Chapter Text
The metal circle on the wall had been shooting water onto the floor for about half an hour now, and Razor still had no idea what he was supposed to be doing with it.
He glared daggers at the rustic glass bottles by his feet the girl with the scarlet bunny ears gave him after a rushed explanation of sorts, full of shiny silvery and pinkish potions that smelled funny and that he wasn’t sure he wanted anywhere near him. They were pretty, though, almost hypnotically enticing.
She’d given him a fluffy kind of cloth, too, which he held tightly bundled up like a ribbon around his arms. It felt a little like Andrius’ fur. Homey. Warm. He frowned, nuzzling his cheek on the soft tassels and keeping his eyes firmly locked on the metal circle with an expression of sheer bewilderment.
Why was human life so… complicated? Razor saw nothing wrong with bathing in the nearest river whenever he got the chance, but apparently that wasn’t something other people did. Then again, Andrius said he shouldn’t wash in the rain either, so what was all this about? Andrius was never wrong.
He feebly tried to remember what the bunny-eared girl said before she left with a spectacular lack of success. Wasn’t she only next door? Maybe he could go ask her what to do.
No, that seemed dangerous. The big rooms underneath him were too noisy, too raucous with a jarring, unfamiliar kind of sound; the discordant type that usually meant something sinister was lurking. He didn’t understand how the red haired man remained so unfazed by it, blank stare and all as he handed out glasses of mysterious purple sap to pink-faced patrons across the counter.
Still, it was kind of him to let him stay here. “Humans do this sorta thing.” The bunny girl mentioned offhandedly when she led him up a set of spiraling tree planks, “It’s called looking out for each other.”
A resolute glint had flickered across Razor’s eyes. “I… I pay him back!”
After mulling it over for a second and deciding that dropping several dead boars on the desk might be a gesture humans wouldn’t understand, he’d snatched a little wicker basket from the back of the big box next to the wall full of hooked wooden bows and spent the afternoon filling it with fruits and berries beyond the city walls. He also found some pretty eggs up a tree, patterned like the sea in rough weather, and nestled them in amongst the apples just for good measure.
The red man looked almost surprised upon discovering the impressive haul on the counter that evening (Razor would know- he was watching through the window to make sure another animal wouldn’t steal it). He hoped that he knew it was from him. That girl from the flower shop told him that people usually left inky notes tied with a twizzle of rope, which sounded like a perfect idea.
And it would've been, if he could read.
Looking back, he should’ve asked her to pen something for him. She probably would’ve done if he did. As it turns out, people were actually a lot... nicer than he’d been told, a lot more considerate, like a really big wolf pack.
However, this particular human problem, with its weird metal disk and slime bottles and cuddly blankets, couldn’t be helped with consideration or wicker baskets. It seemed like he’d have to figure this one out himself. Nothing he wasn’t used to.
Gingerly, he stepped beneath the flowing stream of water and let it gently pitter-patter against his face. To his surprise, it was pleasantly warm and Razor found himself leaning up on his tip-toes to get closer. Evocative, but strangely soothing.
He still wasn’t sure of the purpose of the cloth though. Was he meant to pile it up with the rest of his things, stuffed onto a square in the corner of the bathroom (was that the word?), or tie it around his waist like those boys at Cider Lake do during the spring? Neither option made sense, so he held onto it just in case.
Disappointingly, he found it didn’t take on the same silky sheen of a wolf’s fur when wet, but instead felt a lot stringier and more cumbersome as he carded his hand through it. Its dewiness was similar to the few clothes he owned, but Andrius didn’t like him going out in the rain unless absolutely necessary, so he couldn’t really remember the sensation of it as it clung like limpets to his skin. Only the bitter chill that’d follow.
“You’ll get sick.” Andrius had reprimanded gently one time he got bored and ventured out, carrying him back to the den in his mouth as Razor’s teeth chattered and his lips swum with blue, “Your fur doesn’t keep you warm like ours does.”
He stood, eyes shut, under the water for a bit longer, reminiscing, before the curiosity nagging at his mind got the better of him and he reached down to grab one of the pretty glass bottles from the floor. It was a lot more magic-looking up close; all swirly and glittering and the colour of sunsettias, like the sky on a clear evening.
Razor aggressively yanked the delicate bauble off the top and peered in, the poignant aroma of windwheel aster wafting into his nose. What was he supposed to do with this again? What did the bunny girl say…? “Drink it” ? “Don’t drink it” ?
Hesitant, he stuck a finger into the bottle and held it up in front of his face, strategically away from the water, now coated in an irresistible rosy sheen . He tilted his head and slipped the tip of his tongue out between his lips.
Something this enchanting must taste good by association. That was something he’d worked out over the course of his life- the prettier a berry looked, the nicer it’d taste. Except wolfhooks. Those were just weird.
His instincts hadn’t failed him. Yet.
And so, Razor abruptly realized that there was a first time for everything as he coughed and spluttered at the foul taste wrapping itself around his tongue. That didn’t taste like sunsettias at all; more like being electrocuted. Andrius never warned him about this!
The bottle slipped out of his hand as he jolted backwards and steadied himself pathetically against the wall whilst he hacked his throat to pieces, cleanly breaking in two with a harsh snap and dressing his feet in a cosmic galaxy of coral. The leftover liquid slithered into the small holes coating the other circle of metal he was stood on and vanished from sight.
What now? Try again as always, he assumed. Remember: this magic potion isn’t food.
He picked up the smaller bottle and tore the top off with the same vigor as before, letting it fall somewhere amongst the feathery foam circling his toes. Sniffing the metallic-looking liquid inside, he felt his body loosen at the familiarly serene scent of the lampgrass that freckled the path near home, the laze that would wash over him on late summer afternoons cradling him like ocean waves.
Now that he thought about it, he actually felt a little sleepy. The water was certainly hotter than the rivers even during the warmest of days, so perhaps that was it. It was a safe sort of feeling, like the warm hug of lupine body heat and ringlets of grey tickling his cheeks.
Razor poured a generous fistful of the liquid onto his hand and stared at it for a bit, blinking. He glanced at the cloth he’d tossed over his shoulder, pulling the corner towards him and callously slathering it over his palm.
To his amazement, tiny bubbles began to spring to life on his fingertips, only seeming to grow larger and gleam with a mesmerizing rainbow sheen as he experimentally dabbled the mixture onto his chest and rubbed at it with the cloth again. This had to be some sort of human magic, or at least a Vision he’d never seen before. He added it to his internal list of things to ask the bunny girl about.
Holding the bottle upside down over his head, he hummed contentedly as he felt the lamp-grassy liquid cascade down onto his heavy locks of hair and trickle across the back of his neck until the glass was entirely barren. It left a glittery hue on his shoulder when it dripped from his cheeks, carving a whimsical desire path along his arm and the crook of his elbow.
He briskly pushed the cloth back and forth over his crown and let a delighted gasp slip from his lips at the cloud of ethereal white fluff coating his hands like frosting. It looked like snow, but probably didn’t taste like it if the former betrayal of the pinky sunsettia juice was anything to go by. If there was one thing Razor knew how to do, it was to not make the same mistake twice.
There was a loud knock at the door. “Razor?” Ah, the bunny girl. Her voice was laced with an unbefitting tinge of concern. “Are you okay? I thought I heard something break.”
A beat passed, his brain short-circuiting trying to think of a response. “Yes. The bottle break.”
He heard the bunny girl sigh in that way humans do when they stop being worried. “Phew, that’s a relief!” She paused for a moment, a distant thud booming from somewhere below them. “Is there any on the floor? The glass?”
“There’s two… two parts!”
“Okay, don’t touch it!”
“Why?”
“It’s sharp!” Razor made out a faint rustling sound over the thrum of the water as if she was unraveling something. “Oh, yeah, are you done in the shower yet? Diluc doesn't want all the hot water used up.”
Diluc? That was the red haired man, wasn’t it? Call it a hunch, but Razor was fairly certain that getting on his bad side wouldn’t be a great idea. “Yes.”
Wrenching the handle screwed to the naked pipe downwards until the remainders of the water slyly crept away, he watched reluctantly as the bubbles gradually slipped down his body and got slurped into the furtive depths of the lower metal circle. He caught his bottom lip involuntarily sticking out and wrinkled his nose.
The bunny girl must’ve still been lurking outside his door as the sound of somebody rapping their knuckles against solid oak reverberated through the wall. “Is the glass still there?”
“Yes.” Razor replied noncommittally, shaking himself free of any stray droplets of water. “I'll clean.”
He assumed she wanted to check the damage: his family back home were never satisfied just hearing about any miscellaneous destruction he might’ve got up to, and humans were animals too so they couldn’t be that different.
Swiftly, he tugged his trousers on and jerked his ratty old shirt over his head before heading to the door, leaving a thin trail of dampness in his wake. No matter how hard he tried, he didn’t think he’d ever understand humanity’s obsession with covering themselves in glitzy pieces of fabric, but he’d unfortunately learnt the hard way that being without said pieces of fabric wasn’t a generally accepted thing (sorry, small pink fairy creature).
That fairy creature haughtily explained that people wore them to cover up when it’s cold or to protect themselves, he recalled, or hide things they didn’t want other people to see, but something still wasn’t quite clicking. The countless scars marring his skin were relics he’d been taught to show with pride, a breathing record of all the battles and experiences he’d survived, each one a cautionary tale to spin to the younger members of his pack. Why would anyone want to cover up their own history?
“Be careful!” The bunny girl called with a heavy yawn, sounding far away, “Use some of the toilet paper to pick it up- ya know, the white thing that’s rolled up like a starconch- or you’ll hurt yourself!”
Part of Razor was glad she apparently had retreated back to her room so he wouldn’t have to suffer through the ordeal that was locking and unlocking doors, what with all its sticky-out bits of metal and things you’re meant to twist in random directions. Plus there was the issue of trying to find the other bit of metal with the peculiar shape on one end, which could be back in Wolvendom for all he knew.
Upon closer inspection, he noticed a small fold of a chalky-coloured something on his side of the door atop the soft carpet. It was kind of stretchy, with a big fluffy square in the middle of it and tiny dots puncturing one side. This was called a… bangage? Bangade? Yes, a bangade, the thing used for stopping blood.
He quickly checked the soles of his feet for cuts and, upon finding them entirely clean, ventured back into the bathroom to deal with the glass. Clasping the fluffy square over his fingers, he carefully picked up each piece and traced the cracks habitually through the fabric, threatening points and edges jutting towards the wall. Problem solved. He hoped Andrius was proud of him.
Wait, where should he go from here? Was he meant to hold onto it forever? Until it crumbled away? He couldn’t just bury it in the ground like he did back home.
Tiredly, he huffed a breath through his teeth and sagged his shoulders. Human life was so exhausting.
Amber resisted the urge to smile like a fool as the sound of a defeated grunt slipped through the walls, twirling her quill on her thumb as she settled relaxedly against the chair at her desk to scribble her nightly report. Being put on wolf-boy duty was definitely the highlight of her career so far, despite the abundance of mystified stares she garnered gently guiding him through the city earlier that day.
Amongst that glee, however, laid a distinct pang of pity. She’d only ended up in this predicament after he'd shyly approached her whilst she was on patrol, dejectedness twisting itself into his battered expression as he sluggishly dragged his claymore along the dirt behind him. “I can’t stay with lupical… They are fighting lots, but it’s only wolves fight. Help. Please.”
Whatever must’ve pushed him to that point, Amber didn’t know, but she figured it must’ve been worse than he let on judging by how he’d never struck her as the type to give in from the few and far between encounters they’d had. Bringing him somewhere safer seemed the only thought worth considering and getting the boy under a shower seemed like a good place to start.
The floorboards in the other room screeched as if being wedged open before clanging shut with a ceramic-like clink, and she made a mental note to inform Diluc of the possibly glassy inclusion to the tavern’s interior design, starting for the door again on a new mission to coerce Razor into discovering the dustbin she’d conveniently placed by the wardrobe that he’d somehow managed to miss.
There came another set of frustrated growls followed by the distinctly loud smack of the window shutters slamming outwards against the wall, and this time Amber chuckled quietly with endearment. He’d get the hang of it eventually.