All Hail the King

Thread Status: (open/closed)
Players involved: gabe, haji
Characters involved: Markus (gabe), Nathaniel (haji)
Setting: Seliel City, the Leader's Quarters. It is shortly after a close - but not too close - victory for Nathaniel. It is early evening.
Weather: Partly cloudy with a pleasant breeze. The sun is beginning to set and the city is aglow with festivities. As it should be.


---


Nathaniel could have won by a landslide. He could have twirled his fingers like a puppeteer and made the ballots, the polls, and the propaganda tout his assured victory and there wasn't a single thing anybody could have done to stop him. His elected leadership was his gods given right as a superior being knitted of magic; it tasted delicious.

It had gone so smoothly as well. Even in the twilight hours while the counts were being done and redone, it was like he was trailing his fingers down the smoothness of his husband's back. Crackling with malice internally but looking hopeful in the public eye. Gods these peoples were so stupid it was embarrassing. They'd never had real leadership. Not really.

And wasn't it his civil duty to correct that?

The house that elected leaders lived in was as beautiful and sturdy as he was. Polished floors made of exquisite black stone and bathed in the orange glow of dozens of magically fueled lamps every few steps were the dullest features. High ceilings that could barely contain Nathaniel's ego, elegant tapestries depicting the legends of creation and climactic battles between gods, demigods, and whatever else the oaf who occupied this place previously thought was fancy. It was tacky at best.

The whole place was going to need to be redecorated, but it would suffice for one night.

Nathaniel stood on the balcony of the top floor of his new estate. He resumed a human form, though his robes - cloyingly orange - billowed out behind him in the breeze. He looked upon his city with pride. He'd taken this. He owned half of it, and he was going to make some major changes to this stagnating mess of a sloppy landfill even if it killed him. Ha!

He'd have to attend a gala later in the evening to deal with the plebeians who, under his command, carried out his victory flawlessly. Rub some elbows, soak in the compliments. All the typical political bullshit that did not interest him in the slightest. He needed to get his cargo ships mobilized and force change into economy. Start paving the way to new standards and sniping every brilliant mind he could from every corner of the world.

Perhaps the economic and industrial boom would put Seliel City back into competition with the rest of the leading travesties. That would be second line of action. First was redrawing district lines. Maybe Markus would be interested in that.

Nathaniel thought to go look for his lovely husband. The light of his life and the biggest source of inspiration. How could Nathaniel change the city to better suit his husband's wants and needs? More space for himself? More stomping ground, more shiny objects to take from others? They could draw lines together and then Nathaniel would make it happen.

Where was Markus?

Markus wheeled in the night sky, catching an updraft and allowing it to carry him even higher. The city beneath him looked like a bauble, shiny and appetizing. This is mine, it belongs to me, he thought, in a fit of corvid possessiveness. Distantly he registered that tonight was the night his bright flame of a husband would be winning what he called an election. Apparently it was necessary to the rule of the place. Markus always found it trivial, politicking and winning over the masses. He and his conspiracy could easily terrorize the citizenry, cowing them into acceptance of his dominance of them and the city. However, dearest Nathaniel had gone through the pains of explaining the elections and his plan to Markus, who admittedly had not been listening as attentively as he'd pretended. 

The house his husband had recently acquired was but a speck beneath him. It was tacky, but he liked the black floors and high ceilings. Everything else could be fixed, and Nathaniel was rich enough to see it done. He coughed out a noise that sounded like laughter. Nathaniel would fix everything for him, nice and pretty and sweet, the way he liked it. Nathaniel was a proper husband. 

He descended, wheeling slowly until the balcony rushed up at him. He let out a raucous squaw and flared his huge wings wide, thrusting his feet forward, his wickedly sharp talons spread. Alighted on the balcony, he turned his head to regard his lamplight lover. He cocked his head down, squawed again, and jumped down to the tiled floor, batting his wings to orient himself. He stalked around the balcony in the limping sway of a mean bird bastard. The public knew him, Markus Justinius, as a model-pretty man, a cold, cruel looking beauty. He could fly in his man form, but Markus never liked to. Men were not made to fly, they were hardly aerodynamic, and certainly looked funny, and their arms were useless in the sky, and their feet were good for nothing. 

As he fumed about the silliness of a man flying amongst the birds, he extended his wings forward, touching the railing. His tail feathers spread and lengthened, and his wings split and grew long down his back, tucking themselves almost immediately, even while the feathers on his first pair of wings shrank revealing smooth gray skin. His talons shrank, his fingers aligned properly, and he shook his head, feathers lengthening and thinning even as his beak receded and warped. He cast a one-eyed glance at his husband, his liquidy black eye taking in the handsome elemental, appreciating his form. Men were by and large ungainly and disgusting creatures, but Nathaniel was something otherworldly. His man form was merely a shell and it was still one of the prettiest things that Markus had ever laid eyes on. 

Mine, he thought. His skin prickled in the cold air, but he merely shuffled his wings to fold around his body, and crossed his bare legs at the ankle, leaning his head on the back of his hands. 

"Are we celebrating you legally owning my city?"

"We are celebrating my legal ownership of a dumpster, my love," Nathaniel replied almost immediately, not turning away from the sparking mess just yet. "If you want to claim ownership of garbage, be my guest. But it's not worthy of you. At least let me make it pretty for you first."

He finally pulled himself away and back into the present. They would have to be getting ready soon and the house was still being inspected for any magical obstructions that were not of Nathaniel's design. As soon as everything we scoured out, he could appropriately furnish it. He thought briefly of allowing the filthiest residents in the poorest districts have the tacky pieces, but they hadn't deserved it yet.

He'd reconsider when they worshipped him without question. Nathaniel had to weed out the weakest ones and then he could make everything pretty. One thing at a time. Or two.

Nathaniel looked Markus up and down. The poor thing never wanted to wear clothes outside of the houses and he would allow it. Maybe if they were fast, a more correct celebration would be in order, but there simply wasn't enough privacy just yet. A bug free house, a gala, a conversation, followed by a rigorous polishing of his trophy.

Mine, he thought.

"Unfortunately, you have to wear something presentable to the gala. I anticipate a lot of talking, but you can keep your pretty mouth shut if you don't want to converse with miserable pawns," he said, stroking Markus's feathers. He couldn't decide if it was possessive or loving. (Were they not the same thing?)

He ruffled his feathers to be petty, not bothering to watch as Nathaniel's hand was absently batted away, only to return to sliding against his sleek feathers. His husband was not a man to be deterred, and he could feel the warmth of his longing. 

Markus sighed, and left the balcony, flowing from it to the room, his feathers trailing after him. 

"Well if I'm to wear something to your gala, I cannot go around looking like I don't own something spectacular for such an occasion. Surely you have a tailor for me." 

He turned, allowing his wings to part, showing off a stripe of gray skin starting at his neck and ending at his toes. 

"You may be present at my fitting but please do keep your pretty mouth shut. I know what I should look like."

"Of course I have a tailor for you," Nathaniel said. "I'm not sure if you deserve this one, but I suppose if you are good, you can keep them."

Nathaniel left Markus to his petty displays. He was impossible sometimes and got feathers all over the place. Picky, demanding, and the perfect man for him. What was he even doing with his life right now? About to watch his beautiful husband get dressed properly.

Nathaniel's tailor was a very specific type of awkward. Shuffled around a lot, never looked anyone in the eye, and liked to each parchment paper that had runes on it as payment. Nathaniel suspected the tailor to be some kind of lesser demon, but they could design, cut, fit, and complete ensembles in a very short period of time. It was almost mesmerizing when they had a sewing needle or a machine.

"They'll be here sooner than you think."

At that moment, a short creature - not human by any stretch of the imagination but still trying - shuffled through the house. They looked like a lump under a mountain of mismatched blankets, and long whiskers barely peeked out from the darkness within the fabric. They had Nathaniel's express permission to come in without knocking and though it was alarming how they would suddenly appear like that, but Nathaniel was unfazed. To call it trust would be a lie. Nathaniel had this tailor by the throat under a different name. The best in the city would be his and his alone.

"Make him pretty," Nathaniel demanded. "But poke him if he gets sassy."

The tailor moved awkwardly towards Markus, a measuring tape worming its way around their bony wrists - claws. Something like that. "Ready?"

Markus made an indignant squaw, an ugly sound coming from a throat so pretty. "I am already pretty. He's merely enhancing my beauty." 

And he was quick to buffet the tailor with a wing. "Do not poke me. Ever. I will lift you high into the sky and drop you, watch you scream, and delight in the way your body breaks. Then I will eat your eyes and your liver, dead or alive." 

This was said as conversationally as possible as he spread his wings wide to allow the strange tailor to measure him. 

He may or may not have positioned himself so that Nathaniel could have the best view of the man-body he so delighted in. 

Despite hating the way men looked, Markus somehow had a very desirable man-form, and one that he'd never known until the day he transformed on Nathaniel's balcony a long time ago.

Nathaniel took a seat. He'd have to deal with the horrible furnishing for now, but he was more concerned with Markus being made presentable. It was obvious that he was showing off. Threatening the tailor, splaying his wings, standing straight, deliberate positioning. And to a certain extent, it worked. Nathaniel found himself studying the other intensely, going over every muscle and making mental notes about future intentions.

He had his hand folding and he rested his chin on them, eyes half-lidded. "I don't think that behavior is necessary, my love. You are the most beautiful thing in all of Xira. Would you rather be made to look something other than pretty?"

The tailor was unfazed by the threat, the posturing, or the buffeting. They took their measurements, remaining scarily quiet as they moved around Markus. As soon as they had everything they needed, the fabric blankets that covered them peeled away a little at a time, until a handful of materials in glorious shades of royal blue and purple slipped out and hung in the air.

"These colors?" the tailor asked. It didn't matter who answered.

It was a tad difficult to ruffle Markus. The things that scared men did not necessarily scare birds, no matter if they wore a man's skin or not. The silence and the professionalism of the tailor was greatly appreciated, and he found himself easily soothed by the measuring. When the spooky thing produced the blue and purple, he immediately reached out to touch the blue. "This is pretty." 

Markus didn't even give the purple a glance. Despite it's potential to mesh well with his own color palette, Markus did not appreciate purple, and had not a hint of clothing or jewelry that bore traces of purple. Pettily, he would pick out purple stones or accents out of stolen jewelry. He slid his thumbs over the fabric, appreciative of people hands for situations like this. "Soft, and smooth. I like this." 

He looked to Nathaniel and let the fabric just barely cover him up, making him somewhat decent. The fabric draped along his body like a second skin. "Oh, I like this, this is nice."

"It is very flattering, sir," the tailor said. "I think I have something in mind already, but do you have any preference for cut?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. Purple was one of his favorite colors. It was the color of royalty and carried a subtle malevolence about it when applied in specific situations. After all, what was scarier? Something that is barely a threat? Or something that blend unnaturally well in the night, but still maintains subtle form? It was the latter and if you thought anything else, you were wrong.

"It's a charming color on you," he replied. "Remember, somewhat decent. I don't want anyone getting any ideas so soon. Save that for later, won't you?"

Anybody who so much looked at Markus with the slightest bit of longing was top of the list. Whatever happened to them would happen to them and Nathaniel would enjoy every last bit of their energy torn directly from the body. It would be some positive self-care. He hadn't had that in a long time.

Markus hummed. "I don't want anything symmetrical. And I'd like something tamely unconventional. Nothing in this month's fashion, it's already distasteful." 

Nathaniel could pout all he liked. Markus was a fashion icon, and what he wore often translated to the newest in chic. That being said, he would never wear any color just to please Nate. Not unless he asked sweetly, and they both knew that Nate could not be bothered to beg, not even for what he wanted very much. 

He slid the fabric back into the tailor's hand. "Be creative." 

With that said, he sauntered over to Nathaniel and draped himself across the man's lap, tucking his head into the crook between neck and shoulder. "You look exhausted," he crooned.