Night had fully set in by the time he left the last buildings behind him, and the further away from the town he stepped the darker the world around him seemed to grow. It took an age to make his way back up the mountain towards the Okan residence, but when the stone lanterns sitting elegantly atop the white outer residence walls came into view, Taowren felt himself relax. Sleep at last. He definitely would this night—finally. The wine had warmed his belly, and the conversations with the locals his heart—no matter how well looked after he was by his father’s family, there was a solid part of himself that didn’t feel quite right in this setting. The noble class forever felt like something alien to him that he had to endure, and that foul row with Yan earlier had proved it. Taowren sighed to himself and walked in through the towering gates.
He hadn’t done anything wrong! He had been defending a poor girl in literal tears who had been harassed and bullied by that oaf, Yan! A scowl only Tomar could be proud of formed on Taowren’s usually smiling face as he thought this, his eyes staring blearily at the ground in front of his feet. It was hard enough walking up this mountain without it jumping around all over the place. He unsteadily zigzagged his way up the drive and veered towards the visitors’ residences, his mind wondering if Bayfolin had sought out Yan later on, perhaps even chewed him out as she had Taowren? Or perhaps not? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Perhaps dogs had feathers, could fly, lived in nests, and were birds.
Taowren had been accepted so quickly by that group in town regardless of what he looked like. Where he came from. How much metal decorated his face. No one expected the travelling nomads to have anything to do with the upper classes—this was obviously one of the reasons Yan had instinctively disliked him. Although no one but that curly haired fop had made their disdain for his heritage so obvious, was it possible the rest of the clans felt similarly? Taowren didn’t know. He usually never wasted his time thinking about this sort of thing, but his mind was fuddled with booze and herbs and insomnia, and he couldn’t stop himself from once more wondering why he didn’t just damn the lot of them and run away into the mountains. Taowren muttered to himself with his head chin nodding against his chest, his feet feeling the transition from dirt road to grass, then gravel. His room had to be around here somewhere.
“…wren?” He heard the voice a fraction of a second before impact, just in time to raise his chin and walk face first into a soft, but unyielding surface.
“Oof! …He…llo…?” Taowren shook his head to himself, trying to dispel the swimming circles in his vision and looking blearily up to see two near-white orbs inside another, larger, floating orb towering over him. Immediately he stepped back, and swirling in his vision was an uncommonly pale but also uncommonly attractive face—although, actually, skin that pale was incredibly common here, within the Okan family home wasn’t it? Still, no one had a better face than he, the Okan heir! “Bray… Brannayd… Brayandy?”
Taowren had to squint to make the face stop dancing like a candle flame.
“So it is! The beautiful Brayandli.” Drunkenly pleased with himself, Taowren grinned up at the tall youth staring down at him with a concerned expression. “What-t are you doing here?” These words, Taowren immediately realised, were as stupid as he was inebriated; Brayandli lived here. He was in Brayandli’s home, of course the Okan heir was in the Okan residence at the hour closest to midnight. Taowren couldn’t help but laugh at his drunk logic attempting to play catchup with reality.
“Are you… Okay…?” Brayandli looked genuinely worried that Taowren may have a concussion, his phoenix-like brows pinching.
“Yes, yes,” Taowren waved a sloppy hand, “I’m fine. What are you doing here? It’s-s a bit late for a stroll around the grounds, isn’t it?” This time, his brain had collected itself a little, and he did actually mean: why are you right here, in front of me, not what Brayandli was doing within his family’s residence.
Brayandli studied the unruly boy for a long beat with his head cocked at an angle, looking very much like a dog who had misunderstood its master. Only when Taowren took a step forward and swayed did understanding finally cross that pretty face.
“You are drunk.” It was not a question, nor a judgement, but instead a statement of understanding, delivered like someone who had figured out the answer to a thorny riddle. Taowren responded with a wobbly shrug, his smile turning a little sheepish—he did know to be a bit embarrassed at having been caught by one of his hosts in such a state, at least. “Alcohol is illegal for those who have not come of age.”
“I’m of age,” Taowren replied, squinting at him. “I’m nineteen!”
“In the south you come of age at eighteen,” Brayandli said these words like he was reciting instructions from a book, “In our province it is at twenty-one years that a person may drink alcohol.”
Taowren didn’t have an immediate comeback to this, having just admitted he was indeed only nineteen. Not to mention, after the day’s earlier events he wasn’t confident that any witty comebacks would be well received by anyone of the Okan clan.
“Why are you here?” Taowren opted for changing the subject instead; distraction was as good as humour in most situations like this, right?
“I was looking for you.” The pale beauty said with a face so impassive Taowren didn’t know what to make of these words.
“Looking for me? Why?”
Brayandli glanced away into the shadows before his eyes came back at Taowren, almost nervous, before he next spoke.
“I heard you got into a fight with Yan…” Brayandli mumbled, looking obviously uncomfortable.
Immediately Taowren’s head was full of broiling bubbles. No way?! Brayandli wasn’t here to tell him off as well, was he?! Bayfolin was one thing, but if someone as devastatingly beautiful as Brayandli scolded him, Taowren wouldn’t have the face to look at him ever again!
“H-he started it!” Taowren blurted out, “I-I…look, I don’t know what he told you but he was harassing that stable hand—I was just-t helping her!“
“Taowren,” Brayandli’s face blanched and two hands came up in sign that no harm was meant, his eyes growing extremely wide. This expression confused Taowren, who squinted at him. “I am not here to tell you off—“
“No-o one calls me Taowren,” Taowren cut in slurringly. In his unsteady state, his name was all he caught of the other’s boy’s words. “Not even my fancy Lord uncle calls me Taowren. Everyone calls me Taown.”
“But that is your name, isn’t it?” Brayandli answered simply, his tone tranquil as a pond at midnight on a new moon. “Taowren.”
“Have you never heard of nicknames?” Taowren stuck his tongue out at him, “What? Does everyone just call you Brayandli? I don’t believe it.”
Brayandli’s eyes flashed away from the unruly youth.
“More or less,” he replied, pale lips pursing, his gaze downcast. Taowren thought this expression was rather pitiful, and in his disorientated state he leaned in, staring hard at the taller boy. Brayandli took a hesitant step back. “What is wrong?”
“Brayandli is too long,” Taowren muttered, a finger running over his lip until it touched the cut Yan had given him earlier. He winced for a moment, but then caught sign of Brayandli’s bewildered expression and was instantly distracted by him once more. “Bray-and-lee. How do you not have a nickname?”
“…Willow calls me Bray sometimes,” Brayandli shrugged one shoulder passively and took another instinctive step back; Taowren’s eyes were very dark in colour, but brightly glinting with interest at the elegant youth. Brayandli was cautious by nature, and didn’t quite know what to make of those sparks.
“Hm…” Taowren seemed very serious as he tapped his chin in thought. “Bray is so obvious though, why not something like… like…” The tawny-haired youth frowned to himself. Brayandli could only stare down at the shorter young man. There was still a fleck of dried blood on that freckled chin. Brayandli opened his mouth to speak, for the Nightingale scion had let a minute pass with no reply—but abruptly, Taowren’s face turned, full to the brim with impish glee. “…Brandy.”
“There is no alcohol here…” Brayandli started to shake his head. Wasn’t Taowren already awfully inebriated? He couldn’t possibly want to drink more, could he? “...and I do not think you should have any more.”
“No, no. Brandy is you! I’m giving you a nickname, obviously.” The smirk wasn’t catty, but Brayandli couldn’t decide what exactly it was, “How does Brandy sound? I think it’s pretty good.”
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