Three Meals A Day - Wik

With a stretch, Wik sits up in their bed, the wool sheets falling down their bare chest as the morning sun peeks through the small gap in the thick curtains that they had erected the night before. They blink, eyelids heavy as the last dregs of sleep shuffle out, to be replaced with a morning's bleary outlook. Wik works their head from one side to the other, tendons popping and shifting as their chin finds their chest, the light grey flesh meeting as eyes find the rumpled sheets below.

A grey hand, the fingers featureless and the palm smooth, reaches up to find long, thick, white locks of hair. The fingers rub at Wik's scalp as they push their hair back, but it is no use - it falls back in front, covering their eyes.

Ugh, Wik thinks to themselves.

With a resigned sigh, shoulders heaving in time, Wik blows at the hair that covers their view. The locks that hang suspended in midair taunt their owner, threatening to return to their place of rest once more, but they pause. White strands of hair become longer, and darker, shifting and changing in the single ray of morning light until each and every one matches the figure that sits up in bed.

With a single, quick movement, the long strands of hair are tied back neatly with an orange ribbon. The figure turns to face the mirror, and smiles.

"No, no. Not that one. Pick another." Cechec's low grumble travels the short distance to the merchant in front of him, who narrows her eyes before turning away to grab another squash from the pile behind her.

The corner of Cechec's mouth turns up in a small smirk as a golden-scaled hand reaches out to the scale in front of him, the claw pointing up until the tip reaches the bottom. The merchant turns back, placing the new squash on the plate next to the others as she places some small stones on the plate opposite, her head tilting from side to side until she frowns, eyes darting back and forth as her brow furrows before pointing at the vegetables and holding out a hand. "12 silver, please."

Cechec pulls a single gold coin and a pair of silver coins out of a pocket that hangs from a belt around his torso, placing them with a clink on the edge of the scales with a nod. The claw snaps out, grabbing the vegetables and placing them in a burlap sack. The scales dance back and forth now freed of their burden, and Cechec gives the merchant a wink before turning away.

The tails of Cechec's coat beat at the back of his legs as he walks through the rest of the market. Merchants selling all sorts of autumn fare from their stalls raise their hands in greeting, and Cechec nods in return, eyeing their wares carefully.

A few youth run past, their arms swinging as they shout to each other from across the market. One of them catches Cechec's sack, spilling vegetables to the ground. He responds with a snarl, one of his many fangs briefly baring before hiding again as he kneels to collect the food. The youth, a human teen on the cusp of adulthood, turns with his mouth pursed to apologize, his eyes darting between the spilled produce and the mountain of a dragonborn that stoops to collect it.

"S-Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to.."

"Hrmph. Nothing I can't fix. Just return my coinpurse and we're even."

"Your.. what?" The youth's eyebrow drops in confusion as his hands move behind his back, repelled by the outstretched claw of Cechec as he kneels on one knee.

"My coinpurse. Now."

The youth narrows his eyes before exhaling with a scoff, tossing the small sack to Cechec. "Fine. Probably didn't have any gold anyway."

Cechec catches it in a claw, tossing it in his palm as he feels the weight. "Hey. Kid." A single gold coin spins through the air, landing deftly in the youth's palm. "Next time, don't distract and lift on the same side, eh?"

"Eh? Folks? Youse in?"

The figure closes the door behind him, the final gusts of chill autumn air whirling and twisting as they explore every inch of the small house that they have infiltrated. The home is small, quaint; it fits in with its neighbours, here in the outskirts of Swampside. Small candles light the room in the early twilight of the winter months, casting long shadows against the small table that resides in the corner of the room. A small kitchen borders the opposite corner, the two separated by a door leading to the rest of the house.

The figure removes their hood, shaking loose a long, magnificent red beard and shorter red hair that has been drawn up into a bun, held steadily in place by a length of orange ribbon. Their jacket is hung carefully by the door on top of a bronze hook that had long been polished to a shine on top, an earthly patina rounding out the bottom.

Dulgrun carries their pack to the table, withdrawing three squashes that he places carefully on the table before setting the pack to the side. He looks around once more and shrugs before walking over to the kitchen, rolling his sleeves up to begin washing his hands in preparation.

"I see you found something for the pot." Dulgrun turns at the high, small voice that comes from the bedroom door, his eyes looking up and down at the young halfling that has walked in. Her eyes glint with happiness as she holds her arms out. "Come in. Give me a hug, child."

Dulgrun chuckles. "I'd be, what. 150 years yer senior? Been a while since I've seen ya in this mask, Rux. You'd been wearing that other one, that human." The hug they share is warm, and Dulgrun rests his head in the crook of the halfling's neck. "M'sorry. Meant to visit n'all, but.."

The halfing tuts, pushing back to hold Dulgrun at arms length. "I'll not hear it. You're here now. And, if these ears don't deceive..."

The door to the home swings open once more, making way for a tall half elf. His cloak swings out in an arc as it is removed in a flourish, before finding a hook identical to Dulgrun's. "My family! Do not tell me you've started without me." He dips down, planting a kiss on Rux's cheek before rubbing their noses together. "Hello, darling. Sorry I'm late."

"Not to worry, dearest. Wik has only just arrived. And, look! They brought squash."

Yom stands to their full height, their short black hair narrowly missing the beams that support their ceiling. They look to the table, eyes narrowing at the vegetables before turning to look at Dulgrun. "Did they. Hmm. Honestly paid for, I presume."

"Yom, ye give me no credit. None at'all!" The smirk on his lips gives him away, as it always does, and he looks away.

Yom returns his smirk with an identical one, twinged with sadness. "A certain merchant's purse may weigh a bit heavier in the morning, then. Come! Give me a moment to get this mask off and we can start." He strides across the room, closing the distance in a few short steps before ducking through the door to the bedroom.

"Don't mind them." Rux places a hand on Dulgrun's shoulder, the skin rapidly greying as the fingers elongate and the shoulder rises. Their hair grows, changing from close cropped auburn to long, braided white strands. Dulgrun nods, running a hand through his beard and leaving behind bare, grey skin. "You know they just want the best for you."

"I know. Thanks." Wik keeps pushing their hand up through their hair, tossing it back behind their ears.

"Alright! Who's ready for stew." Yom steps out from the bedroom, their hair tied up in a ponytail with in a knot of black rope. The white dress that they wear twirls as they spin into the room, falling into the arms of their partner. They smile warmly, a grey finger reaching up to stroke their jaw. Their white eyes narrow, before widening quickly and darting to the window.

"You closed the blinds, right?"