This was, frankly, embarrassing. Yep! There it was. Toro was convinced that everyone thought he was so desperate, he had to go on a blind date. In another court. Alone. (Isn’t everyone else going alone? A sane person might ask. His mind says: Don’t people bring friends to double dates? I don’t have any friends. Don’t tell me it’s not a double date. I already know!) He’s asked Hajduk not to come with him; the lion is inside Toro’s head anyway, and despite Hajduk’s insistence that a magic lion will make him “seem cooler, just like he wanted,” Toro has decided he must go it alone. Alone. Alone.
Toro’s gift was this: a necklace which featured a golden serpent swallowing a citrine sun, its rays a ring of tiny, circular garnets, and its tail and head connected to a chain, so the serpent could settle at the base of the wearer’s neck, guarding her heart. It had cost - well. He wasn’t spending the money on much, anyway. It didn’t matter. Why think of the price when - when - he thought back to the merchant, smiling at him knowingly when he shied away from the question of ‘who.’ The jeweler had winked and said, “We all have our secrets.” It took Hajduk to tell him that she was more likely than not implying that he was having an affair. “Two girls,” Toro had said. “Imagine.” He’d buy such jewels for them both.
The meadow was blanketed with a layer of snow, even whiter than he; he would have appreciated the snow had he not been more concerned that it made him look yellow. The lights strewn about did enough of that, he decided, turning him orange with their glow. Night brought a chill upon the world that the Solterran was unaccustomed to, and it was with great apprehension that he stood there, shivering, waiting for his date to arrive.
WHO DOESN'T WANT
EVEN WITH THEIR EYES CLOSED
TO NOT FEEL ALONE
The paper was slipped beneath the door of Dune’s shop while he was dreaming.
“A champion of many,
Enemy of few,
Is waiting in the snowy Plains
For a sweet date with you.
Bring a present, a gift,
Something to delight.
On this very first date
You don’t want to cause a fight.”
You’ll notice it didn’t say anything about Dune’s date being a man. When he approaches the plains near the appointed hour and he sees a massive stallion standing in wait, his first instinct is to laugh. Of course. Of course the street rat would be set up on a date with a man. Not just any man but El Toro, Champion of Battle.
Dune draws near and clears his throat loudly. “Are you my…” he doesn’t want to say the word, not out loud, and he wrestles with himself to spit it out. “Date?” Gods, this was stupid. Why did they both come all the way out here? They could have just stayed in Solterra. And talk about awkward... after this would they turn around and go back to Solterra together? If things didn’t go well it would be a long, quiet walk home. Dune sighs. Somewhere the gods are laughing, he’s sure of it.
“I, uh, brought you this.” He had intended it for a Deluminian librarian, pretty eyes hidden behind a long dark mane. Or a Denoctian princess, sharp of wit and will. But it was no pain to him to see it given to another. As he floats it between them he notices suddenly the striking, dancing color of the other man’s eyes. They dance in the distant lights like something cut from precious stone, cold and nuanced.
The present is wrapped in cheap paper, tied with hemp rope. A sprig of juniper is slipped beneath the lopsided bow knot. Inside, delicate edges padded with shredded coconut husk, is a little bird crafted of bits and pieces of scrap metal. It is leaping into flight, graceful bronze wings extended back in preparation to launch forward and up into the sky. It is not perfect, not even close. The bird’s eyes are two mis-matched pieces of obsidian, roughly chipped into spheres, and one wing is slightly longer than the other. Dune had wanted to refine it more- soften the edge of the metal so it wasn’t sharp enough to draw blood, or perhaps dismantle it all and do it over with some mechanism for flapping the wings. But there were never enough hours in the day for him to do all the things he wanted to, so in the end it was a rush just to get it recognizable as avian. While it is far from perfect, even Dune and his perfectionism would admit it’s not without character.
Anyway, it isn’t like he had the money for a proper gift.
Dune tries not to look too closely at the stallion’s reaction. He heard it didn’t look good to care too much. He finds himself eying the snowy landscape. It was pretty, but, “I hate this stuff.” He gestures to the vast whiteness, nose curls briefly in distaste. He’s cold, and damp, and his date is a dude. Not just any dude- the Solterran champion of battle.
Perhaps, the thought occurs to him only then, a rich dude.
For the first time that evening he smiles, a true smile. Charming, when he wanted to be. Even when it made him feel like dirt. “I’m Dune.”
i swear i hated you, thought you were gross, now i'm a fool
Toro pays little attention to the scruffy boy wandering around the meadow, dismissing him almost as soon as he sees him. But then he gets closer, and closer, and...he stops. “Are you my” - a reluctant pause - “date?” Toro looks down (down, down) at him and blinks. He - he had expected...a girl. Of course. It didn’t matter if - if he thought anything about certain boys, really, because his date was supposed to be a girl. He should be dating girls. But he thinks back to his invitation and, with great disappointment, realizes that this...boy...matches the (relatively vague) rhyme. So Toro clears his throat and says, finally, “I believe so. This is...surprising.” He - doesn’t want to be rude. Maybe this guy was hoping for someone (handsome, tall, accomplished) like Toro. It wouldn’t do to just stomp on his feelings. Even if he looked...so...plain.
The bay passes him the crudely wrapped gift, resigned to its fate. Toro thinks about his own present and, silently, agrees that resigned is the word for the fate of that investment. He unwraps the gift, carefully, trying to keep his expression mostly blank and a little expectant (a kindness, he thinks). When was the last time anyone had given him a gift? (A long, long time ago, and it was Anzhelo. He couldn’t forget. He didn’t even want to, for once.) He pulls the paper away and stares at it for a moment, his eyes finding their way through every sloppily-soddered limb and rusted screw. Toro looks up, and smiles, genuinely. “It’s lovely. Did you make it?” (Obviously.) He pauses and then holds out his own gift, a tiny wooden box lacquered red. Toro had been beyond relieved to know that it came in its own box; his idea of gift-wrapping was akin to Dune’s. “I - this is for you, then. It...may not be to your tastes.” Maybe it was. He could sell it, anyway.
His - date - (it pains him to even think it, how awkward!) makes a comment about the snow. Toro chuckles a little. “I don’t mind the snow. But I stay in Solterra for a reason.” That reason had never been clear, from the beginning, and even as he finds himself at the helm of its soldiers - a position he sought for years before his father’s death - Toro cannot say why, exactly, he stays in a land determined to burn his skin off before midday and twice as determined to wring the water from his very bones. Even if he does know, somewhere in his heart, he dare not go looking for it.
Dune. The name had an air of finality to it, perhaps because it sounded like doom or because it stood for something impermanent yet bound to return to the same shape. Dunes would not always be dunes, but they would become dunes again.
This is getting stupid.
Toro smiles tightly and says, “Toro. Nice to meet you, Dune. Whatever the circumstances.” It could be worse. Even if he just handed a very boring stranger (boy) a very expensive necklace.
