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When Ballister told Ambrosius that Nimona was still here after making a run to his hideout, his initial reaction was to pat his shoulder in sympathy. This was part of the grieving process. Ballister may have found something that reminded him of the spunky kid and kept her alive inside his heart.
However, when the pink weasel popped out from behind his shoulder, he fell over with the most embarrassing screech he had ever let out in his life. It was bad enough that the weasel was cackling at him, but the love of his life also choked on a snort.
To say the atmosphere in the hideout-turned-second home was tense was an understatement. Nimona and Ambrosius hardly knew each other, and the last time they had looked at each other was right before the entire guard force launched rockets at her.
Ballister stared down Nimona like a stern parent who told their kid to behave in front of their new babysitter. Ambrosius smiled to himself, thinking about how paternal he looked. The protectiveness, heart, and ability to launch into scolding when needed. His imagination was starting to go off-track, thinking about whether Bal would like to adopt a kid or two in the future, how big their house would need to be, if they would hyphenate their last names…
“– even if you two cannot get along, at least be friendly . You do not have to be friends, but at least try to act with respect. Do you understand?”
“’kay, ‘oss,” she muttered through a slice of pizza.
Ballister left the room, leaving the ex-captain of the guard alone with the shape-shifting creature he was once convinced would destroy everyone. Said creature was now in the form of a teenage girl, licking pizza grease off her fingers and half-mumbling the lyrics to some pop-punk song.
Ambrosius was the first to break the silence. “So…” Nimona stared at him, instantly tanking his confidence. “Um… Bal told me about your side of the whole… uh…” She continued staring at him, causing him to sweat like a garden hose while attempting to pick his words carefully. “And I, I now know what happened with the queen and, um, the–”
Ambrosius finally stopped attempting to skip around the issue, kneeling in front of the shapeshifter with his head down dramatically. “I’m so sorry for trying to arrest you!” Nimona’s expression did not change, but she slightly tilted her head. “I was so caught up in pleasing The Director that I did not use common sense and try to extend an olive branch, I understand if you still hate me, but I wanted to let you know that I will never forgive myself for any of the actions I’ve pulled against you and Bal–”
“How are knights given their last names?”
“Uh…” That question caught Ambrosius off-guard. He wrestled with the steering wheel of his mind, attempting to take the hard right the conversation had gone. He silently formed several shapes with his mouth, not satisfied enough with his immediate answers to go through with it. He sighed, opting to sit back on the couch.
Nimona leaned forward in her seat, still staring into the ex-captain’s soul, but this time with curiosity. She blinked twice, which then alerted him that he had not spoken for quite a while.
“It’s just based on our most prominent traits, I think? They just watch how we act and then give us the name without really telling us beforehand.” His face softened. “For Bal, his determination to be a knight despite not being of noble blood earned him the ‘bold’ part of his name. He may have been shy when confiding to me about whether he deserved to be a knight, but wow… his resolve in the middle of fights…” Ambrosius stared off into space as he replayed clearly pleasant memories in his head.
His lovestruck expression soon turned to annoyance. “Who decided to give Todd the ‘Sureblade’ name, though? Maybe it's because he always wants to fight, that would make sense, but I don’t think he deserves something that cool–”
Nimona evilly raised her eyebrows. “So, ‘Goldenloin?’ Was your dick game that obvious?”
He squawked in surprise as his entire face flushed bright red.
Her toothy smile only grew wider, taking on an exaggerated announcer voice. “All rise for Knight Goldendick!”
“I– what th– my– Nimona!” His lips opened and closed as he tried to collect his scrambled thoughts. “That is not appropriate for little kids to say!”
She scoffed. “What is it with you ex-knights and thinking I’m some little kid?”
Nimona rapidly shifted into a disgusting decomposing old lady with skin barely hanging onto her bones and eyes popping out of their sockets. The smell of cells deteriorating filled the room, which would cause anyone within a mile to gag. “I’m, like, a couple of millennia old, y’know!”
His stomach churned. “Oh…!” He thought of the thousand-year-old scroll given to him by the person who never truly cared about the well-being of her people. “Right…”
The shapeshifter went back to her teenage punk human form, perching on the arm of the chair.
Although the atmosphere was still awkward, it was certainly less tense. There was no ‘I forgive you’ or ‘it’s alright that you tried to murder me and your then-ex-boyfriend since you seem chill now,’ or any form of acknowledgment of his apology, but Nimona seemed comfortable enough.
Although she continued to sit in the same squatting position, she popped her lips obnoxiously while tapping her fingers on her knees, not being able to exist quietly. Neither the person nor the not-a-people could stand the silence, but a lot of conversation they could create was not comfortable in the least. Nevertheless, speaking was the only way they could make some kind of relationship to please Ballister and get to know the other person they had been pitted against for so long.
“I hate to ask… but what was Gloreth really like?”
Nimona’s expression held so many mixed emotions, combining together in a broth of grief. The expression of pain had a single glimmer of love and fondness, which then was washed over by betrayal. Her first real friend had wrung her through nearly every emotion she could think of.
Nimona finally settled on, “She was blonde.”
He scoffed. “Alright, history got one thing right about her.”
“Yeah, but when I met her as a kid, her hair was shoulder-length, not the knee-length mane in that… scroll.” When she was being hunted by the entire kingdom, the propaganda within that piece of shit scroll had been terrifying. In hindsight, when she was now actually safe , it was almost amusing how they depicted that tiny kid with a wooden sword as this godlike warrior. “History has been a lie!”
Ambrosius reached up to the quiff he remembered having since he was a pre-teen. “To be honest, I’ve always wanted to have long hair.”
Nimona tilted her head in confusion. “Why didn’t you grow it out? It’s your hair!”
“The Director insisted that it was so my hair wouldn’t get in the way while fighting…” Ambrosius paused, collecting his thoughts as he processed that she was dead and couldn’t listen this time. “... but I think it was to uphold the image of the ideal manly hero of the realm.”
Nimona clicked her tongue. “They worshipped a female knight and still tried to make you appear manly?”
Ambrosius sighed, crumpling into himself. “I don’t know… I still remember them stuffing me with protein to put this muscle in my chest and shoulders.” Memories flooded back of the staff continuing to plop more and more food onto his plate, forcing him to constantly eat. It wasn’t a matter of strength, it was their idea of beauty somehow equating to competence. The binging made him constantly nauseous, which grew worse in training when he did not have enough time to digest everything before exercise. “It was torture within my own body.” He hesitantly touched his stomach, which was only just starting to get some healthy pudge over the previously dehydrated abdominal muscles.
Nimona’s playful and sassy expression melted away in recognition. She carefully clambered down from the chair’s arm, taking a few steps towards the ex-knight. Her eyes examined his face.
“Listen, coming from a shape-shifter to a pathetic single-formed being, just do what you want with your body.” He peeked up at her, about to argue, but then realized how fruitless it was to get in a word when her expression was starting to get more energetic. “Cover yourself in tattoos! Pierce every place you can! Grow out your armpit hair!”
“I actually don’t like the texture of my armpit hair rubbing against–”
“Whatever. Point is, you can make your hair long if ya want, who gives a shit?”
He smiled shyly, wistfully thinking of the times he doodled himself with long hair in his notebook. “Thank you, but my hair grows slower than a turtle.” He thought carefully, daring himself to think rebelliously. “Maybe I could… dye it?” His cautious tone of voice was pathetic.
“You already decided to dye your hair bleach blond, it’s not that crazy.”
“That’s different, it was because the institution wanted to make me look like her .”
There was an unspoken understanding between them.
Ambrosius decided to switch the topic to a question that was on his mind while attempting to arrest her. “What color is your hair, exactly? It’s pinkish-orangish, almost like salmon, but I’m–”
Nimona instantly shifted into a flopping salmon on the floor, gasping for dissolved oxygen in the water that was not there.
His blood pressure would probably be permanently messed up after only a few minutes with her.
The hair dryer whipped around his hair, shaping the perfectly maintained locks into goofy shapes he would never be seen alive with in public. The hair-dyeing process was just as unpleasant as he remembered, this time being coupled with Nimona aggressively raking her fingertips across his scalp during the application stage. However, the biggest difference was that there was nobody who had control over his body besides him and this chaotic weirdo who was more mischievous than malicious.
As if on cue, the mischievous creature blew the hair dryer right in his face before turning it off.
“Ta-da~!” Nimona sang, dumping him out of the makeshift barber’s chair.
Ambrosius managed to do a three-point landing instead of face-planting, yet it still looked ridiculous from how dramatic he was with the pose.
Nimona shifted into a gorilla for the additional arm strength to grab a floor-length mirror. It was cracked, but it would still do the job just fine. “A’ight, Sir Extra, let’s check out your fabulous locks.”
Ambrosius grabbed the sides of his knees, groaning as he lifted himself up.
He softly gasped as he looked in the mirror. The blond mane of hair that had served as a reminder of the pressure of being like his many-great grandmother was now gone. The tuft was now a dark violet which seemed to shimmer like the ocean during a sunset or strong wine. Ambrosius carefully touched his hair in near disbelief that he was actually allowed to do this, have this, even want this.
The former knight was nearly catatonic, staring at his reflection until his vision was blurry from tears. After he blinked them away, he slowly waved his hand as if to confirm that the image in the mirror was actually him. As the Ambrosius in the mirror copied him, he smiled wider than he had ever had in his life.
He spun around to look at the shapeshifter who was now a baby giraffe for some reason unknown. Without hesitation, he threw his arms around her neck to squeeze her tightly. As Nimona comprehended the hug, she realized she needed to reciprocate this show of friendship.
Ambrosius yelped as he was suddenly wrapped up by a boa constrictor. Despite their limited time together, he did not feel in danger at all even though his evolutionary instincts told him to fight his way out. Once the surprise wore off, he pushed his cheek into Nimona’s side. “... thank you…”
Nimona unraveled herself, “Glad you enjoy, Goldendick!”
Ambrosius made a face. “I hereby renounce the ‘Golden’ title.” He looked off into the distance, although the farthest he could look to was the wall nine feet away from him. “I don’t want anything to do with my ancestor Gloreth with her gold hair or the image of the bright knight of the realm.”
“Alright, Purpledick!”
“I don’t like that either.”
“Pick a lane, dude!”