faderift | [open] well we could be friends, we could shake hands

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[open] well we could be friends, we could shake hands

WHO: Mado and you
WHAT: he's back
WHEN: early Kingsway
WHERE: the Gallows
NOTES: man dog dog man bird

I. I keep 'em close (for Ellie)

Maker only knows how long he's been flying, or if he spent the whole time as a pigeon, but when Mado returns to the Gallows it's in this form, late at night, and he makes a beeline for a familiar window of the tower.
Fluttering onto the sill, he nudges the glass open with his beak, and, seeing that (I'm taking a liberty here) she's still awake, pecks lightly on the windowframe to alert her of his presence.

II. I keep 'em real close (OTA)

After a two-month absence, it feels strange to simply come strolling back into work and wave hello to everyone who may or may not have missed or even noticed he was gone, so Mado opts to ease back into his presence in the Gallows by spending most of his time in canine form. Those who greet him are bound to see a quick transformation and receive a hug (or a handshake, or simply a hello, whatever they prefer), but to all other parties there simply is a little brown and white dog where there wasn't before, trotting about the courtyard, sleeping by fireplaces and under carts, and occasionally sitting perfectly still to watch the passersby with an uncanny awareness in his canine face.

III. So no one can take them from me (OTA)

There's still one realm where his human senses outperform his canine ones, and that's up in the Scouting office, where Mado sits placid and cross-legged as he leans over what, at first glance, might appear to be paperwork: and on a closer look, one might identify it as the Trade alphabet, dutifully written over and over, with each iteration finding new clarity.

There is a separate parchment with very simple words copied from a book, and also his name in both its forms, Amador and Mado, written in careful columns to practice the shape of the words.

He seems quite serene as he works, but is never one to turn away an interruption.

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The first time Jude catches the scent, it stops him in his tracks. It's different; not quite a shifter, but not so very unlike, either.

It's been a few months since he's arrived, enough for him to not place the fresh scent alongside the faint ones that were there when he came.

But he tracks it, carefully. Finds the places the person switches from dog, to man, and back again. There are whiffs of bird, too, and just once Jude thinks he feels a flicker at the edge of his sentinel, a little tug of gravity, of tide moving.

The fact that it is so still otherwise makes it dizzying.

It takes him very little time to find the source: a brown and white dog settled in late afternoon shade under a cart.

He approaches in wolf form: black and brindle with yellow eyes, otherworldly huge, with the same uncanny eyes. Head down, ears pricked forward, tail held cricked to one side. Inquisitive.

Dozing, it takes Mado a moment to catch the scent of his visitor. It's not unheard of to encounter a wolf in civilized places, but it certainly is still rare, and he lifts his head quickly when struck by the truth of it. It's then that he's able to see just how large the creature is, and note of course that it's looking right at him, which would strike fear into the heart of any reasonable human, let alone any other animal.

So he keeps low, ears folded and tail wagging submissively in greeting, as he's learned to do with other dogs (and people, to be fair): it's the best he can do to head off trouble at the pass, presenting himself as harmless and agreeable as he crawls out from under the cart.

It's the right thing to do. Jude is far from the dominant sort of wolf, but heirarchy and strength is something important to his kind, and the stranger is enough to pick at those old bonds in his wolf.

It soothes his wolf, lets his human and sentinel come to the forefront as he sniffs at the stranger's muzzle, his ears, and finishes with a perfunctory lick across his snout.

The energy around him relaxes, soothing them both, like a warm wash of sunlight. The earth doesn't speak to him the same way here, not with words or fully formed thoughts, but the approval is clear.

Ally. Friend. Safe. Safe.

Jude mouths him again, playful and gentle as he would be with a pup, and wags his tail once, before leaping back and into a play-bow.

Fully rolling onto his side and then his back, paws curled against himself, Mado lets the wolf take stock of him without argument. It isn't until that strange shift in feeling, from the tension of a canine meeting to such a pleasant warmth creeping in, that it occurs to him something is different about this one.

He rolls to his feet, ears perking and flattening in an uncertain rhythm as his tail flops back and forth, trying to get a read on the stranger. He good-naturedly mimics the bow, but dares to look the wolf in the eyes, looking for something more than an animal.

To Jude, the difference between Shifter and wild animal is something to be sensed easily, and it's always in the eyes.

He steadily meets the stranger's gaze, wolf-yellow but with all of the intelligence and warmth of a person, and pleased to see him.

Jude swishes his tail again, standing tall, before going into the bow again, jumping forward with a woof, then sideways. Puppyish, to urge the both of them into a game of chase.

It's something that could so easily turn threatening, given that it comes from a supernaturally large wolf, but the joy is painfully and breathlessly sincere.

Friend. Run. Friend. Run with me.

Edited 2022-09-08 23:57 (UTC)

It's completely unheard of for another canid to react with such friendliness, but Mado isn't about to look a gift wolf in the mouth. Easily overtaken by emotion even in his human state, he gladly leaps to his feet and takes off after the wolf, feeling a wash of delight and liberation at having made a friend with so little effort.
He's not the type to over-analyze, but it feels different somehow, like they've already known one another for years.

This is what Jude is used to. The immediate relaxation and comfort, the instant understanding. Like knowing like.

They bound together, circling each other with games of chase, and though Jude playfully snaps at Mado a couple of times he doesn't come anywhere near bruising or nicking him; impeccable manners, earned while playing with pups.

They chase each other around the courtyard for what seems like ages, before he flops down in the cool shade of the grass, tongue-out panting. He exudes happiness, contentment, and perhaps somewhere, a bit of relief.

Intense curiosity, too. But that can wait.

When the game ends, Mado takes the opportunity to flop right over Jude, his much smaller frame barely reaching across the wolf's middle. Then, tail still wagging, he extends his head to offer a few licks around the larger canine's muzzle, the grateful kisses of a welcomed subordinate.

Jude thumps his tail in the cool grass, snuffles Mado's ears, and otherwise returns the affection with gentler sniffs, as he would a pup. He flops onto his side, allowing the puppy-pile without hesitation.

Does one of those big inhales and contented sighs.

His wolf is happy and content. His Sentinel clamors, and he reaches out. Something gentle, curious. A consciousness that brushes just barely against Mado's own. Not trying to pry, just to touch. To marvel at not being alone.

Hello, friend. Hello.

What Jude finds in his light probing is a relief so profound it can only have come from the quelling of desperation: to be accepted, wanted, loved. The certainty with which Mado feels their kinship has lifted a great weight from his heart, however wild and unspoken it may be.

He's not alone either. Not anymore.

Oh. There he is.

The sentinel in him beats like a heart, a low thrumming wash of warmth, of comfort. Not to hypnotize but to ease. There is hurt here, loneliness. On Jude's side too.

Relief.

Jude swipes his tongue gently over the bridge of Mado's nose, one more soothing kiss before he eases down into the grass. There are fewer words here in this form, but just as many ideas. Wolves don't need to talk so much as they simply feel.

The two of them have earned a small nap.

Some time later, Jude stirs, gives Mado's ears a sniff before he gets to his feet, shaking off. Bits of fluff from his undercoat fly into the air, but he doesn't pause to mind it.

Food, comes the brush of consciousness against Mado's own, and Jude swings his tail to one side in invitation as he leads a trot towards the kitchens.

Hopping immediately into action, Mado hurries to trot ahead of the wolf, tail wagging and ears high; he knows where the good food is, and turns back to do a little beckoning dance. Though he can't communicate in the same way Jude can, it's clear that he means to say follow me.

Jude lifts his tail in a doggish wag, a wolf that speaks the language of many other creatures, and lopes after him. He'll never have that little bounce in how he moves, but he still manages to be playful.

As it turns out, Mado-the-dog has most of the kitchen staff wrapped around his little dewclaw. They're a bit alarmed to see the size and wildness of his friend, but when he takes care to do his little circus tricks for them, any wariness that was there melts away and both canines make out handsomely, with a beef bone each.

It's later, after they've both gnawed their fill in the shaded space between towers, that Mado finally and tentatively transforms. He has questions, questions he can't ask as a dog, and he knows the wolf is no ordinary animal either.

The kitchen staff are less familiar with Jude in his wolf form. Jude is scrupulously polite and makes a big show of tail-wagging and making sure not to pant -- a gesture that shows off his enormous sharp teeth -- and lets Mado do the "talking" for them both.

Later, Jude effortlessly cracks the bones for them both of them to enable them to lick out the marrow, and the two of them settle with their snack. Jude lifts his head to watch Mado transform, utterly unconcerned with the change and showing no surprise at his new form. He lets his tongue loll out in a smile (frightening, for strangers) and leans in to give his fingertips a friendly lick.

Without further ado, Jude gets to his feet, gives himself a shake, and changes -- into a very large, very nude man.

Unconcerned with that, given that they're mostly concealed from public, Jude holds out his hand to clasp Mado's with the warmth and familiarity of a brother, and settles back down in the grass.

"Jude. It's a pleasure."

Equally unconcerned by Jude's state of undress, Mado instead looks quite happy with what he sees, beaming brightly as he warmly returns the hand clasp.

"Mado," he replies, "or Amador, if you're feeling formal." Once his hand is withdrawn again, he fidgets with the remains of the bone, picking at the ends of it in the manner of one who has difficulty keeping still at the best of times.

"I didn't know there were any others!"

"None I've found," Jude confesses- though it's possible that Mado could be a rifter, he doesn't carry the scent of the Fade around him, something Jude's come to associate.

He passes over the remains of his bone, a small gift of a toy, utterly unconscious.

"But I've only been here a few months."

Long enough to know the area, but not long enough to venture far outside of it.

"Tales of werewolves, but nothing close enough to check on."

Mindlessly accepting the bone, Mado uses it along with his own to drum absently on his leg, a syncopated rhythm that demonstrates some skill in the field.

"Oh, no, werewolves," he shakes his head, "they're something else, cursed. What we do isn't a curse, it's a choice." He pauses, realizing he's unwittingly spoken for Jude as well. "...is it?"

"It is for me. The lines seem different here," Jude acknowledges, holding up his hand. The anchor shard shines there, enough to make his point.

"We're called "werewolves" at home if they want to be offensive. We call ourselves shifters. Usually, it's a choice."

"Shifters," Mado repeats, as though trying out the word in his mouth. "I like that. We call it shapeshifting magic, which I suppose is sort of the same thing!" He grins agreeably.

"Did you choose the wolf?"

"Was born to it," Jude answers, but by his smile, it's what he would have chosen anyway. He can't imagine being anything else.

"But I choose when to shift, my wolf doesn't take me over unless it's a very, very difficult situation."

Life and death, usually.

"Then your magic is something you learned?"

But he feels like a shifter, something deeper than scent.

"How lovely," Mado enthuses, his eyes crinkling at the edges. To be born to it, and raised with it? A true gift.

"Yes. I was still something of a boy when I taught myself how-- I'd seen others do it, in my clan, so I knew it was possible."

"Your clan?"

Jude's voice gentles, in contrast to how the rest of him sharpens. He's not one to hide his emotions, and clearly, the thought of a clan of others like them is reason for celebration.

At least until he realizes that Amador is here, and not with them.

Even as a human, Mado has a good sense for the emotions of others, and he notices that change with a light quickening of his heartbeat. Someone who understands Clan is someone important, as though he didn't already know this of Jude.

"My mother's family," he explains, "the Dalish clan Souvera of Antiva. Do you know much about the Dalish?"

"Only in passing. Nomadic clans that roam through the countryside and forests, keeping from civilization, train their own mages, keep halla as livestock and to pull their... land ships.

"Know the word, definitely gonna pronounce it wrong."

II

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