Fugue

“Yo, yer kid brother found the paint closet.”

Fugue tilted his head back to look at Dirge over his shoulder, ignoring the way it strained his neck. They had a mutual understanding, hr anf Dirge, and they stayed out of each other’s way for the most part. The fact that Dirge was here, in his sanctum was worrying. That it was about Bewegt was less so; the snapper was a handful on the best of days and was easily bored.

Fugue cackled out a laugh at the smears of color matting Dirge’s fur. Some were distinctly paw shaped. Others were still shiny and wet. The faint scent of paint wafted over, unmistakably sharp. “And I see you found Bewegt.”

“Yup. Kid’s a barrel of laughs. Just… keep him out of the way, yeah? The Tyrant’s got a standing appointment today, and you know how he feels about "charity", yeah?”

Fugue barely managed to suppress a shudder. “Aye, we’ll keep Bewegt entertained, no worries. Ain’t too interested in having him meet the Big Boss, neither.”

“Great!” Dirge lifted his wing and let Bewegt tumble out. The snapper looked completely ruffled as he spat out a mouthful of fur to let out a series of creative curses. Both Dirge and Fugue exchanged amused looks. Dirge even managed to look impressed.

“A’ight ya little gremlin," Fugue started, his expression fond, "Time to stop terrorizing the locals, yea? Hey, I’ll even let you color on the reports. Sound good?”

Bewegt tilted his head, humming quietly. His eyes narrowed as he considered it. “Wif real marker?”

“Sure, buddy. If ya promise to behave I’m sure Dirge can even manage to find some actual sharpies for ya.”

The grin that spread across Bewegt’s face should be outlawed. "M'kay."

Fugue clapped twice and shooed Dirge. “Well you heard the lad! Make with the fetching.”

Dirge’s answering grin was sharper as he mock saluted. The gesture was somewhat ruined by the finger paint smeared across his forehead. “Aye aye, capitan.”

Fugue coiled his tail around Bewegt’s frame, pulling the small dragon closer to his side. He didn’t like that grin pointed at his brother. He care even less about the calculating cunning that said Dirge had found a new bruise to dig his fingers into.

For a long moment after Dirge slunk away, the two stood in silence, tense and straining.

“Think he’s gone?” Bewegt asked, his voice pitched into a low whisper.

Fugue waited half a beat more, a small flare of inquiring magic returning clear. “Looks like it. Well?”

Settling down in the fluff of Fugue’s tail, Bewegt hummed. “You were right, as usual. They’re definitely hiding something. Ain’t found none of those ghosts you was talkin’ bout, but the whole place’s a mess of power. Can’t find nothin’ I tell ya. Wires loop back on themselves, lead to dead ends. Lead nowhere. Can’t even follow ‘em back.”

“That how you ended up in the closet?”

“Like ya don’ already know,” Bewegt huffed out. He pawed at the suffocating tail coiling around him. “Oi, knock it off.”

They tensed at the sudden flare of magic that zipped past, beating like a heartbeat, using the electricity like a vein. For a moment the lights flared, tiny suns that threatened to pop and fizzle out.

As one their magic hissed in response, coiling and mingling into a gargantuan pool. Spectral whispers overlapped, swirled, and swelled into an overwhelming roar. Electricity hummed in the air, drawn out and focused by Bewegt’s intent and fine tuned by Fugue’s ability. A dozen points in time overlapped, shifting like the facets in a diamond, given shape and manifested by their instinctive reaction.


And the moment splintered, spitting them back into the present with an unfeeling suddenness.

“What…” Fugue started, trailing off as he shivered in the frigid air.

“Well. Wellie well well. Ain't that interesting.”