Work Text:
Winter 23, Year 9
“Skyfish’s coming through with this big ol’ painting, guys, give her space!-”
“Eugh, my paws’ll fall off if I haul one more rock… I’ll be back once I grab some grub, guys, promise. I’ll bring you cricket-corn, ‘kay?”
“And praise be to Nestor, guardian of our kin and of theirs, who stands there before the threshold waiting upon our offerings to welcome our dear Melody back into the fold…!”
“Ope- sorry, Skyfish!”
(“FOR LULU!”)
Amid the street-preaching and the bustle of activity that’s fallen over the square of Cobbled Arch like a sudden storm of rain, a painting crosses through the throng.
Skyfish is unable to source the shouts in the crowd of nearly a hundred cats. Nearly all of the village’s travellers have come home for the event that’s already garnered many names- the Returning of The Favor, Reciprocation Day, and Gatefest most common among them- and most all of them have been driven into a highly productive frenzy at their Guardians’ hour of need. Every cat who isn’t eating, sleeping or off collecting materials to donate is right here, in a press of bodies before the Village Lodge and the main road off to the docks (and the rest of the wider world).
In general, she’s really too focused on ferrying a portrait bigger than her own body through the practically writhing crowd to make much sense of all the noise. She stands on her hind legs, trying not to dig her forepaws’ claws into the canvas as it’s held above her head. The crowd, though vaguely attempting to part in her path with how visible she is, is unpredictable, and she knocks into more than a few cats’ shins.
( “FOR LULU! FOR LULU!”
A cry that’s beginning to pick up traction. The scattered cracks of thunder just beginning to coalesce into a low roar.)
It’s loud , in noise and in vibes. She’s been living village life for years, is more used to the noise now than ever, but it really is loud even then. It all still makes her heart jump. Though it’s a feeble somersault compared to the constant rush she’s been feeling since yesterday’s big news.
If the not-cats do this right, they can bring Lulu back to them. Another piece of home.
(And maybe more than just a piece…?
Even among her fellow Earth migrants, Skyfish is largely alone in how deeply she misses her first home. The Gate- or the First Gate, she supposes- is beautiful and the very best thing that’s happened to her and her kind. But it’s so very high up.
Cobbled Arch isn’t an especially big or economically powerful village, but it’s one of the few that sits near the top of the Tower Fund donor list. And when Skyfish can barely conceive of a tower that tall being glued together with anything but outright magic, it’s probably not happening.
But perhaps the Second Gate will be something that can be sailed out to. Perhaps, when it’s built, she can take a boat off Not-Earth’s shores and be spat out with the brine on Earth.)
“-Just get a second cart, Bumblebee, I swear if you put ONE MORE ROCK on the pile I’m gonna shred your-”
“Chill the HECK out, P03, don’t make me call Arwen over here!-”
“Is it not right for us to repay the many restless days and nights that Nestor has spent in our name-”
“pspsps c’mere little meteors-”
“Please do not get in a fistfight with my brother, Elk. Or at least do it somewhere else.”
“So that we may assist him in restoring the place of an ephemeral companion to him and to us?”
“-okay, yes, the asteroids can follow people , Pigeon, but that doesn’t mean they can think or respond to you calling them.”
“DARK MIST that is NOT what EPHEMERAL means and that’s REALLY disrespectful actually!!!”
She steps forward, one paw at a time. Her tail sways for balance. Teal- and violet-trailed meteors spin about at her sides, as though eager. Or perhaps as though thoughtful. It's rather hard to tell what meteors think.
(“FOR LULU! FOR LULU!”
“We’re getting Lulu back, you guys!”
“WE’RE COMIN’ BACK FOR YOU, GIRL!”
The cries are clearly legible now. Voices young and old, awkward or punctuated by giddy laughter, and crackly from mild thirst or having missed a nap. That’s unimportant.
“Just hang in there, okay?!”
“FOR LULU! FOR LULU! FOR LULU!”
“We’re bringing you home!!!”
What’s important is yowling their guardian’s name, just because they can and because they care enough to do it.)
They love her. They cry it, chasing out any specks of quiet that could possibly have settled in the forest for hundred of meters around. It doesn’t matter that Lulu can’t hear them, that she doesn’t know, because yes, she does .
They love her.
Skyfish is thinking of something else.
“This shipment’s finished,” Viney’s voice booms over the din. As mayor and as a relatively no-nonsense personality, they wouldn’t be who they are if they couldn’t shout over a crowd and end up heard. “Cassie, Hassleberry- get over here and harness up. Everyone else, start prepping the next cart.”
Skyfish hurries up to Viney, calling out a hasty greeting. “Do you think you could fit this on top of the cart, before it goes out?”
They both glance over at the cart, and Skyfish is instantly sorry for asking. Hassleberry and Cassie are some of the strongest cats in the village, but with how high the meteorites are piled up, she’s at least a little worried they might throw out their backs.
Viney looks back at Skyfish. “No.”
She laughs a little, nervously. “Fair enough. Can it go on the next one then?”
“I’ll make it happen, yes.” They look up at the canvas, laid flat over Skyfish’s head and facing up towards the sky. “...Mind if I look at it before it ships out?”
Skyfish didn’t really paint it for any cat’s eyes but her own. Maybe not even for Nestor’s. But she’ll share it all the same.
The portrait itself is of Nestor, though in a strange light.
The portrait is of Nestor because depictions of Nestor contain the Null Aspect energy he’s going to need to open a Gate. The moon above is a bright-yet-dingy yellow, like plaque on teeth. As are his eyes that float about him in a cloud, and the yellow combined-moon-and-eye-light is strangely watery against his deep black coat. It’s a night that would be dark if not for their presence, and they have shrunken down to move unimpeded through the trees, stride purposeful.
The portrait is in a strange light because Skyfish wasn’t thinking of Nestor very much at all while painting it. Her Null-Lynxpoint-gray paws still carry spots of black and yellow paint, marks of her determination to get the odd lighting absolutely right. She’ll admit in the coming days that the trees really weren’t as detailed as they should be, the bark rather flat in color and texture.
She’d only truly had eyes for- well, for Nestor’s eyes. The glow that they had cast upon the forest, and the moose to which they belonged. But they don’t look very much like Nestor’s eyes.
Really, they look a lot more like her vision of lighted windows at night, the lightbulbs burning a bright-yet-dingy yellow like plaque on teeth.