[Matori] And Long Walks On The Beach [Damis | Xilarn]

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

And Long Walks On The Beach

When the goal of traveling became not specifically to get to one’s destination but to progress toward said destination as gradually as reasonably excusable while enjoying every step along the way, it became a much lengthier endeavor than it may have been otherwise. Damissan felt this was probably as it should be. Only after arriving in Zidel and taking an opportunity to solo peruse what the capitol had to offer in terms of engagement merchandise did it fully occur to him that he had no immediate means of paying for anything.

A seal of his house was recognized, though in the end, the vendor was reluctant to turn over a thing of quite so much value on the spot to a ‘noble’ in furs. A compromise arrangement was reached, wherein the primary component of his purchase was laid away to be shipped to Sulburi with the bill, and consolation purchase in trust was handed over to him in person—its bill also sent to Sulburi.

Damissan was then left only with the adventure of keeping his gift — gold and highly conspicuous among the rest of their more practical luggage, but fortunately reasonably small at least — out of sight of the only other person in his company, who tended to be at least as familiar with their goods as he was. Somehow, he managed (or was fairly certain he did—if Xilarn noticed, he said nothing), and by further grace of God there were no additional noteworthy life or death experiences on their road to Matori after. In fact, aside from the complaints of various animals and complication of making arrangements for them for certain areas of terrain, all was smooth sailing.

Matori felt to Damissan like a more tropical and water-inspired Oba. He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been anticipating — a few huts and some near-naked locals eyeing them with fear and respect? Perhaps a little more than that. But he got much more than that. Setal was not the largest of the Matorian establishments, but it was the largest of their mainland towns and ideally positioned to make active trade with their island chain, which apparently housed the bulk of their population now.

This meant that, while not crowded, Setal was lively and sizeable, with an especially impressive selection of wares — particularly vibrant cloth — that leant it a bustling and familiar atmosphere. Coupled with the striking warmth as compared to everything they had been experiencing of late, and sand under his feet, it felt almost homey.

But for all the blue faces, he supposed, which did sometimes manage to look slightly more displeased with them on first glance than anyone else had. He decided he could ignore that much. The sun shone, the air could dance along bare skin without freezing him, and even the water was a welcoming temperature.

So long as the locals didn’t make life difficult, a few stares were likely warranted.

He hadn’t known exactly how long they intended to stay after arrival, but discussion of whether or not they ought to walk the full inner gulf of Matori to come back around, or simply catch an inbound ship across the way leant itself to the decision that they had walked quite a great deal already, and could likely just use the spare time to themselves before catching such a ride. Which left them here, for now, with the prospect of home very near on the horizon after they departed. Sald was a small, dying town last Damissan had heard, falling apart after the crash of the slave trade and only surviving on the influx of visitors through that area. It would be but a pit stop before he would be once again truly in the bounds of his homeland.

They had been in Setal now a handful of days and were resting, taking their time to appreciate what the area had to offer while also not managing to do much. After all they had done and seen, there was something to be said for sitting back and relaxing. Still, very pertinent on Damissan’s mind was the thought that he did have one thing of particular merit that he would like to cover before they left here.

“I think,” he said, hanging his body half out the small window of the inn he had persuaded Xilarn they could afford to rent for a night or two—or three, as the case may be, “I should take you out to dinner. We could see what kind of music they make here, and…” His fingers tapped the windowsill as he leaned back in to flash Xilarn a grin, “…perhaps we can find a good enough excuse to practice our dancing.”  

[Fluffesu]

The Only Black Uke

Xilarn did not much care for change. He knew what he liked and liked what he knew, so venturing beyond that had always felt as though it were some kind of hazard to tradition, comfort, and familiarity. As a respectable, middle-aged man, there didn't often seem need to impose that particular brand of unnecessary hazard. He wasn't interested. There was no reason for him to be. Zena was as far as his familiarity stretched, and in turn with that, as far as he'd ever been willing to go. Everything he'd ever wanted or needed had always been contained within the bounds between Jauhar and Zena. Anywhere else was just a spit of land filled with untrusted and unwanted things.

When Xilarn had first stepped foot out of Oba with Damissan, he'd expected they wouldn't even make it out of Jauhar before turning back. Once they'd hit Tale, it had been him who'd wanted to quit, and he'd even considered dragging his companion back whether Damis willed it or not. By Sauti he'd come to expect and even enjoy the change of pace. In Zena it reached his understanding that what Xilarn actually wanted was to drag their travels out for as long as possible.

Damissan had claimed he's wanted to go 'everywhere,' and after Xilarn had come to trust and love the younger man at his side, he wanted nothing more than to give Damis whatever he wanted, always. They'd made plans long ago to travel the 'full' span on Tendaji, even if Xilarn hadn't thought especially hard on it at the time. It was out of his comfort zone, but not likely to be horrible. Damissan would be there, after all.

It had always been the intent to travel full circle (even if not immediately expected). It was the expectation and even something he'd expressly wanted after they'd confessed their feelings to one other. This time, this distance. He didn't want to bring Damis home.

Xilarn still hated change.

It hadn't occurred to him to be leery until he was actually physically in Matori. He had been content with the various choices they'd mutually made together. They'd agreed that there was no rush to return to Oba, a land Xilarn knew he detested, so rationally, the beachy island chain should have been a blessing. It wasn't, of course, as Xilarn had come to realize as soon as they'd made land in the foreign and unexplored-by-him nation.

It was everything he hated about Oba: sand, sun, wind, market commotion while in the sand and sun and wind, with the added bonus of the entirety of its population holding some very justified spite for their fire nation friends to the west. Which somehow seemed worse than any Oban's intrinsic rudeness and selfishness.

He didn't think he would have allowed Damissan the luxury of an inn. They were so close to the metaphorical finish line that it would've been dreadfully inconvenient to get into a situation they couldn't get out of because they'd dropped all their coin elsewhere too quickly. On the other hand, they were at the finish line, so there seemed no better place to spend what they hadn't for the past handful of months. Particularly when spending it guaranteed him those walls Xilarn was also so fond of.

Now significantly less useful in keeping Damis out, but almost necessary in warding off every single vigilante Matorian soul that they might cross paths with.

Yep, he'd always liked walls.

"Mmm..." Xilarn lay on the bed, shirt off and eyes roving appreciatively down the curve of Damis' back as the younger man leaned out the window and most helpfully displayed his finest assets in the process. "I've no idea what would inspire you to think I'd be interested in any of that," Xil retorted as the younger man turned to face him.

And really, they were probably safer and could be equally as happy right here, just the two of them.

But there had been time for that during the many cold nights in Zena, and Xilarn had never considered Damis the type to be content with holing up and walling himself away. Besides, though he'd had little opportunity to express as much to his forthright and boisterous companion, Xilarn did enjoy music and the activities that came with it... "But I am," he conceded, pushing himself up into a sit.

"Did you find someplace you were particularly interested in?"  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Fluffesu

I've no idea what would inspire you to think I'd be interested in any of that…

Damissan tisked as he approached the bed, undeterred even before Xilarn’s latter admittance. ‘Because I think I can persuade you to be interested…’ Fortunately, even that didn’t seem to be necessary after the But I am, and the inquiry to follow, so that by the time Damissan actually reached the bed, he was humming. He tipped, leaning his frame in over the other man to draw a trailing kiss from his cheek to his ear.

“Actually…” His fingers climbed idly up Xilarn’s leg, “…I think I have. There were several promising alternatives, but after having spent a few days here, I think before we leave I would like to see if the food is as good as the atmosphere at that one directly on the water with that area of open-air back seating…” What had it been called? Damissan distinctly recalled the portion that had been built up over the beach to just overhang the ocean, and how pleasant it looked at night, when the outdoor place settings were lit up for the evening as though dotted with festive firebugs. “It’s just a short walk from here and it looked to be a multi-prong venue, food and festivities. There’s almost always been music playing when I happened by it in the past, and it smells good…”

Especially important and promising in a location so fond of and prolific in its supplies of fish and fish dishes. There likely wasn’t a place in Matori that didn’t serve it, but so long as it presented other options, which he hoped and trusted it would, he could survive.

“But, regardless…” He walked two fingertips up the centerline of Xilarn’s bare chest, “…I do believe you’re currently underdressed for such activities…somehow I don’t suspect the locals would appreciate it as much as I.”

Then again, they were island savages. Perhaps shirtless dinner dates abounded. He could imagine worse things. Still, for all that he didn’t mind it, there was a period of brief preparation before they made their way anywhere, and when they did make it out, Damissan was pleased to note that the air had already cooled some from the heat of the day’s peak—still blissfully warm as compared to their last significant experience with weather, but not hot either, and airy with sea breezes.

It was a nice evening, and but for the anticipatory flutter in Damissan’s gut as he walked, he felt relaxed. A thought tickled through his mind. He frowned.

“There is, actually, something I have been meaning to tell you…and while it isn’t something I suspect you will care a great deal about, it seems…relevant to have you aware, given where we have come to.” It wasn’t exactly that he wanted to begin the evening with the topic, but still there was the gnawing insistence in the back of his mind that this was something he ought to make clear before asking for more of the man—just in case. “You’re aware, of course, of my title and lineage…you might be less aware, though, that my name is actually my mother’s and was a partial bargaining chip to their union. They tried for a number of years to have children before I was conceived without success, and after, both my father and I were under the impression that it was simply a ‘miracle’ to have me. Sometime shortly after my tenth birthday, however, he learned otherwise…and eventually I did as well, as his attitude changed so strikingly. Apparently, he has always been infertile and Mother eventually gave up and sought recourse from a…friend of hers so that they would not be childless. It isn’t widely known, and Mother never did agree to disown me for it…but I thought you should at least be aware that I am technically a b*****d, and my claim to my lineage is surely entirely dependent on my mother, as I don’t imagine my father would willingly part with much of anything for my sake if the decision were for some reason left with him.”  

[Fluffesu]

The Only Black Uke

Although it was true enough that there were many things Xilarn was opposed to, he did have to admit that foreign cuisine wasn't one of them, and there might have even been something enjoyable about tasting new things from places he'd never experienced. He wouldn't have imagined it was anything Damissan was interested in, particularly not from Matori specifically, but if the younger man was interested in giving it a try, there wasn't reason to rob him of that.

Or at least not reason enough. Xilarn was still moderately wary of making too much of a presence of themselves, and somehow asking for anything from the Matorians felt like it could present a hazard, but they had been about for a handful of days already, and nothing terribly unsavory had come of it.

Besides, it wouldn't be much of a vacation if he had to be afraid of everything and everyone here.

"Oh?" Xilarn prompted with half a grin as he slipped off the bed and away from Damissan's kisses and trailing fingers. "You must've found quite the classy establishment if they have the grounds to dictate acceptable wardrobe..." Particularly when half of Matori walked around wearing open vests, netting, and little else. And if it was on the water, that would've seemed like excuse enough to go 'under dressed.' If he'd been the type to actively enjoy parading about half-naked, he surely would have.

But he wasn't and instead could only be appreciative of the time between deciding they were going to head out for the evening and actually doing so.

Outside wasn't the worst place to be when the sun wasn't lingering overhead, spiting him with its bright, obnoxious presence. Instead, their were other, dimmer lights flickering along the road, and the ever-present sound of waves and wind rustling about. Xilarn may not trust Matori, and he may not like change, but there were some aspects to the foreign island nation that he didn't terribly mind.

While his gaze had initially been on the path ahead, as Damis started to speak, Xil found his attention drawn there at the serious tone of the younger man's voice. And maybe a hint of hesitance.

'Are you cheating on me?'

The inquiry came disastrously close to his tongue before Xil even had time to assure himself that it was meant more of a tease than anything else. Before the question could fully be vocalized, he decided it wasn't funny, and he didn't want to speak of it if it were the case, and just the notion was dissatisfying enough that he couldn't suppress a grimace. He couldn't imagine how that could possibly be something he 'wouldn't care a great deal about,' anyway.

His eyes were still pinned on Damissan. "I... Yes?" He hedged uncertainly in confirmation that he was aware Damis was nobility. He'd only teased the younger man about it endlessly.

There admittedly seemed less reason to interrupt afterwards. Xilarn hadn't been expecting any serious conversations on the walk out to enjoy nightly festivities. He couldn't remember the last 'serious' discussion they'd had, and there likely had only been very few that consisted of such personal matters that did seem as though they hinged on some... unpleasant feelings. SOme that Xilarn didn't expect involved him hardly at all.

He hadn't ever cared about Damis' title or monetary worth or the procedures nobles formulated to deal with themselves to make everything 'legitimate,' and even if it felt a strange thing to say in the moment, it was clearly something weighing on Damssan's thoughts.

"I did wonder," he decided after a moment, "How such a bitter-sounding man could sire a ray of sunshine like you." He leaned, touching his lips lightly to the younger man's shoulder. "I suppose if they disown you, you'll have to move home with me."  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Fluffesu

Damissan was aware it wasn’t precisely on topic for the mood. He would have preferred saying nothing at all and granted, he did genuinely expect Xilarn would not care much. But he had gone long enough in his life with it being considered the sort of information which was highly relevant among the crowd they were returning to very shortly, and it wasn’t something he wanted looming entirely unaddressed.

That said, beyond ‘not caring much’ Damissan didn’t didn’t know what to expect of Xilarn’s response, and there was a flutter of anxiety that it might be somehow negative when, despite bringing it up himself, he did hope to be over it quickly and on to the rest of the night-

And what he got as Xilarn leaned, kissing lightly to a shoulder, inspired immediate relaxation of whatever tension had built there. Damis’ lips curved up of their own regard.

…you’ll have to move home with me…

As his eyes moved up the street and then to the sky overhead, Damissan’s smile stretched into a brief flash of a grin. “Well, I suppose that wouldn’t be the worst, then, after all…”

And, as the suggestion settled in his mind—it really wasn’t. He had always assumed that if Xilarn chose to remain with him, they would do so together in Oba, and since — despite some brief mention of the concept now — ‘permanency’ had not really been discussed, it hadn’t been a topic they had addressed together.

But, even if it was light-hearted in the moment, it was encouraging just to know that this was what came to mind for the other man, and the more he thought on it, the more it fostered a hopeful warmth in his gut. Tonight could go very well—and of course, he hoped it would. Wordlessly, he reached from where his hand had hung loose at his side, touching his fingers to Xilarn’s before fitting them together and gripping lightly.

Since he had picked, he lead the way until they neared in on the establishment he’d spoken of, and to his satisfaction, music could be heard upon approach, filtering out from the well lit space and gaining distinction as they came upon it. Not too rowdy, but upbeat and light. The place had plenty of business, which was encouraging on the one hand, Damissan thought—though it did mean that upon making their entrance as a pair, or perhaps more accurately the pair of Obans, for they were the only ones in a sea of blue: they seemed to stand out especially much.  

[Fluffesu]

The Only Black Uke

Despite knowing that he didn't want to think about anything except what he was doing with Damissan in the moment, Xilarn had considered what his options might be on the path forward. And though he may have thought there were an infinite number, that things could play out in a myriad of unpredictable ways, there were only really just two alternatives before him: go home, or don't. The word 'permanency' had been mentioned, tossed around but never expanded on, leaving the potential that there might be something 'after.' The thought of it was... nice, but perhaps not feasible.

'Perhaps' in that it felt almost intrusive to assume that Damissan wanted to live with him and actually have him there, mingling with whatever life Damis had built back in his own home. 'Permanency' could just mean... he didn't know. That they wouldn't be apart indefinitely? That when it was convenient for them in their individuals lives there could be relations and camaraderie?

Xilarn had always assumed he'd return home once Damissan was back in Oba. His house, his friends, his life were in Sauti. It was where he'd raised his son. He'd lived there longer than anywhere else. He knew with a predictable amount of certainty what almost every day would bring. It had been his expectation from the very beginning of their travels that when they parted, that's where he would end up. But his love had his own life to return to, and they'd never had opportunity to test what it would be like to even try to integrate the two when it involved stability over travel and anyone more than just the two of them. It could be a perilous and daunting process. It could happen that they weren't really happy with each other...

Damis' fingers slipped into his, and Xilarn smiled softly.

But he loved this boy, loved him regardless of the occasional painful unpredictability Damis brought into his life, regardless of where he called home, regardless of his social status. Even though it concerned Xilarn even still to think about could be's and what if's and the overwhelming notion that he could not be alone again, he did expect that whatever conclusion they came to, it would work itself out.

He wanted Damissan to be happy. He wanted to be happy himself. In the latter part of their journey, it seemed like between the two of them, that was an accomplishable goal.

"Mmm, it does look and sound like a place where you of all people could enjoy yourself," Xilarn hummed as they made their approach and the finer details of the music, crowd, and smells came more fully into focus. Though he admittedly thought Damis wouldn't have any great amount of interest in being too near the smells of the ocean and certainly none in the smells of anything that came from it.

Hopefully it wouldn't be apparent to anyone else here.

Xilarn leaned near as possible, and as quietly as he was able to with the noise all about them murmured, "Don't draw any more attention to yourself than is necessary. And don't... Well, don't sound as picky as you are."  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Fluffesu

Don’t sound as picky as you are.

Damissan managed a downward squint at his company. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ lingered quick at the tip of his tongue. But he bit it back, because—well—he supposed in retrospect he could sometimes be just a touch ‘picky.’ “It isn’t my fault there are certain things I don’t enjoy putting in my mouth,” he murmured easily instead, scanning the crowd as they went, and it looked from his guess to be a sort of ‘seat yourself’ venture. So he lead the way out, to the back portion of open air dining, where the sea could be heard and the first few stars just visible overhead.

It didn’t smell of fish, fortunately, though certain portions of the interior did, likely due to dishes ordered by other patrons—another benefit of moving to where the sea breezes would readily do away with that. And the evening was warm enough that it was perfectly comfortable, and well lit by decorative lanterns.

If the boy who came to wait on them was displeased by their ethnicity, to his credit, he didn’t show it, instead quietly passing out a written menu — Damissan’s eyes scanned to check for misspellings, who could trust Matorians with their literature after all, but it did seem to be in order — and inquiring as to which drinks they might prefer before slipping off into the periphery. Damissan personally had seen no harm in ordering something alcoholic. It had been quite some time since he had indulged in that regard—in fact, the last time had likely been the first night he had fully spent with Xilarn, where Xil had purchased it.

Now, he just wanted something sweet and distracting to warm his gut and wash down his meal.

Which, hopefully, could be comprised of something other than fish. Damissan was suspicious that everything on the list which he didn’t immediately recognize was simply another name for fish. He flushed, attempting not to squint or look too picky. “Do you think-” He paused, eyeing the list again. “What if I just asked them to sear the quhar in anything but fish oil and remove the peca nuts…and extra rice. I could just get fried rice…”

Fried rice was almost always safe, though several other options looked promising but for a stray ingredient here or there. Xilarn had to be right. This just couldn’t be the place to over-exercise his ‘pickiness.’ But he didn’t want yetta cheese or-

“Have the two of you found something that interests you?”

Damissan’s gaze flicked back up to the boy, hands folded behind him — he must intend to memorize everything they ordered — and flashed a hopefully disarming grin on impulse. “Yes, I think so. I, ah…” He glanced down once fleetingly to the menu and then cleared his throat, looking to Xil. “He can order first.”  

[Fluffesu]

The Only Black Uke

Even though Xilarn considered himself to be a mostly 'private' person who didn't necessarily enjoy outings of any kind that took him from the peace of his home and into the more rambunctious nature of the public, as he followed Damis out onto the deck of their chosen restaurant, overlooking the ocean and open to the stars, he had to admit that there were a few aspects that did lend themselves to making it a more pleasant experience.

He only had minimal dealings with the ocean itself, and Xilarn already knew from his time in the desert that he hated wind blowing sand into his eyes and all his other various crevices such that having water next to it shouldn't make it any better. Particularly not when the water was salty, sticky, smelly, and briny rather than fresh. And that said nothing about the Matorian beach natives, who Xil still strongly suspected held a certain degree of bitterness toward his race. Nothing about the beach sounded like anything he wanted to be a part of, which was perhaps some of the reason for why he hadn't felt the need to experience it.

But it wasn't so bad as he might have expected. There was sand in all the unsatisfactory ways that he might have expected, their were people displeased to see a pair of Obans on their land, and the ocean did have a smell.

Just not one quite so unsavory as he might have anticipated. He found that he liked that scent, liked the sound of the water sloshing up against the wooden beams that supported their overlook, liked the gentle tousle of the wind. More even than that, he didn't mind the dull hum of chatter from the rest of the restaurant's patrons or the dimly glowing lanterns or the more buoyant music in the air. Xil wouldn't have thought he'd like any of that, but as he took a seat across from his lover and tipped his gaze out toward the water, it didn't actually strike him as surprising that things he thought he wouldn't enjoy weren't really so bad with Damissan there.

"It's nice out," he admitted softly in the brief interim between finding a seat and a serving boy making his approach.

So he turned his attention there, instead. First to the drinks, in which Xilarn could've thought of at least a handful of reasons why they shouldn't be even slightly impaired, but somehow 'just one' because one wouldn't do anything, Damissan was having one, and it fit the locale and mood, seemed to win out over caution. It was brightly colored, fruity, and surely there wasn't much alcohol in it to begin with.

Xilarn eyed his younger companion over the rim of his glass. "You could have seared quhar and rice anywhere," he commented. "Especially once you're back home. Don't you want to try something different? We could share something, then if you really don't like it-"

The serving boy was back, and Xilarn's attention flicked toward him.

He briefly debated the merits of pushing forward with the suggestion, regardless of how Damissan felt about it, but with a shake of his head, decided against it. His gaze flicked down the menu, instead and realized he probably didn't actually know many more exact names of species than Damis did. "Yyyes... This smoked sefiti sounds nice, with the marrow greens. Thanks." He passed the menu back to the boy, crossed his arms, and tipped his head expectantly at the man across from him.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Fluffesu

It was nice out, and Damissan felt a swell of quiet appreciation and relaxation at Xilarn’s observance—like approval. The man wasn’t disappointed with the evening yet, which was always a good start.

Everything to follow was decidedly more complicated in a way Damissan was well aware it didn’t precisely need to be. He probably ought to have been able to select anything off the menu and be suitably pleased with whatever came out at least enough so to manage to consume it, but it simply—wasn’t that simple.

And it was true, he could have quhar and rice anywhere, but what if he couldn’t stomach anything else he might experiment with? That seemed like it would be a poor mark on the evening, and would leave him hungry besides. Yet, it also seemed as though asking the waiter which of the items on the list contained fish likely fell within ‘sounding picky’ and so in order to oblige Xilarn’s advice, he would have to guess.

We could share something-

Damissan glanced up.

But then, Xilarn seemed to come to his own conclusion and what he got probably came from the sea. For some reason, the maneuver of arm crossing inspired an anxious flush to tickle its way up Damissan’s neck—as though this were a challenge he had to live up to—and as he glanced back to the menu he distinctly felt that it was. He cleared his throat, and then turned a smile on the waiter.

“I’m sorry, I’m not…from around here…” As if that weren’t already painfully obvious. Damis persisted forward. It would be a risk but perhaps it was best to leave things in the hands of fate, and surely he could survive for one night: “I don’t recognize most of what’s on the menu. Is there something in particular you’d recommend?”

The boy eyed him. His head tipped, and he returned the smile, though Damis still couldn’t tell if he was only doing so for business and showmanship reasons while privately hating both of them. Surely it was genuine. “Are you feeling adventurous?”

Ah, perhaps he did hate him.

Damissan attempted not to cough or glance to Xilarn as his eartips flushed. “Ah…”

“If you have a delicate palate, many Obans prefer roast xaraan or one of our quhar dishes…” The boy had to be baiting him, “…but those selections are mainly for tourists. Local favorites are the arawano with tiapia sauce, served over a bed of pasta, hand-strung here in house, or the cusk, which is in season this time of year and can be prepared to-order. Personally, if you’re only here for a brief stay and might not have occasion to come again, I wouldn’t leave Setal without having tried the inconnu, which can be served raw or as a fillet over long-grain rice or our specialty glass noodles, which I recommend.”

Damissan stared. It was—it had to be a fish. But-

He nodded in spite of himself before he could think better of it. “I’ll take that, thank you,” he said, smiling and allowing the boy to take up the menu sheets they had, waiting until after he began to safely retreat before letting regret for his false bravery sink in. He would just have to make up for whatever he couldn’t eat with sweet drinks and hopefully, the evening would still progress in his favor. “If I die of fish poisoning,” he murmured, gaze flitting to Xilarn as he sat back and lifted his glass, “or have a violent compulsory reaction, you can live knowing it was all to impress you in vain…”  

[Fluffesu]

The Only Black Uke

Xilarn supposed he didn't really mind one way or the other what Damis ordered, whether it diverted from his norm or stayed comfortably inside of it. He wouldn't actually be offended or disappointed by whatever the younger man put in his mouth. Or lack thereof. Surely. Mostly. He assumed? Probably. The adventure tonight wasn't intended as a challenge, certainly, and- Well, maybe he would care just a tiny, little bit, for reasons that he couldn't properly explain outside of that fussing with the waiter and nitpicking would have made the younger man out to be just the smallest bit childish, and maybe Xilarn would have been very mildly embarrassed to be seated across from him.

The words 'a delicate palate' skated across their waiter's tongue, and Xilarn found himself mouthing them back across the table at Damis in sudden amusement. Perhaps working in the food service business lent itself to not being entirely unfamiliar with tourists not immediately interested in native cuisine, and he did provide a small scattering of options that sounded distinctly more to Damissan's tastes...

Xilarn tucked his mouth behind a hand and had to physically think about not shaking his head to manage it.

Once they'd been left alone, a chuckle rolled out of him. "You weren't very specific," Xil pointed out. "The man gave you options- raw or fillet, rice or noodles. He must have taken pity on you by not pressing. You didn't really look convincingly confident. But," The corners of his lips quirked up, and Xilarn reached across the table to fold his fingers over his lover's where they curled about his glass and gently draw them back toward him to lay a kiss atop Damis' knuckles. "I still appreciate it. If you really don't like it, we can find someplace else after for you to get a bite from."

"And I suppose I will only be offended if you die or vomit," he added with an irrepressible eye-roll. "If you can manage to keep your reactions a little more modest, I'll be impressed, regardless."  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Fluffesu

As it happened, Xilarn didn’t have to say anything. Just watching him seemed to make it mostly evident what was going on through his mind. Of course, Damissan could have been wrong, but-

Xilarn’s rolling chuckle as soon as the waiter departed seemed to suggest otherwise, and Damissan grunted. He hadn’t been very specific—and in retrospect he was surprised the boy hadn’t inquired further, but the fact remained that he wasn’t sure what he could handle anyway and it had been a gamble regardless. No harm in going all in?

Or, perhaps the harm was simply as-of-yet undetermined.

Then, though, Xilarn’s fingers curled over his — I still appreciate it… — and Damissan decided that no matter what appeared on the table before him, it was a worthwhile bet. He had seen worse ‘food’ in Jauhar than he would likely ever find anywhere, and this night was about Xilarn, not his delicate palate.

At the man’s latter commentary, Damissan found himself smiling in spite of himself. “Mm…I will try to monitor my gag reflex if necessary. I like to think it’s a skill I’ve nearly mastered, but…unique foods can provide a special challenge. Still…” His gaze meandered to and held on Xilarn’s. “I think, under the circumstances, a wholly appropriate one in any case…”

Fortunately, in the down time, wetting his appetite with a prelude of alcohol did lend a certain thread of warmth and relaxation to his mood, and by the time the food did arrive, he was relieved to note the waiter, or chef, had been at minimum kind enough not to provide him raw fish. The bed of noodles — a strange, partially green-tinted translucent color — made up at least a substantial portion of the dish and if he just edged the meat to the side and fiddled loose a single noodle untouched by aquatic smear…

He coiled the single noodle around his utensil and, with no small amount of trepidation because it had been sitting next to the fish, brought it tentatively to his tongue for an experimental taste. “Mm…” Well. It was a different flavor, and slicker texture in pasta than he was accustomed to, but—he did manage at least not to make a face, and if he just passionately ignored the undercurrent of fish scent, there was an almost pleasant, tangy uniqueness to the flavor of the sauce.  

[Fluffesu]

The Only Black Uke

In the time between ordering food and waiting for it to arrive, Xilarn's focus turned back out over the sea. It wasn't like he'd ever had very many opportunities to experience it in all its sunset-shimmering, wave-crashing, salt-scented glory, and at least as far as the current moment was concerned, he found that he didn't have anything against the ocean, for all its unfamiliarity. It was pretty, to define it in underwhelming terms. He propped an arm atop the table and clicked his nails against its surface.

Tic tic tic-

It was easy to forget that Oba had its own ocean- or rather, shared this one with Matori, he supposed- for all the times he'd not seen it. There were probably at least a handful of things about his native homeland that he wasn't especially familiar with but would probably enjoy. Yet somehow, whenever he thought about it, it only felt like all the evil in the world culminated in the desert, lived and thrived there. Each time Xilarn visited, that sensation was reinforced. he hated Oba. Everyone there sucked. The weather was horribly hot and dry. It was dirty and crowded. It wasn't serene or pretty.

Xilarn didn't have to try and explain it to realize that it wasn't necessarily a reasonable thought. He hadn't even lived in Oba since he was a teenager, and he was pretty positive that most teenagers just took offense to everything on principle. He'd only actually been back once after that... Just for his parents to meet his son, which had, admittedly, gone poorly.

Tic tic tic-

But he'd met Damissan then, as well.

Maybe that had seemed like a horrible chore at the time, mixed in with some unfortunate coincidence that Xilarn had needed something to do and something to distract him, given the recent familial fallout, but he wouldn't have anticipated any positive coming from it if it wasn't immediately displayed. He didn't know why he expected- Except he did. An 'innate mutual understanding,' he'd called it once. If such a thing were going to occur ever, it felt like there should be some hint of end result right at the beginning. There hadn't been, of course, so it had only lent itself to being awful for as long as they remained together.

Except it wasn't awful now. Given time and communication came understanding and happiness and an actual desire to be with this boy. Tic tic tic- He still doubted his long-standing grievances with an entire nation would blossom into anything resembling a romance, but-

A dish was set before him, and he shook his head.

After murmuring a quick thanks to their serving boy, Xil set about to sampling the still-steaming morsels set before him. Being no more familiar with the cuisine than Damissan was, he hadn't really known what to expect. What he did know was that most 'smoked' things at least had a similar vein of flavor, and fish didn't disappoint. No amount of crunch had been expected, so that was very briefly startling but still easy to adapt to.

"Oh, it's not so bad," he hummed as he scraped a bite of greens together with his fork. "Do you want a taste? Yours smells nice-"

He stilled, gaze narrowing to a squint as he watched Damis edge the actual meat portion of his meal off to the side, and what was the point of ordering it if he wasn't going to try the main portion of the dish? "Gods, you really are an embarrassment to dine with... Here, I want to try it." Their waiter had said it was something you couldn't leave Matori without trying, and if Damissan wasn't going to bother with it, might as well not be wasteful. So he reached without waiting for a response, spearing his utensil just into the smallest corner of Damis' fish and peeling off a bite.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Fluffesu

Damissan had thought he was doing well.

He’d managed to eat part of his dish even if it came portioned with fish, and by his standards, that was a leap of faith and courage in and of itself. He approached his second bite with slightly less hesitance, satisfied that he could handle this-

Gods, you really are an embarrassment to dine with…

Damis frowned, and glanced up from his plate.

He had no objection to Xilarn sampling, or even eating all of what he had in the fish department, for that matter, but coupled with what he’d said, Damissan’s shoulders took on a disappointed slouch as the other man reached. It was probably nothing to pout over. It was just one meal. But he had ordered what he had specifically because Xilarn had encouraged it, he’d pushed entirely beyond his comfort level at the risk of there being nothing he was willing to stomach, and now—the man still wasn’t satisfied.

Damis breathed out, and instead of his noodles, abandoned his dish entirely for a moment in favor of sipping more of his drink. It was no occasion to be dour. He wanted the night to go well. And unfairly he felt that under most circumstances he would not even have cared over such a statement. He did not usually let anyone’s comments in any direction affect his eating choices. He had always had a rather finicky palette since he was a child, and no amount of criticism, encouragement, or mocking on the part of friends or family had managed to sway that.

With Xilarn, though, he wanted to be something else. Just a touch braver, perhaps. Or at the very least not a disappointment.

“Sorry,” he said at length.

While it wouldn’t have bothered him to order something reliable simply to be sure he’d enjoy it, or even — as he had planned on doing after Xilarn’s first set of commentary and reactions — to try something more ‘adventurous’ and keep to the safer parts of it, perhaps he should have stuck with what they’d been doing and avoided the local cuisine in full from such establishments. He didn’t want to embarrass Xilarn at the table, and as much as he enjoyed the atmosphere, he felt suddenly that he would have rather been done with the meal already and on to something else if his tastes were going to make things unpleasant.  

[Fluffesu]

The Only Black Uke

There were occasions when Xilarn couldn't actually be certain of what reaction he might expect from Damissan over whatever words he might share. It was true that 'embarrassment' was hardly a compliment, but considering where they were and what Xilarn thought was a rather lighthearted activity, he probably would have anticipated something more aligned with grinning and shrugging it off. Damissan was well-practiced enough in that area that it certainly wasn't a stretch...

However, neither was it becoming entirely unexpected that his precious beloved might take more personal offense to what was, admittedly, something of an insult. It was still true that Xilarn didn't have the patience for- or maybe just understanding of- a 'finicky palette.'

His attention returned to his own dish, and he cut of a bite sized portion of fish to mix with the greens and have a taste of.

When he'd first left Oba as a teenager and made his way to Jauhar alone, there'd been several sequences of days when he hadn't eaten anything. Too many of the plants were poisonous and whatever combat skills he'd had in Oba weren't really equatable to anything he could do in the jungle. He hadn't been able to hunt anything, hadn't known what to eat, and when he'd tried, it had made him ill. Xil knew what it felt like to come so close to starvation, and so when something designated acceptable to eat, smelled good, prepared for him, paid for, and specifically selected by him was set before him, it was just plain wasteful to not at least taste it.

His only experience with feeding and preparing food for others had been for Akiyal, who'd weirdly come to him scrawny and starving and so was also generally fond of scarfing down whatever was set before him without complaint.

Xil set his fork down beside his plate. Given Damissan's past, he'd be so, so hard-pressed to believe the younger man actually cared that much what went into his mouth.

He stood. "Sit up straight," Xilarn murmured stiffly at the slouch to Damis' shoulders. He rounded the table, dragging his chair with him to perch at the edge closer to Damissan's own seat, and settled there. Since his companion had opted to abandon his utensils in favor of the apparently easier-to-consume beverage, Xil plucked them from Damissan's plate and raked off the tiniest flake of his fish and wrapped it beneath a single noodle. "The mind can be trained to enjoy practically anything, I think," he hummed as he leaned toward the other man, layering his free hand to the inside of Damis' knee as he did and touching the tip of the fork to Damis' lips. "Open."  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Almost as soon as his initial swell of personal reactions had come about, Damissan was frustrated with himself. He didn’t want to be upset, and he wanted to believe Xilarn didn’t really care. Or at least not much. Certainly hopefully not enough so as to merit a ‘mood’, particularly on this night. They had spent the better part of a year now in each other’s company, and it wasn’t as though the man wasn’t familiar with his eating habits and it hadn’t been an extraordinary issue before other than to earn him some teasing and eye rolling.

But they had never been out on an occasion quite like this, and for all that he wanted to be calm, there was a kernel of anxiety in him simply because of his intents for the evening, and he the last thing he wanted was to be making mistakes-

Xilarn set his fork aside. And stood. And Damissan’s heart for one moment gave a hard lob against his chest. Was he really-? But no. Damissan flushed, embarrassed with himself for entertaining the notion even for an instant as Xilarn came around the table instead, pulling his chair with him. Closer. Not gone.

Not that much of an embarrassment.

Though, as became clear a moment later, Xilarn was still set on his path and determined, and Damissan watched, setting aside his drink with admitted curiosity as the man took up his fork and began portioning off a select ration of his food. Reminded of Xilarn’s initial instruction as the man wound the fork, Damis sat up straighter, rolling his shoulders back and mentally shrugging off the internal (and unbecoming, even in his own mind) pout that had come over him prior, focussing instead on whatever Xilarn had planned.

The mind can be trained…

Xilarn’s hand touched down on the inner side of his leg under the table, and for an instant, Damissan could have forgotten there was more involved. Or anyone else present around them, for that matter. His eyes snapped to Xilarn’s, and as the tip of the utensil touched his lip, neither the people, nor the fish seemed to matter as much as they might have. A part of him — which sounded suspiciously like his thirteen-year-old self in the back corner of his mind — still wanted to revolt and close his throat in an involuntary gag, because that didn’t belong-

But, he had managed to put many things in his mouth over the years, and while it wasn’t the same, neither was this quite like any other experience that came before. He and Xilarn had both managed to try a number of things they hadn’t been entirely keen on or familiar with over the course of this trek so far, and surely, he could do that much now. Particularly when asked so nicely.

Open.

His lips parted, tongue just skimming the inner edge of the bottom one before he leaned to take the bite.

It was difficult to grimace with his eyes on Xilarn, and, though he swallowed almost immediately in a panic over what flavor might come if he dared let it linger anywhere longer than an instant—there was a certain, gradual-set relief that came with the realization that he hadn’t actually tasted much of anything other than the outer starch and its condiments. “Mm…” As he relaxed, a new flush of happier abashment overtook what might have been there before, and he glanced to Xilarn’s dish. “You know…” he said as he reached, pulling it over to adjust to Xilarn’s new seating position, “…I don’t know if I can recall having a man feed me before…”

It had likely happened, at some point, but that the name and the face and occasion had all since faded or blended seemed reason enough to disregard it. It certainly hadn’t been this.

“I don’t know whether to feel like a scolded child, or…” He shifted, adjusting the leg under Xilarn’s hand as he reached for his fork such that it accidentally moved ‘up’ — and he spared a glance to his own dish, “…something else entirely.” He hadn’t died at the first bite, yet, and he had managed to make it all the way around Tendaji with this man. More or less. It couldn’t kill him to just-

Tentatively, he plucked away a very small second segment of his meat. Xilarn had eaten it. He had technically eaten it already now, and it didn’t smell like market fish. Damissan brought it to his mouth as it was, unguarded by pasta, and let it rest on his tongue.

It was—soft, not slimy. Light, somehow, in that it seemed almost to come apart with a press of his tongue unlike what he would expect of ‘meat’ generally, but still with enough texture and substance that it didn’t seem like mush. And the flavor—well, it didn’t taste at all like what he had assumed after having smelled so many. But perhaps those were unfair assumptions to begin with. Or maybe not all fish tasted the same. Or maybe it depended entirely on how it was prepared and seasoned.

Regardless.

He grunted lightly and glanced to Xilarn. “Well,” he admitted after a moment, “I’m sure I would take it over whatever that…engorged armor slug was in Jauhar. I don’t feel like I’m dying yet…”