Yaro’s palms burned. She hated everyone like they hated her, so why would her Atho insist on an inn? They were so close. They could make it by the middle of the night if they hurried. Why did they have to wait?

Her Atho opened the door, their long shadows stretched across the foyer as the falling day cast doubt upon them. Yaro stepped in first. She disliked when he did that, courtesy he called it. He should have gone in first, what with his normal face and cheery demeanor. She lumbered in, cloak pulled tightly against her frame, mask bowed so no one could even see that.

The receptionist greeted them with a hearty welcome to ‘New Sornata Inn’. It was a haughty statement of luxury, that the inn was a new age version of a fallen empire. They might as well have called it, ‘spend your entire savings for a night.’ Even the foyer was grotesque opulence: a marble floor, red embroidered tapestries, a large sitting area with velvet cushions and glass tables. Seated in that area were a small group of two tsohtsi, a muzoval, and a humi. They eyed her for a second before returning to their conversation.

Her Atho let the door shut with a hushed sigh and walked with her up to the register. She refused to be so close to the one checking them in, she didn’t want even a whiff of her aura to be felt. She glanced back at the group while her Atho worked to procure a room. 

They were staring at her with a not-so-subtle aura of bitterness and distance. A clear message of, ‘you’re not welcome here.’ She would have liked to listen to them, avoiding that conflict they would surely bring given the chance. But, she was with her Atho; they would not dare. She breathed in the warm, slightly cinnamon scented, air. She would be patient, for his sake.

He bargained for a cheaper room, using most of the money they had earned over the past month. She’d stolen money, though she would say she sold things she would catch like gorgon bones and bison steak. She did that too, but it did not bring in nearly enough to fill their needs. He, on the other hand, worked more socially acceptable jobs, like contracting for construction or cleaning houses. Just enough that they could buy food and cheap lodging for the trip. But now, her Atho deemed it time to splurge. She thought it was too early and said as much. His excuse was that he wanted to treat her to a comfortable and private bed.

He thanked the receptionist as they handed the key, a small pink flame that would unlock the door once they were close. They turned, ready to head to their room on the third floor of the alabaster building. Instead, they were blocked by the group once sitting on the cushions. The muzoval, who clearly lead them in some way, at least in personality and hostility, stared and said, “I don’t think a Dreug should be staying here.”

Yaro clenched her teeth. She knew if she were to respond, they would only draw out her anger. She let her Atho handle them, at least so they would not get kicked out. He often handled these sorts of things, Yaro was far too confident in other methods of conflict resolution. He said in his ‘lets just calm down first’ voice and disarming smile, “we won’t stay long. We’ll be sure to stay out of your way for just tonight.”

The muzoval radiated contempt. “I’m sure you will, mask kisser.”

Her Atho lost his smile, finally realizing that there would be no reasoning with people like this. He stood there, dominating the conversation with silence, a tactic that made Yaro itch. They took the bait, responding by spitting at her Atho’s feet. Yaro lurched, her Atho’s arm blocking her from ripping their throat out. His arm was not the most sturdy, but it didn’t need to be for her. She did not step back.

“We will be leaving now,” her Atho commanded. Then, with his arm now around her lower hip, he led her around the Yon-bound group. They stared at them all the way down the hallway until they made it to the level shift.

---

The breeze of the level shift was nice, it cooled down her palms so they no longer hurt. It reminded her to keep her wits about her, she couldn’t mess up now.

He escorted her through the solid-wood door into their luxury room. She’d been in opulence before, but never as the guest. It felt, off, to her. She should be here, of course she should. 

She looked around; it was a gilded suite, dark turquoise stones lined with gold. A waterfall chattered from the corner where a small pool stationed fat koi weaving under blooming lily pads. Next to it was their bed, a huge thing large enough for any creature to feel like royalty. She’d been in rooms smaller than the bed. It also had turquoise to it in the form of stone pillars draped with white shawls: blankets a creamy ivory that looked like they even smelled clean. The room itself aired fresh rainfall, a fake kind scent but still welcome.

She stepped further into the room. The floor had heating wards and was plush despite being stone. Her talons did not tick with each step, it was as if they were on carpet. She basked. How much had this cost? Did he really spend the rest of their money? What if they did not find it? What would they do for food? She would be able to fend for the both of them, but it still rankled her that he would splurge in this way.

Her Atho strode to the bed, dripping clothes the way. He sat down and patted for her to join him. For him, this was a sign of comfort. For her, it was a sign of vulnerability. She sat next to him, nearly two heads taller. She was careful not to get her horns tangled in the mess of pointless shawl; she pushed it away like webs.

The bed was like a cloud against her scales and a warm pool against her skin. She felt his slight dip in the bed and how he had to lean to keep himself upright from her divot. She put her arm over his shoulder, instantly regretting the decision. The pleasant smell of rain quickly becomes overrun with the stench of days of travel. She was by no means unsanitary, but her father’s side meant she sweated, which was a prime breeding ground for bacteria. She put her arm down and said, “get up, we’re going to check out the bathroom.”

She led the way this time, passing through the invisible barrier to a bathroom completely covered in white tile save for a wall-wide mirror opposite; she pointedly ignored looking at it. It had a drain in the center, two toilets, a large pool of a tub, and buttons on the wall. She inspected them, noting the glyphs for up, down, sayk, zuyg, and rotating arrows. She felt stupid for not knowing what they meant, guessing they were the controls for wherever the water may come from. She pressed the one looking like a sayk.

Instantly, a rainfall drenched them both, her Atho squeaking in surprise. She came over and lifted him up, pointing him up and unable to escape the localized storm. The water was cool and removed dust and itchiness she’d forgotten she ignored. “Let me down,” he said.

“And let you escape? Not a chance.” She spun him around, wacking away the thick droplets. They both laughed so uncontrollably she had to put him back down. With a smile, he went over to the controls, pressing the sayk tile a few more times. Each press increased the water’s temperature until steam rose from her and his bodies. He then pressed the down arrow until the rain became a gentle drizzle. “I’m going to shave first.”

She didn’t understand his fascination with shaving. If he had her body, he wouldn’t care about appearances. In fact, if he were there, she might even have been able to convince him to grow in the hair on his face; it made him look more wild. She pictured it in her head, color lost and a face like a lion's. He then roared in her head, something he’d never do but was adorable in her mind.

“Ouch,” he cried. 

She rushed to his side in front of the wall mirror. He’d dropped the razor to the ground, red streaming down his face and dripping off his chin. 

“Here, let me see,” she said softly as she removed his covering hand. The wound was shallow, a red gash against his pudgy chin. She moved in close, her breath cool against the warmth created by the rain. Her tongue touched him, a long twin cord she pulled up the cut. She took the time to completely taste his pleasantly rusty blood; she did not have many chances to taste him like this. She felt his aura within his blood, a tiny cool spice to it that reminded her he was real. She moved her tongue slowly, dragging it and feeling his skin pull underneath. He didn't move, a perfect barber’s choice.

She came away with a smile on her face for him. She looked at where the wound was, plush skin with some missed stubble. He smiled back at her and kissed her on the stomach. “Thank you.”

He returned to shaving, she sat and watched him. He took his time as she had told him, and no further accidents occurred. They then went to get the soap and truly clean themselves.

“I think we should leave after the shower,” Yaro said.

“Why? We paid for the night.”

“But don’t you want to see me? We’re so close, we could make it there before the sayk rose.” She knew he was excited too, his aura uncontrollable and completely counteracting his metered expression and words. She hoped he would grow when they met.

“Of course I do, Ruby. But, we should have patience. This may be the last night we can spend together like this for a while. We just don’t know if it will even happen.”

“Exactly, we don’t know, that’s why we should go find out!” He lathered her wings. His small fingers didn’t really know how to stroke them so they would feel good, but she trusted him to get her clean where she had trouble reaching.

 “It just doesn’t make sense to me, I guess. We’ll do what you want... this time.”

---

They cuddled in the bed under a, she had a hard time believing it, modular sheet. It molded itself to their forms, shifting its thickness and softness to ensure a wild amount of comfort. She’d not even heard of such a thing before and marveled at it, shifting in a bed for a few minutes before they fully settled.

They were finally going to meet. After all this time, they would finally be able to embrace fully. She squeezed him at the thought and he squeezed back. The road had been washed away, leaving them in soft scents of lavender and renua, a strange combination but not unwelcome. Under it all was his scent, a blackberry-lime scent unmistakably him. She’d told him about the smell before, he too had one for her: cinnamon-apple. She guessed the descriptions fit them each.

“I can’t sleep,” she said honestly.

“Neither can I,” he replied in the dark.

“Are you ready to admit defeat?”

He kissed her on the mouth. “Yes.”

They did not leave that night, but early the following morning.