ashton’s arm, a snake wrapped around Orym’s waist…
Right now, she was a massive cobra draped over Laudna’s shoulders. Her eyes were closed and her tongue was sticking out like a cat’s, a look of utter contentment. For her part, Laudna didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, cooing over the massive, most likely poisonous snake wrapped around her. Fearne nuzzled in even closer, causing Dorian to shudder.
Still, they seemed happy, and that was enough.
Acts of Service
Of all of their new friends, Orym was easily the quietest. He liked to sit back and simply observe as the others commanded attention. A guard’s duty, he had explained when they had questioned the behavior, and a force of habit.
“I’ve never been one to take centerstage,” he had mumbled into his cup late one night, “It’s just not who I am.”
That may be true in social settings, but the same could not be said for on the battlefield. Orym lept and spun with a grace not unlike Kendra’s Flying Lauders. Each move, even if it did not hit, was clearly made with expertise. Unlike most of them, it was clear that Orym had received copious amounts of training.
However, that training seemed to fly right out the window whenever one of them was in trouble.
They were in the jungles when a strange, massive cat Ashton had called a displacer beast had bounded towards them- followed by a small pack of these tentacled cats. It shouldn’t have been a terrible fight- they had certainly fought worse. However, the displacer beasts were trickier than they had anticipated.
And some bad luck wasn’t helping, either.
“Well, this certainly isn’t a very smiley day,” they muttered, their wheel getting stuck on the jungle foliage. It would take forever to get to the unconscious Laudna, let alone to heal anyone else.
From his left, someone cried out. It was Dorian, the fangs of one of the displacer beasts lodged in his shoulder. He was getting paler and paler as the blood oozed from the wound.
Before they had a moment to process what was going on, a blur of green fell from the trees, smacking the beast with a shield and knocking Dorian to the ground in the process.
It was Orym, landing between Dorian and the beast. His shield was up, ready to hold the line.
Panting and prone on the ground, Dorian looked up at Orym, grinning.
“Thanks.”
Orym didn’t exactly smile, but nodded, a sense of satisfaction evident on his face.
“Any time,” he muttered, gritting his teeth as he took another swing at the creature.
Giving Gifts
He and Ashton were all but inseparable, even amongst a group of people who were all but inseparable. They had known each other the longest, lived together, looked out for each other, were friends; it made sense that they would stick together.
So, once they had paid for their rooms at The Busy Bee, he naturally looked to Ashton to see what their next move was. Cards, drinking, perhaps a friendly brawl before the stakeout tonight? But as the others began to settle in at this inn they found themselves at- Laudna leading Imogen upstairs, Dorian tuning his lute as Fearne and Little Mister watched, Chetney examining the craftsmanship of the bar, and Orym settling into a corner, a watchful eye upon the rest of them- Ashton did none of those things that they had expected from him. He hadn’t even bought a drink.
Instead, they slipped out the front door, though neither of them were particularly stealthy- Orym had made deliberate eye contact and nodded as they had exited- back into the small town square.
“Too quiet of a scene, Ashton?”
They sighed.
“Nah, that’s not the problem. Did you notice anywhere with some good, greasy food when we rode in?”
Greasy food? That was hardly nutritious. But oftentimes, the soul-touched craved things that were terrible for their bodies: drugs, alcohol, fights, pastries, and greasy foods were among the most popular methods of self-destruction they had witnessed.
“I can’t say that I have.”
The two of them wandered through town in search of some good food. In Jrusar, they had always been subject to the occasional backtrack or stare- they were a very odd pair, after all. However, here in a smaller town where they and their friends were likely the strangest thing people had seen in decades, eyes followed them wherever they went.
“Smiley day to you!” he wished a woman walking by, but his greeting did not seem to reassure her. If anything, she seemed to pick up the pace in order to get away from them.
Ashton growled.
“Fucking hate small towns,” he mumbled, “Come on, this place looks promising.”
The place in question was a dimly lit, hole in the wall sort of take out restaurant that smelled predominantly of burnt oil. But the burly half-orc behind the counter had been more than happy to explain the local culinary scene to them, and they had left the establishment with armfuls of small donuts called zalabia.
Ashton tossed one into the air, catching it in their mouth.
“Oh yeah, that’s fucking incredible,” they mumbled, mouth full, “Never trust a place where the tourists go; always go for where the locals eat.”
“I-I don’t eat, but alright.”
He chuckled before making a beeline towards The Busy Bee once more. Slamming the door open, Ashton didn’t even stop to say hello before marching up the stairs and to room thirteen, pounding on the door.
“Who is it?” Laudna’s sing-song voice came through the door.
“It’s me,” Ashton grumbled.
“Oh!”
There was a pause as Laudna shuffled to the door, opening it just a crack.
“Hello, Ashton! Fresh Cut Grass! Imogen isn’t feeling her best, so can this be quick?”
She was smiling as if nothing was wrong, but there was a coldness in her eyes beyond the usual undead coolness.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Ashton with a sigh, “So I grabbed these. Sugar can be good for headaches, and even if it isn’t, some greasy fucking comfort food is always a good idea.”
“Let ‘em in, Laudna.”
Imogen’s voice was quiet, but firm. Laudna nodded, opening the door to let them pass, and suddenly, Imogen was visible. She was laying on the bed, clearly just sitting up to greet them.
Ashton tossed her a bag of the zalabia, which she caught.
“Small towns are the fucking worst,” he said by way of an explanation.
Imogen chuckled.
“Yeah, they are,” she agreed, taking a bite out of the fried dough, “Everyone’s too loud. These are incredible, by the way.”
Ashton grinned.
“Hell yeah. I figured you could use something nice and terrible for your body to distract yourself.”
They both chuckled. Was this typical behavior? He glanced at Laudna, but she also seemed a little surprised.
“Well, we can leave you to rest,” Ashton mumbled.
A small amount of pink flushed onto Imogen’s face.
“Actually, would you mind stayin’?” she mumbled.
Ashton grinned.
“We can do that too.”
These soul-touched folks sure were unpredictable sometimes. There were intricacies to this that his programming couldn’t understand. But as long as what they were doing made themselves and each other happy, right now, that was enough for him.