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Marcille’s legs moved stiffly, focused on putting one foot after another. This was fine. Good, actually. Yep, she was just a normal citizen. Regular elf, just taking a walk. Nothing to see here, no siree. Picture of perfection.
“I think we’ll have to ask someone for directions,” Kabru said, lifting his face up from the map.
She was going to puke.
“Do…” she took a breath to stop her rattling throat. “Do we need to?”
“We’re most likely not going to find it otherwise.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. This was nothing. She’d done bigger things before. A conversation would be fine.
“...Alright.”
After glancing around the area and assessing who looked the least intimidating, they approached an elven woman in a white chemise dress and blue cloak. She stood at the sidewalk facing the port, anxiously fiddling with the pages of a book she didn’t seem to actually be reading. A nervous person couldn’t be that bad. Probably.
“Hello, many apologies for interrupting you.” Marcille forced her eyes into gentle but thin lines. Lines that said ‘I am dignified. I am your equal.’ Raise your chin, look confident. Best case scenario, she was really friendly and would just point them there immediately. Yeah, yeah.
The woman gave a small start and turned to them, pushing her low ponytail over her shoulder. Her face hardened with small but noticeable annoyance.
Not friendly, not friendly, oh, why couldn’t Kabru have done this?
She knew why, and it was only solidified with the way that the woman pointedly ignored his presence beside Marcille. His talking skills would barely matter in short conversation if someone made it their mission not to listen. She dug her fingernails in her hands clenched behind her back, resisting the urge to pull her hood over head and get away as fast as she could.
“What is the matter?” the woman asked with a thin smile.
“Well, your lady, we were wondering if you would be able to point us to a nearby café. I have not been able to locate it, sadly, and my assistant’s map cannot help.”
See, it was that simple. There was no problem. Just a quick question and- wait why was she looking at Marcille like that? Did she mess up? What did she say?!
Kabru, thank everything, stepped in. “Yes, so sorry, sir. The map must have a defect or something similar.”
… sir?
“Oh, y-yes, sir.” Marcille’s teeth felt sore from the pressure of grinding them. “I apologize greatly. So much walking must have made me delirious.”
The man contemplated them for a moment, then pointed at a nearby building on the corner of the street.
“That place should be where you are looking for. The seafood there is splendid.” He didn’t seem too annoyed. Maybe he was? Marcille couldn’t tell. Maybe he was just letting them go because he was busy. Oh, she has to say something before it gets too quiet.
“Great thanks!” She smiled at him and walked away at a normal pace that anyone walking away from a normal conversation would walk at with normal steps and normal demeanor.
Once a suitable distance away, Kabru leaned over to Marcille. “Take some breaths, you look like you’re about to explode.”
Some breaths?? Yes, let her do that after she tugged these knives out of her lungs.
The evening sun reflected in the café windows, the decorative framing curling around the glass in the shape of smooth waves. The good, clear view of the open sea must have been a big draw for the place, taking advantage of its corner position on the street; the two open walls were covered in windows. The railed stairs leading up to the entrance (Was that why they couldn’t find it before? Marcille seemed to remember walking past steps multiple times during their loops around the block. That was embarrassing.) led to a small balcony with a few tables and customers, behind them a door leading to the interior of the café. A bell dinged as they stepped through it.
“Ah!” A dwarven woman in an apron walked over to them. “Welcome to Bird’s Cove! Take a seat where you like.”
Marcille gave her a nod and a weary smile. The café was moderately sized, with about a dozen tables inside and the ordering counter sitting on the opposite corner from the entrance, snugged cozily between the two non-window walls. She and Kabru found an empty table in a corner; a place far enough from the other customers that no one was likely to overhear anything. Not that they necessarily had secrets to talk about, but Marcille didn’t exactly want to be around people at the moment.
As soon as they sat down, her face flopped onto the table, breathing what she assumed to be the biggest sigh of relief she ever had.
Kabru looked at her with a mixture of pity and his own relief. “I’m assuming I’ll make the order?”
She nodded, or the closest you could do when you’re face planted.
“Do you want water?”
Nod.
“And some basic seafood or-”
Nod.
“...Okay.” He got up and walked over to the counter.
Marcille pulled her head up to where her chin rested on the counter. She let out a breath, blowing stray hairs out of her face.
All in all, it had gone well. She’d been stressed at the idea of having to go to a port far from the castle, especially one known as being a primary port for elves, all for a diplomatic meeting. The meeting itself only lasted an hour, and their conversation was nice and polite. But Laios was right - talking to people was tiring.
Well, Kabru didn’t seem nearly as tired. She wished she knew where he got his energy from because she could barely pull it together.
Even though being the court mage of the nearby kingdom should warrant respect, she didn’t feel eager to share it with the elves they had encountered during their time here, especially given how well known her ‘reputation’ was. ‘The half-elf that almost destroyed the world’. It stung to think about, and even without the back half just knowing she was a half-elf caused some to look at her strangely. Sometimes they might not say anything, but the change was… noticeable. A court magician with long ears and lifespan: intimidating to Tall-men and short-lived races. A court magician with curved ears and barely any knowledge of elven customs: childish to elves and long-lived races.
A half-elf court magician that couldn’t tell an elven man from an elven woman. Ridiculous.
She flinched when the table moved, and looked up at Kabru sitting down.
“Our food should be ready in around five minutes she said.”
“Mm. That’s good.” She pulled herself up, resting her chin in one hand. She instinctively reached for Ambrosia to grip, but she left it behind as a sign of peace and warm welcome to the diplomats. All she could do now was use her other free hand to clutch her arm as a substitute. Even if it stung a little from the tight grip of her nails.
“...... You did good at the meeting today; very authoritative,” Kabru said. “But the tea they served us was kind of bitter, wasn’t it?”
”Hm? Oh, yeah. I didn’t want to comment on it, but it was kinda… bad. Honestly, I was worried it was poisoned for a little bit.”
Kabru let out a small laugh. “I thought so too; I built up an immunity to most poisons a while ago, luckily. But I don’t think anyone in a diplomatic meeting would be bold enough to do that - it would be too obvious.”
“Well, that makes sense.” An immunity to poison would be really useful though.
As the conversation continued, talking about the flowers the café was decorated with, the precarious situations they recently had to pull Laios out of, and the nice food when it arrived a few minutes later, Marcille’s mind felt lighter. Though she didn’t pay it much notice, her sting on her arm faded. Eventually, it turned to the subject of the clothes of the residents of the port town. There was a stark difference between some of the residents: some wearing tough working gear fit for the ships of the port, others dressed in elegance and beauty fit for royalty riding those ships.
Marcille turned her eyes to their fellow customers in the café. A fair few were elves, and she nodded towards one. “Her dress is really pretty, see? I wish I had one of those, ha!”
The long moment in which she waited for Kabru to reply turned her thoughts from casual to nervous. Her taste wasn’t that bad, was it??? Turning towards him, however, she saw he was looking… less amused than her voice had sounded. When he, too, noticed the silence and saw her looking at him, he quickly nodded before turning to look at a nondescript part of the window.
“So I think I recognize these flowers as well,” he said, pointing at another bouquet.
It would be polite to continue with the flow of the conversation he’d changed to. Unfortunately, Marcille had seen him persuade enough people during both political and casual discussion before to notice a change of subject that sharp, and subsequently the probable reason.
“That’s a man, isn’t it,” Marcille said, the disappointment filling her tone as her expression sank.
Kabru’s ‘let's talk about something else!’ smile dropped, and was replaced by a much less calculated expression. Somehow that face was harder to read than a purposefully tricky one, and Marcille couldn’t decide whether it was one of weary, agreed exhaustion, or maybe just plain pity.
Oh jeez, please don’t let it be pity. She could take any of the other options, just don’t let him be looking with pity.
“W-WELL, uh,” Marcille thought that Kabru was right, this was a very very apt time for subject change, yep. “Ha, those flowers, yeah, HA.”
Kabru glanced at the elven man then back to Marcille. “It’s not that strange.”
“Hm?”
“Elves are very androgynous, it’s not that odd to confuse them.”
If he wasn’t going to continue the subject change, maybe she should just do it? It didn’t feel great to talk about how strange it truly was. So she would just laugh it off and agree and move on. Wouldn’t say what she wanted to say, because that would make this already uncomfortable day even more uncomfortable.
However, maybe because of how tired she was, how exhausting the day had been, how full her brain was of irritating, itching thoughts that built up, she didn’t. She just felt the question flow out of her brain, down to her throat, and slip out of her mouth on its own.
“Then why don’t you?”
“Huh? Oh, why don’t I confuse them?”
Marcille nodded.
“Hm.” He rested his chin on his hand. “Well, it’s probably a cultural difference.”
“Cultural?” Given how casually he’d taken the question, Marcille’s tensity loosened up just enough to at least let her take a sip of water.
“I mean, having an elven mother, you’d learn about those sorts of things.”
Marcille’s cheeks puffed as she clapped her hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t spit all over the pretty table.
“ELVEN MOTHER??” she cried out as soon as she swallowed (it occurred to her after the fact that maybe she should keep her voice down, but the other customers, luckily, seemed too preoccupied to notice). Her eyes unwittingly glanced towards his ears, despite knowing she’d see small, round ears befitting a typical Tall-man. But genetics could be weird about things like that, couldn’t they? Was-?
“Oh, I mean- sorry, I mean my adoptive mother. I have an adoptive elven mother.” Kabru shook his head and hands in the universal sign of someone who was experiencing instant regret.
Marcille blinked a few times. Oh. Well, that makes a lot more sense. “Ah. No, sorry, that was on me. I guessed.” Her ears drooped and her mouth crumbled into a squiggly line.
“It’s a fair assumption to make,” Kabru said. “Anyway, that was a large reason as to why I find elven clothes… easier to judge, I guess? I grew up wearing them, so that’d be natural.”
She nodded, but with curiosity. She had no idea Kabru grew up around elves. Really, now that she thought about it, she didn’t know pretty much anything about him that wasn’t having to do with their encounters in the dungeon or anything after that point. She knew that he was a survivor (or really the only survivor) of the ‘Utaya incident’ years ago, which was an instance of a country being destroyed by a demon, but she hadn’t actually looked into it more than that. Of course if he was the only survivor, and probably a kid at the time, he would’ve had to get adopted by someone. He had to go somewhere. She just… didn’t question where or how.
“... What else did she teach you about?”
“Hm?”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be everything. You could just keep telling me about how.. WELL you don't have to, I just…” Marcille flubbed her words, wishing more and more she could just bury herself in a hole.
Kabru titled his head and looked at the ceiling. “Let’s see… she taught me about how stances can also imply gender. Or, well, not taught me, but it’s something I saw.”
Kabru explained the small differences in how elves of different genders typically held themselves, spoke, or looked. He did make a point to note that this knowledge wasn’t some magical power, though. He messed up from time to time, mentioning a member of the Canaries (Otta, Marcille thinks he said) that he assumed to be a man for a short while upon meeting. But still, Marcille absorbed every word. It seemed so complicated, but at the same time so obvious. He explained it so simply, like common knowledge. Knowledge everyone associated with elves for long would know.
Common knowledge they should know. Should learn. Though he had learned a lot from simply being around them for a long time, his mother also directed him on so many little things. His mother told him so much of the culture. That was how even a tall-man could know it. Because of his mother.
So, in the end, she still had no excuse, huh?
“Oh, so that tone indicates a man?” Marcille asked.
Did your mother tell you about it whenever she could?
“Yeah, but like I said, it differs from person to person. It depends really on how you want to talk.”
Or did you ask her? Did you question all those tiny little details?
“Hm, well, do how you or I talk have any implications in the context of the culture?”
Why is it so easy to imagine you examining every little thing? Being filled with delight at understanding a new subject?
“Not exactly. We have a mixture of multiple different tones. But I have noticed that some people unrelated to elves do follow some elven speech patterns. Maybe it spread in certain areas that elves frequent?”
Or was it simple to you? Was it just a part of your life? Rather than delight, was it simply common sense to you? Something even someone who's paying the least attention could know?
“That makes sense.”
Does it really take such a small effort to just know? Something that’s a part of your world if you listen to your mother’s little fun facts rather than brushing them off? Or even if your mother rarely told you, is it your job to ask her? Your job to know you’ll regret not knowing if you don’t ask?
There are so many ways to learn. How can someone not follow a single one?
“Marcille.”
She looked up. When had he stopped talking? Following his eyes, she noticed him glancing at her arm. Quietly, she removed her hand, trying not to look at the deep impressions her nails had made.
“Sorry, I…” On second thought, she couldn’t actually think of anything she was sorry for, but her instincts said she did something wrong, so sorrys were probably necessary.
“No, no,” Kabru waved his hand back and forth. “Nothing’s your fault.”
He tilted his eyes towards the elven man that had earlier been the subject of conversation. “Including little mistakes like that. Like I said, elven culture is different about that.”
“Well- hm, ugh, I mean I know, but- grh-” She sputtered. “I- I should know-... I could at least be a bit better at it, I think…”
Kabru looked at his drink and stirred it for a few seconds in thought.
“You… grew up in Tall-man culture, right? Or at least something close to it?”
“Yes? My father was a Tall-man. He was a court historian. Met my mother through that, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think they got to know each other because they both knew a lot about history. It wasn’t that big of a town either, so my father was ecstatic to meet someone who knew as much as he did.”
“Hm,” Kabru nodded as he took a bite from the seafood on his plate. “What was your town like?”
Marcille tapped her finger on the table. “Well, I mentioned it was small, and so reasonably the school was pretty small too. Basically everyone knew each other. The school events were pretty comfortable because of that- well, they were also big hotspots for gossip too, I think.”
“Events?”
“Field days, school rallies, field trips, those kinds of events.”
Field days where Marcille had to run and run until she couldn’t feel her legs, school rallies where she cheered until her voice was hoarse, field trips where they could roam around farmland for hours. She described each of them, expecting Kabru to get bored at some point, but whenever she looked at him he looked just as invested as before. Not all of them were fully happy memories, some filled with confusion over grade levels and getting tests that were all too easy or all too hard and feeling the stares of every classmate. But actually saying it aloud, she recalled just as many, if not more, happy memories scattered all throughout her childhood.
“There was this one teacher,” Marcille said. “who had a Fox and Geese board for when we had nothing to do for the day. I didn’t win that often, but it was still fun.”
Kabru tilted his head. “Fox and Geese?”
“Oh, you don’t know that one? It’s this board game where you have one fox and a bunch of geese-” She attempted to outline the rules as best she could. As she spoke, she wondered - Fox and Geese was a pretty common game. Not as big as some others, but it was pretty widespread in Tall-men culture at least, from what she knew. Some places used a different name for it, but it was all the same basic board and rules. And yet as she explained it, not once did the curiosity that showed Kabru’s lack of knowledge of it fade from his face. Most Tall-men societies have it, so she didn’t know why Kabru…
Oh.
“So it ends if either the geese trap the fox or the fox eats enough geese?”
“Yes, that’s the gist.” Marcille twirled the fork in her hands for a moment. “... You know, I think I actually have that game somewhere in my closet, if you want to play it sometime.”
“You do?” Kabru looked up at her. “Hm, well, that could be fun!”
Marcille smiled as she took a sip from her drink.
A few minutes later they had pretty much finished their meal, and began to gather their things. Marcille almost let out a small laugh at the irony. She had been exhausted by the long day of talking, and now she felt refreshed because of talking? Either way, at least she wouldn't be tired the whole ride home.
She did have one more thing to ask, though.
“Hey, Kabru?” she said as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Yes?”
“If you have any more memories you could tell me about, I’d love to hear them sometime. I have so many more stories I could talk about for hours. If you ever just want to hang out, tell me!”
Kabru blinked with surprise and tilted his head, considering it for a moment.
“Sure, I would like that.” He had the normal, polite tone he always had, but Marcille noticed the small smile that looked a bit more genuine than the others.
Not knowing what could have been, the world you could have grown up in, the memories you could, or seemingly should, have… It didn’t feel like a big problem, but it had gnawed at Marcille bit by bit. But talking like this, learning fun tidbits and stories, sharing the life she did end up living, it made her feel that gnawing a bit less keenly.
To understand more and share her own… there was a lot to talk about, and it just made her all the more excited.
“If you do want to hear about something on the way back,” Kabru spoke up as they walked down the stairs and out towards the street. “I did read this one book series as a kid that I liked.”
“Oh really? What was it called?”
“It was… The Daltian Clan, I think? It was a while ago but I remember liking it, and the stor……… uh, Marcille? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Oh, there was so much to talk about.