A/N: This chapter was meant to be short because it's just interaction between characters  (Dmitri and Vaughn) and a furthering of the mystery if you're still reading this

but it came out long

and i hate myself ugh

u can ignore this book completely if u want

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The very first thing that caught the vulture's eye as he entered the lobby of the building was the expression on Jeremiah's face. It changed as he neared the stairs, closing the distance between him and the others where they stood watching; waiting for something to happen.

The very first thing Io had observed on the other hand, was a suspicious statue standing by the corner, hiding in the shadows underneath the stairs. A second glance after said vulture blocking his line of sight finally moved out of the way revealed the statue's identity to be none other than his eagle friend—to which delighted the moon phoenix immensely.

Luka! He mouthed with a wave, tip-toeing as though completely unaware that the eagle's eyes were on him already and so waving in an exaggerated manner was the only thing he could do to catch the latter's attention when in fact he need only exist to do so.

Unfortunately, the length of a sentence, no matter how short or long like the one above, is unable to fully encompass the importance of said subjects within the sentence and does not act as a reliable gauge of one's significance.

Victoria raised her right wing in response to Io's wave while Luka indulged in his all-time, private little hobby of moon gazing.

Neither seemed to notice that Vaughn had already progressed far ahead and had come to a reluctant stop between Faustes and Dmitri.

The vulture fixed a weary gaze (complimented by marvellous eyebags and magnificent dark circles under his eyes) on Faustes upon arriving at the awkward middle-ground, fingers tingling.

"Yes...?"

"Take Ford to his room," said the professor without so much a bat of an eyelash. "Make sure he stays in there. And watch his windows so that he doesn't get any ideas."

Full-time professional joke Dmitri Ford promptly dropped his jaw and squinted his eyes, looking around him for a similar reaction. There wasn't one. He made an attempt to employ the help of professional joke-diffuser Lucienne Deveraux but the latter refused to return his pleading gaze.

Meanwhile, Vaughn was sure that he'd heard everything wrong and that he simply must have an immense distaste for time-wasting additional errands that he was beginning to hallucinate. "I don't understand."

Faustes turned to him with the greatest sigh that rivalled his own. He raised an index finger and jabbed it in the general direction of his falcon student. "Watch. Over. Bird."

As though Dmitri Ford was a pet! Vaughn face was nothing short of 'ridiculous!' as he alternated his gaze between the obviously-outraged falcon and the hawkish (actually a hawk) professor who did not provide any further instructions, let alone an explanation of what he had instructed.

"You two," Faustes proceeded to address the pair in trouble. "My office."

He indicated for them to follow with a jerk of his head, turning on his heel and starting in the opposite direction without a second to waste. Io shuffled out of the way, watching as Jeremiah and Lucienne followed suit, albeit with heavier feet and paces so mismatched that it would bring discomfort to the core of any witness.

"Wait. Sir," Dmitri could not help but raise his voice. "I don't need an escort. This really isn't the kind of problem you think it is. It's no big deal."

Vaughn had always prided himself on a practical and orderly spirit, grounded by realism and well-aware of the nuances of a world so carefully crafted. He'd expected Faustes to let them off the hook, especially considering how late it was at the time. Calling them to his office would not only mean additional work for the professor, it would also mean that they would be wasting his time—that which he knew Faustes would place above everything else.

Therefore, it could only mean that Jeremiah and Lucienne had committed something worthy of serious punishment. And by the look of the huge gash on Jeremiah's upper arm and the droplets of blood on the carpet, well. Vaughn was certain of his conjecture.

"Knowing you, Ford, you'd annoy me all the way back to my office unless I get someone to keep you in check," the professor said over his shoulder without stopping. "And judging by the look on your friends' faces, I don't think you're qualified to say what sort of problem this is."

The light in Dmitri's eyes flickered as though a gust of wind had threatened to snuff it out. Not a word escaped his lips that were crushed under the weight of words, crumbling from the sudden lack of balance.

It took him a moment to compose himself and finally look towards Jeremiah and Lucienne; both appeared reluctant to return his gaze. The falcon could not in a million years decipher the look in their eyes or the weight of the situation. Everything slipped between his fingers but a final attempt was made to salvage whatever that was left—

"It's really... not a big deal."

—only to sweep its remnants aside, beyond repair.

Jeremiah was the first to pass Dmitri on the way out. And as he did, he raised his head and the most scornful eyes met the falcon's—clouding the darkness of disappointment that lay underneath it all.

"Maybe to you, Dmitri," Jeremiah said, thin lipped as he pushed past the figure stunned into silence. "Not to us."

All this, Io witnessed much like the moon in the darkness of the night sky, unnoticed by all. He caught the eyes that followed the backs of those heading for the door, observing the dull spark in Dmitri's eyes that was more often than so lit like a flame while the vulture to his left, discrete in his attempt to crush the flower that was red and about to bloom.

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There is an infinite number of things that Vaughn Alekseyev could never bring himself to like or perhaps tolerate, if, at all. Things such as disorder or a straying from the norm, that which he understood to be familiar and within his realm of crafted reason; things such as stubborn kindness and a forgiving nature; things such as sparrows and the moon. Things such noise.

Yet, here he was, walking alongside the more bizarre, unbelievable species of Dmitri Ford, feeling quite as though he had been wrong about his distastes and preferences all his life.

The vulture stole a glance at the falcon beside him, the latter dragging his feet unconsciously with a head that refused to do anything but lower and display a particular inclination towards the carpet. Vaughn could not seem to believe that among the many other things he'd detested, the latest discovery had topped his never-ending list within seconds of his unearthing: a silent Dmitri Ford.

Alas! It ruined him entirely. Vaughn was tearing himself apart, feeling every strand of his long, pin-straight, fountain-like hair weaken at its roots and begin to drop against his will at the rate he was searching for something to say, scrambling and digging for a word to fill the silence that Dmitri himself would always be filling.

It didn't take long for him to snap.

"Skies forbid," breathed the man who prided himself on his extensive vocabulary, turning to stand before his companion and prevent him from going any further. "You are beyond frustrating!"

The falcon looked up at once. Blinking as though the corridor was his bedroom and he was lying on an imaginary bed, having just only just stirred from a strange dream.

"I must say, Dmitri Ford, I've always found you quite disagreeable," the vulture launched into what he considered a grand confession. "All you do is talk and never really actually say anything—but to think that you could be worse when you don't! For the love of—of anything, really, all I ask of you is to be less disagreeable than you are now by, well, you know, not making things purposefully hard for a bystander like myself but really, all I'm trying to say is that silence, Dmitri Ford, does. Not. Suit. You."

He was heaving by the time he finished, seemingly exhausted every ounce of remaining energy he had in himself by confessing a fondness—no, toleration—of Dmitri's talkative nature and expressing his dissent towards the unnatural silence.

The falcon did not move very much. He continued to search the eyes of his companion, as though waiting for the outburst to continue and further its agenda. It took a good, long pause for Vaughn to realize this, which made him all the more uncomfortable and distorted his sense of reality.

"Will you please stop staring at me," phrased the vulture without the intention of making it seem like a question in the first place. Dmitri's eyes strayed to his Avian landing on the banister of the stairs, the hint of a smile on the edge of his lips.

"Here I am trying to be polite, giving you all the time in the world to finish whatever it was you wanted to say and there you are writing me off as rude," the falcon snorted with a laugh, shaking his head. "I'm tired."

Those were the sort of words anyone would not have expected Dmitri Ford to say. The kind that seemed to only ever qualify as his last. It was thus fairly unsurprising that Vaughn himself was rendered speechless by the other's choice of words, unable to form a coherent response.

"Well, I—then, I suppose, the professor did you no wrong by having you return to your room?" The vulture cleared his throat, looking away. "He must mean well. Naturally, he does."

With relative tact and skill, he had managed to evade the responsibility of asking the primary question of what had happened earlier in the evening, although entirely aware that this was perhaps the main reason for Faustes appointing him to escort (watch over) Dmitri Ford.

The latter sighed.

"Huh. Really. And what do you think, Vaughn?" Dmitri scoffed, laughing. "Is that why you agreed to babysit me? Tuck me into bed?"

Vaughn sucked in a groan, lips sealed shut with a bite.

"Ford. You are being unreasonable." They came to a stop in front of the falcon's door, waiting as the owner fished for his keys. "Is it wrong to follow instructions?"

"Nope," Dmitri snorted yet another laugh that seemed darker than the shadows moving across the carpet. "I do that myself. But you know," he paused, turning to Vaughn with a smile that appeared strangely sad. "I never really liked instructions."

He unlocked the door and pushed inwards, leaning his weight against the door before unexpectedly holding it open for the vulture, who stared.

"What's this supposed to mean?" Vaughn was in his natural state of frowning. "Why are you standing there holding the door open?"

It was Dmitri's turn to ask. "That's my line! Are you coming in or not?"

Vaughn was pale and aghast, having thoroughly misunderstood the cue of holding a door open and narrowly (and by narrowly, he would be counting in miles) missing the subtext of an invitation. Vaughn, the expert.

"I, well," he recomposed himself, averting his gaze before stepping past the entrance. Then, he stepped back out. "No. I have better things to do. Also, I have never been invited into someone else's room." And hence the vulture shall not risk embarrassing himself by wandering into foreign waters without the slightest knowledge of how one should act in another's room.

Dmitri's jaw dropped. He couldn't restrain the absurdity in his voice.

"Are you refusing??"

"Yes, of course," frowned Vaughn permanently. It was the general state in which he would settle in whenever the falcon was involved. "What else could that have sounded like?"

Poor Dmitri was in an outrage. "You—you don't have a drop of conscience!"

"Oh how awfully intelligent you must be for only realizing that now," said the other, unharmed by the supposed insult. "I never knew you were such a genius, Dmitri Ford, in fact I might think that we perhaps resemble each other in that aspect! You don't possess a single drop of conscience as well!"

"Can't you just listen to me rant for like, a minute??"

"No, of course not!" Vaughn found himself increasingly appalled by the second. "Why would I?"

"Because I'm a sad motherfucker and I need someone to hear my shit!" Dmitri hollered in return, his voice echoing down the hallway save the raged beat of his heart and the uncontrolled breathing of his. "Come in and tuck my fucking ass in bed or I'll fly the fuck out of the window and shove my middle finger in Faustes' face right fucking now."

The vulture was no longer appalled he was gobsmacked into outer space by the crazed ball of incomprehensive mush. It took him a good long moment for him to piece two words together.

"You... you wouldn't."

"Oh I fucking dare the fuck—"

The door across Dmitri's opened with a bang. Shri, who Dmitri did not recall living right across the hallway from him, threatened to call the police should neither give in to the other. There was no such thing as police on the island.

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Whether it was Luka Sullivan who had invited Iolani Tori to his room under the guise of supper to make up for the hours they'd spent apart or Iolani Tori who had invited Luka Sullivan to Luka Sullivan's own room—which, by itself, would be impossible according to the definition of the verb—for, well, no particular reason, mattered not. Whoever had initiated the invitation was naturally not the point. The point was that they had somehow ended up in Luka's room, on his bed, sharing the last packet of roasted sunflower seeds and pouring over the heavy new book that Io had lugged around in his arms.

"I fell asleep while I was waiting," he told the other rather without a reason for actually doing so. "Then Sylvain appeared, and we talked, and he made us some tea before telling me about this book." He went on, identifying its key characteristics which consisted of 'huge and thick.'

He added that it was the very book he remembered reading about someone with dual Avians—natural dual Avians, he meant, but would of course never say aloud around Luka who would naturally be reminded of... well, of the incident—but that it was now blank. Absent of words.

"So Sylvain suggested I loan it for a day," said Io, struggling to hold the heavy book upside down. "A night, I mean. I'm returning it tomorrow first thing in the morning. But now that our friends aren't doing so well, I think it's got to be second because, logically, the first thing I should be doing tomorrow morning is checking on Lucienne and Jeremiah and Dmitri. Right?" He peered up at his eagle friend, chewing on the side of a sunflower seed and cracking its shell in a skilful snap.

Said eagle friend stared in return.

"I could go with you."

Io nodded gratefully. "Okay. I'm pretty sure Dmitri will be alright. Vaughn's with him, after all."

Luka watched as Io examined the cover of the book, running his fingers along the spine and inspecting every corner to ensure that he hadn't missed some hidden engraving of sorts. The moon phoenix held it up to the light, angling it for yet another screening. Luka was watching him do it for the third time and although privately amused, he was beginning to think the inanimate object lucky for having the full attention of Iolani Tori.

"I've been wondering," said Io as he turned, all of a sudden, to face his companion. "You said they were arguing about the—the partner. Thing." Yes, Luka had done his best to describe the entire scene he'd witnessed from the shadows with the most lengthy prose and extensive vocabulary which we are unfortunate enough not to read. "You mean, both of them want to be Dmitri's partner?"

The eagle nodded, leaning against the headrest and unconsciously allowing his gaze to rest on Io's neck. It was a nice neck.

"And, um, how about you? Has Vaughn agreed?"

"No."

Io laughed, unable to contain himself from the way Luka had blinked at Vaughn's name as though it was the name of some unknown species.

"What are you going to do about that, then?" The tiny frame on the other side of the bed placed the book aside and Luka was suddenly very aware that Io's full attention was on him. It made the beat in his mind louder. Slightly thunderous.

"I won't force him..." He stared very openly. "He isn't the person I want to be knighted with."

"Oh," Io's shoulders fell. "There's someone else? I really do think Vaughn and you make a good pair."

Luka had skipped the logical flow of starting by stating that the person he did want to be knighted with was too high up the ranks to be knighted in the first place. It did not cross his mind to convey that.

"He's like a... chair," said Luka in response to Io's disappointment. "With pins on it."

The last thing Io had thought of comparing Vaughn to was, indeed, a chair. It made the moon phoenix laugh rather carelessly, falling onto the pile of pillows behind him. Luka appreciated the sight very much.

"That's um," he said between gasps of air, "very interesting, Luka! Maybe you could tell Vaughn that, one day."

His companion made the impression of reaching over to inspect the nameless book when he was, really, trying to close the distance that Io had unconsciously created whilst laughing and rolling about on the bed. The book was heavier than he thought it would be. How did Io carry that by himself all the way up the stairs and across the grounds from the library? He made it past the empty cover and arrived at the words in the middle of the page, in the smallest print.

He who creates shalt seeth what is writ.

He had to squint to read it. Io, who'd noticed Luka expressing some interest towards the book, snailed across the bed to sidle up beside him (and hence fulfil Luka's intentions in the first place). He waited for his eagle friend to flip the page.

When the latter finally did, the crinkle of the paper was oddly loud—as though heavy with ink and weighed down by words.

Io blinked, turning to peer up at his friend whose eyes remained affixed on the page that was blank. Luka's face showed no sign of emotion but his gaze seemed to betray a hint of warmth; a distant midnight summer in the box that did not wish to be opened. The scent of a book that was equally big. Equally heavy to the Luka Sullivan that was young and small.

The Big Book of Stars and Planets remained locked away along with a child's telescope and a severed head and a hand and blood seeping through the gaps of the kitchen tiles across the floor. It did not strike the present Luka Sullivan very much.

Those were things he'd locked away and now, that which was displayed before his very eyes failed to ignite a spark of understanding no matter how small.

"Luka?"

He was drawn away from the whispering of the box to the moon above.

Io's gaze was on him, and him only. "Are you alright? Are you—is there something on the page?"

Luka nodded once, turning back to the page that appeared blank to Iolani Tori.

It was a picture of an astronaut.

14/11/2018