Revolting Rose

Chapter 2/Part 2 - Creatures of the Night

With nothing but a light case of essentials, Pagne made haste away from the palace. He rushed down the crooked back of Mount Loom into the sprawling, shroomy mass that was the city of Hereth. Among the glowing tangles of mushrooms Tyvern darted from here to there, sometimes from there to here, or here to here, and there to there. Their movements never seemed to have much purpose, but they always made themselves look mighty busy as they hurried about.

Try as he might to fit in among the bustling inhabitants of the city, Pagne was as lost as a sock. It was his first time navigating Hereth alone, and the folk around him seemed to notice. As he trod down the same stalk for the fourth time, he was brought to an abrupt stop by some vagrant making a grab at his shoulder.

"What've ye got in yer pocketses?" the fellow sneered. His hand fell away, only to clear the way for a foul, coagulated blob of something moist hitting Pagne on the back of the head.

Not about to just stand there and take such a vulgar gesture, he swung his suitcase around to wallop whoever was responsible. To his surprise, when he turned the fellow had already vanished, leaving only his shoes and a sickly smear on the stalk beneath them.

Pagne grimaced and tried to find some familiarity in his surroundings, but would have preferred something other than the sort that caught his nose. The faint aroma of rotten flesh and burning leaves hung in the air around him. It seemed he had picked up some of the odour from the dungeon, but it was enough to ward off any more followers.

Not afraid of a simple smell himself, Pagne soldiered on. Though he did not know the way, he eventually found some markers showing the way to the Alpheron. He knew that somewhere along the river's bank sat his destination, but it proved to be a wild path. Signs sent him up and down mushrooms, through windows, out back doors, and even insisted he leap from roof-cap to roof-cap on occasion. Just as he was about to give up on the directions, the river rose so abruptly before him that he almost fell in.

Had he a choice, Pagne would have steered well clear of the Alpheron. He was haunted by tales of the Great Sock Plague in his childhood. His grandparents were supposedly taken to a watery grave by the darned demons that dwelt in the depths of the river. To avoid suffering the same fate, he kept a wary eye on the waters as he went onwards to where his mother would be.

The Academy of Carnal Knowledge, his mother's home in the city, was unlike anything around it. Built from black rock, with silver lattices tracing its walls, there was nothing natural about the structure. It sat to the side of the city on a protrusion of its own amid a garden of exotic plants and bathed in the light of peculiar purple lanterns. How odd it was to see leafy greens and flowers with not a single mushroom nor vegetable among them.  

Pagne trod up the garden path to the front entrance with his nose held high. He did not care for it at all.

But he cared even less for what went on inside the Academy's walls. The moment he had stepped into the foyer he was met with a vulgar performance that was all kinds of things he did not want to see. His mother, Vasherri, was on a gaudy stage, singing lewd songs and dancing with about as much grace as a—

"PAGNE, DARLING!" her voice boomed mid-song. Then chairs and patrons were toppled in her wake as she charged exuberantly towards him.

From either side of the grand entrance two Wyverks also joined them. They relieved Pagne of his luggage and brought more unwanted attention with them. The pair were Pagne's twin half-brothers by the same mother. Their hair was the same dark shade of burgundy as hers, quite unlike his own white locks, but they all unmistakably shared the same style of horn.

"Hello, Bubbles," the twins said together. "Are you staying with us?"

Pagne did his best to reply, but before he could get a sound out he was pulled into his mother's enormous pair of chest-warts and smothered in a tight hug.

"Mama, Bubbles is only a delicate little thing," said one of his brothers.

"The boy needs to breathe," followed the other.

After a little more flailing, Pagne was released, gasping for breath, but only long enough to wheeze, "please be careful with me, Vasherri," before he was pulled back in.

"Oh, hush. He loves his mama's hugs. Don't you, darling? And do call me Mama. You're always so formal. Was it Lord Kabby or Nibbs that made you that way?"

Pagne lost all hope he had in avoiding association with her trade in front of the Tyvern aristocracy. Not that they did not already know about his scandalous birth, but he could only imagine the rumours that would circulate after this meeting. Then it only got worse. He was dragged to the stage through the path that his mother had cleared earlier, and the twins made off with his suitcase.

"You've grown into such an adorable little thing, not that you weren't adorable last time that you dropped by. And why has it been so long since you visited me? I was beginning to get worried, darling," Vasherri said as she tugged him along, depositing him at the front of the room in full view of the Tyvern patrons.

"Sorry about the interruption, but I simply must introduce you to my boy, in case you haven't already met him at the palace. But I'm sure you all have. How could you miss such a sweet thing, rushing about, doing whatever it is that he does," Vasherri laughed boisterously as she presented Pagne like a boiled turnip. "After the Season I think he will finally be ready for his first. And I promise you, it will be his first. He is such a good little thing. Doesn't he remind you of a little cake?"

Pagne was embarrassed further as she gave his royally flushed cheeks a pinch.

"He is so prone to blushing."

"Vasherri, I'm not—"

"Who wants my precious little Pagne?" Vasherri called out without a care.

The room fell silent but for the occasional cough and quiet muttering between fellows. Pagne felt a little insulted, not that he was eager to have them show their interest in the Academy.

"Don't take it to heart darling. They're afraid of your father hearing about it, that's all," his mother said with a consoling pat of his back, but he could not help noticing a hint of disappointment in her expression when she turned back to her audience. "There's no need to be glum. I was only pulling your legs, darlings, and there are plenty of beautiful Wyverkiiri to pull your other legs. Go on, now, darlings. I think it's time you spent some of your earnings!"

As the harlots moved in to proposition their patrons, Pagne made himself scarce down a private hall. Even though he rarely visited, the Academy always had a bedroom set aside for him. It was typical of Wyverkiiri fashion in its unrestrained opulence, but Pagne could not help but notice the prevalence of Amphelian silk. Not only in the décor, either. His mother, brothers and the other Wyverkiiri had all been outfitted in the garish fabrics.

The only tasteful thing in the whole establishment, aside from himself, was a nice painting of some weeds on the wall. It provided a decent distraction while he waited for a chance to speak to his mother without an audience.

"Vasherri," Pagne started as soon as he heard someone enter the room, eager to get his business in this place over with.

It was not his mother he saw when he turned around.