Those predator senses let Gale notice more than he would have been able to before. Pom freezes, and Gale pulls his hands away instantly. "Don't be sorry," Gale tells him, a little more forcefully than he means to, because he doesn't want Pom trying to put up a front or try to be something for Gale's benefit that isn't real. Gale has created enough illusions for himself to last a lifetime, lovely dreams that let him hide from reality. During his year of isolation, he spent time in an illusory astral sea to take his mind off his troubles. In Karteria, he had made illusions of Waterdeep to sooth the longing in his heart. Even his time with Mystra, hadn't much of the love he thought he'd seen there been all in his mind, if what came after was anything to go on? He doesn't want that with Pom. "No one was made for this. And this doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be." He holds Pom's face in his hands. "I just want to be with you."
His face cradled in Gale's hands, Pom turns that reassurance over in his mind as he searches Gale's eyes for any hint, any indication at all that he's made the wrong choice, that he misinterpreted his own feelings, that he's somehow tricked one of the few people he could call a friend into being something more. There's no Purl to ask, no one but the two of them, and Pom doesn't trust his own gut on this, despite everything.
So he has to place his trust in Gale... and he finds he's happy to do so. Gale tells him he wants to be together, and that it doesn't have to be anything life-altering, and Pom finds it so much easier to believe him than himself. It's a relief, one he's not sure he can put into words; it instead manifests as a gentle smile, one born from a reprieve from his own unease.
"My Soul is telling me otherwise, but... maybe we could take it slow." He meant for that to be a question, but it feels better as a statement - as something he needs as much as Gale himself.
Pom smiles softly and flowers bloom in Gale's chest where he had been certain the earth was salted. Reverently, he brushes the pad of his thumb over Pom's lower lip, making sure that it's real. "I understand. My other soul has... Similar preoccupations." He blushes and glances away. It's not entirely the beast who wants to taste Pom's skin, but Gale can blame it and it isn't as if it can argue. "But I agree. Slow is good." He pauses and then says, "I should probably get off of you?"
That smile is entirely real, as is the kiss Pom presses to the pad of Gale's thumb as it traces his lip. He has to remind himself that this isn't a performance - that Gale wants him as he is. He just has to convince himself of that.
"You could stay another minute," he responds, as soft as Gale's suggestion. "I was liking that." He leans back into Gale's hands, slower this time, trepidation keeping him from going all in. As he struggles with honest behavior, he offers honest words instead. "Only Purl gets this close, so it's been a long time since I felt claws in my hair."
"I'm honored to take up the duty in her absence." His tone is light,
playful, but he doesn't mean it any less. Gale knows how much Purl means to
Pom, how much he misses her, and he is glad if he can be a balm for that
pain. He sighs his fingers back into Pom's hair, rubbing his scalp and his
ears. "Tell me if I'm doing this wrong. I don't know how you like it."
Pom doesn't know how he likes it either, but he's clearly enjoying himself as he closes his eyes, his tail back to wagging, one fang digging into his lip as Gale finishes up with his hair. He makes only one request — harder — as Gale gets to the back of his neck. It's impossible to tell he trims daily with what Kelesis has done to him, a line of fur trailing from his hairline to the mane around his throat, then down his spine; it's thicker between his shoulder blades before thinning out in the middle of his back, only to fluff up again along his tail, its deep color much like his scales when Shifted.
As promised, he behaves for another minute before moving to reciprocate, wanting to help Gale with his own hair. He's careful around those newfound ears, even more so when he gets to the wings on Gale's back. They're small things, relatively delicate compared to the bulk of the wizard's Shifted form, but Pom can't help but marvel at them.
And then, a thought occurs to him. "Hey, you're kind of like Tara now. You said she's got wings, right?"
Fur and feathers itch. Not nearly so much now as when they were first
coming in, and since he's learned to better care for them, but having Pom's
nails dig into his feathers and over his scalp is nice. He's just tilting
his head and butting it into Pom's hand when his words process and, oh. He
freezes, blinks, tilts his head in thought as several emotions pass over
his features. "Tressym," he says, lifting his hand to reach over one
shoulder, running it over the wing. "I.. perhaps? But if so, what does it
mean?"
He continues to scrub, gentle around any part that may be tender.
"Our Souls are both creatures we recognize - or ones we used to. I thought it was because they belonged to those particular creatures. Now, I'm wondering if it's something about us that's giving them their form."
"Viktor thought so from early on. I didn't believe there was anything I
could possibly have in common with a monstrosity like an owlbear." He tilts
his head into that touch, angling so that Pom can't scratch just the right
spot. "I'm... Less sure of that assertion now."
He sighs and sits back. "We should get out before the water gets too cold.
I can dry us off. If you didn't mind the magic."
He does mind the magic, but does his best impression of someone who thinks otherwise. "I'm getting used to it, bit by bit. Better that than stuff that messes with my head, like um. The illusions."
Stepping out of the basin, his fur reaches for the floor, weighted by the water still clinging to it; he shivers almost immediately, remembering how cold the rest of the room is now that he's away from the warm water and Gale's body heat. The small towels provided will do little for either of them, but he uses one to help dry his hair all the same, some of the dye that keeps it purple coming off on the fabric.
Gale does his best not to look hurt by the knowledge that Pom doesn't like
his illusions, sees them as needing with his head. Patho-Gen messes with
people's heads, and Gale isn't anything like them, is he? "I didn't realize
you disliked them so much," he mutters as he climbs out of the tub.
He doesn't bother with towels, dripping as he approaches Pom, his skin
wafting steam. "I'll dry you off," he says, and that's the only warning he
gets before Gale starts casting, removing the water far more effectively.
"I didn't realize your hair was dyed."
Gale does a good job disguising it, but Pom can practically sense his injury in the way he mutters, feels it from Gale before he knows what to do with it. His ears dip apologetically, tail curling beneath him. "It—"
Oh, but then the magic happens, and the water evaporates from him, dissipating in the air; there's a whiff of what Pom calls 'that magic smell', specifically when it's Gale's magic, and he finds himself suddenly dry. All the fluff and fur on him sticks in every direction, in desperate need of a brushing. He can do that later. He wraps the towel around his waist, only to realize he needs a second towel to make it all the way around. He grabs another, tying them together before he tries again.
"It's not you," he reassures. "Not with the illusions, or my hair. The latter, I don't exactly go telling folks. The former... I don't..."
He pauses, trying to figure out how best to put it. He doesn't want to continue to hurt Gale's feelings, especially when he cares so much for him. He's done that plenty of times already, despite his best efforts. Gale deserves better.
"The illusions are something I can't parse out piece by piece. Can't explain them, like I could an instrument or a machine. It's like something's being put in my head, and I don't know how much I can trust it. How much I can trust myself with it."
"I can understand that," he says, an unspoken 'but' hovering in the cold air between them. He dries himself off next, but it doesn't stop him shivering, not given the temperature in the room. Before, he would have wanted to have a lengthy discussion about this, try to explain magic to Pom, or at least explain why it's beautiful, but words come at a much higher cost since he came back. Pom doesn't like his illusions — he makes a note not to do them around him. What's one more part of him to cut off anyway? "We should get dressed, get under the blankets, something. It's too cold in here to be naked."
Pom's ears remain dipped, his tail curling inward; he does his best to hide his guilt, but without his glasses and clothing, his body so changed from what he's used to, the signs are all too obvious.
"... Sure."
Now that they're dry, he figures blankets will be the best option for getting them warm, as figuring out how to put himself back into his clothes in this partially-Shifted shape is a challenge even when he's not shivering. He gestures toward the bed before heading over himself. Nestled beneath the facade of an igloo, the bed is just big enough for the two of them, although it will be a tight fit.
The barest hint of a smile tugs at Pom's lips - maybe he can still make it up to Gale. Maybe he isn't the proverbial better Gale deserves, but he can pretend, just for a night. Wrap his arms around him, keep him warm. Make himself useful. Help Gale forget he's a fool who doesn't know what he's doing, who is as likely to destroy anything fragile and precious as a rampaging Deviljho.
Well, there goes his smile. He attempts to put it on again as he climbs into one side of the bed, patting the other side enticingly, but the knot in his brow still remains.
Gale hurries to get into the blankets, settling in beside Pom where he'd patted. "You're upset?" he says, looking over his expression with a frown. Pom's smile is present, but weak, and his brows furrowed. Gale reaches up to smooth away the lines between his brow like errant chalk marks on a chalkboard. It's a funny thing, the way they feel so connected without actually knowing all that much about one another. Is that the imprint? Or just the situation they find themselves in. "Tell me?"
Gale presses a kiss into the same spot between Pom's eyebrows. "You don't
have to tell me," he says, amending his previous request. Because now more
than ever, Gale understands not wanting to talk about certain things, "But
you can. You know that right?"
He gnaws his lip; he knows he can tell Gale, but worries about crossing a line, hurting his feelings, making him regret this partnership already. He promised he'd be more honest, and here he is, trying to go back to pretending already.
"Something I said bothered you, and you clammed up. About the illusions. I know I can talk to you, but can you talk to me? It don't have to be tonight, but... I don't want to ruin this immediately. Don't want to lose this good thing I wanted so bad right after getting it."
"Sorry," Gale says, turning a little pink as his new ears flatten out. He looks away from Pom, staring at the walls of the igloo, wondering whether the I've is real. "I know. But... It's hard now. To get what I want to say out. Not because of you." He shuffles a little closer until their sides are flush. Then he turns to look at Pom, because it's easier somehow "I just... I... Want to be what you want. Don't think I've ever really been that for anyone before."
I want to be what you want. It echoes in Pom's head, and for an instant, hears himself in Gale's words. He's been there, dealing with complicated feelings, unable to vocalize them because he's afraid of being hurt, all while struggling against the Natural Soul in him that feeds on bestial instinct and action. Gale has that, and what he's been through with Patho-Gen, with his torture. Words would be hard for anyone after that. Pom remembers those times in the Pens. Purl had to coax the words out of him, too.
Above all, he understands what Gale is saying. He's wanted that so many times: to be someone else, someone better, who someone deserves — or who he thinks they deserve — rather than who they are truly asking for. Pom tries so often to play a role, and he can't help but wonder in that moment if it's the same for Gale. He's used to being an important person, after all - one doesn't get a title like Of Waterdeep without being at least a little important. If he's used to being more, to having the magic that made him so important... maybe that's what people are used to seeing, why they paid attention to him. He came to think that's all he was.
And then there's Pom, who doesn't particularly feel comfortable around magic, asking Gale to be something he feels he's not. And, selfish thing that he is, he didn't even think about it because he's used to trying to be what people want rather than himself. Pom doesn't know himself, and what he does know, he doesn't necessarily like. Maybe there's a bit of that confusion in Gale, too - he doesn't know who he is without his magic, the same way Pom doesn't know who he is without Purl. They don't know how to be anything else, after all.
People are so much more complicated than monsters, but Pom's willing to try if Gale is. He can get used to magic, and Gale can get used to being without it, and the two of them can meet somewhere in the middle of illusion and reality.
"You don't need to be someone else just for me. I want that nice fella who checks on me when I'm out too long. Who reads to me at night while I tune my horn. Who cares so much about others, and not nearly enough about himself."
He turns his head Gale's way to meet his eyes, reaching down for his hand, his fingers aching to lace themselves between Gale's.
"If that means illusions, then I'll get used to them... so long as you're real with me. And if you're someone other than that nice fella I've known for months now, then you've sure got me fooled."
"You make it sound easy when you put it that way," Gale says softly. Because unlike Pom, Gale never particularly realized he was playing a role. Even though he buried Gale Dekarios to erect Gale of Waterdeep in his place, it didn't feel like an illusion, it just felt like an evolution. In becoming one of the greatest wizards of Waterdeep, he never realized he was building a facade of the type of man he imagined would garner respect and love. He never realized it was a wall until his life became a tragedy and he realized how few people would notice or care if he never made it home. Funny how a tadpole in his brain had managed to improve his life in that regard, had taught him what it meant to have companions, friends, that he could rely on even when he showed his weaknesses. He has found even more people like that since arriving here, but Pom was the first.
Gale twines his fingers together with Pom. "I promise to always be genuine with you. But please tell me when things make you uncomfortable too."
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So he has to place his trust in Gale... and he finds he's happy to do so. Gale tells him he wants to be together, and that it doesn't have to be anything life-altering, and Pom finds it so much easier to believe him than himself. It's a relief, one he's not sure he can put into words; it instead manifests as a gentle smile, one born from a reprieve from his own unease.
"My Soul is telling me otherwise, but... maybe we could take it slow." He meant for that to be a question, but it feels better as a statement - as something he needs as much as Gale himself.
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"You could stay another minute," he responds, as soft as Gale's suggestion. "I was liking that." He leans back into Gale's hands, slower this time, trepidation keeping him from going all in. As he struggles with honest behavior, he offers honest words instead. "Only Purl gets this close, so it's been a long time since I felt claws in my hair."
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"I'm honored to take up the duty in her absence." His tone is light, playful, but he doesn't mean it any less. Gale knows how much Purl means to Pom, how much he misses her, and he is glad if he can be a balm for that pain. He sighs his fingers back into Pom's hair, rubbing his scalp and his ears. "Tell me if I'm doing this wrong. I don't know how you like it."
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As promised, he behaves for another minute before moving to reciprocate, wanting to help Gale with his own hair. He's careful around those newfound ears, even more so when he gets to the wings on Gale's back. They're small things, relatively delicate compared to the bulk of the wizard's Shifted form, but Pom can't help but marvel at them.
And then, a thought occurs to him. "Hey, you're kind of like Tara now. You said she's got wings, right?"
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Fur and feathers itch. Not nearly so much now as when they were first coming in, and since he's learned to better care for them, but having Pom's nails dig into his feathers and over his scalp is nice. He's just tilting his head and butting it into Pom's hand when his words process and, oh. He freezes, blinks, tilts his head in thought as several emotions pass over his features. "Tressym," he says, lifting his hand to reach over one shoulder, running it over the wing. "I.. perhaps? But if so, what does it mean?"
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He continues to scrub, gentle around any part that may be tender.
"Our Souls are both creatures we recognize - or ones we used to. I thought it was because they belonged to those particular creatures. Now, I'm wondering if it's something about us that's giving them their form."
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"Viktor thought so from early on. I didn't believe there was anything I could possibly have in common with a monstrosity like an owlbear." He tilts his head into that touch, angling so that Pom can't scratch just the right spot. "I'm... Less sure of that assertion now."
He sighs and sits back. "We should get out before the water gets too cold. I can dry us off. If you didn't mind the magic."
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Stepping out of the basin, his fur reaches for the floor, weighted by the water still clinging to it; he shivers almost immediately, remembering how cold the rest of the room is now that he's away from the warm water and Gale's body heat. The small towels provided will do little for either of them, but he uses one to help dry his hair all the same, some of the dye that keeps it purple coming off on the fabric.
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Gale does his best not to look hurt by the knowledge that Pom doesn't like his illusions, sees them as needing with his head. Patho-Gen messes with people's heads, and Gale isn't anything like them, is he? "I didn't realize you disliked them so much," he mutters as he climbs out of the tub.
He doesn't bother with towels, dripping as he approaches Pom, his skin wafting steam. "I'll dry you off," he says, and that's the only warning he gets before Gale starts casting, removing the water far more effectively. "I didn't realize your hair was dyed."
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Oh, but then the magic happens, and the water evaporates from him, dissipating in the air; there's a whiff of what Pom calls 'that magic smell', specifically when it's Gale's magic, and he finds himself suddenly dry. All the fluff and fur on him sticks in every direction, in desperate need of a brushing. He can do that later. He wraps the towel around his waist, only to realize he needs a second towel to make it all the way around. He grabs another, tying them together before he tries again.
"It's not you," he reassures. "Not with the illusions, or my hair. The latter, I don't exactly go telling folks. The former... I don't..."
He pauses, trying to figure out how best to put it. He doesn't want to continue to hurt Gale's feelings, especially when he cares so much for him. He's done that plenty of times already, despite his best efforts. Gale deserves better.
"The illusions are something I can't parse out piece by piece. Can't explain them, like I could an instrument or a machine. It's like something's being put in my head, and I don't know how much I can trust it. How much I can trust myself with it."
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"... Sure."
Now that they're dry, he figures blankets will be the best option for getting them warm, as figuring out how to put himself back into his clothes in this partially-Shifted shape is a challenge even when he's not shivering. He gestures toward the bed before heading over himself. Nestled beneath the facade of an igloo, the bed is just big enough for the two of them, although it will be a tight fit.
The barest hint of a smile tugs at Pom's lips - maybe he can still make it up to Gale. Maybe he isn't the proverbial better Gale deserves, but he can pretend, just for a night. Wrap his arms around him, keep him warm. Make himself useful. Help Gale forget he's a fool who doesn't know what he's doing, who is as likely to destroy anything fragile and precious as a rampaging Deviljho.
Well, there goes his smile. He attempts to put it on again as he climbs into one side of the bed, patting the other side enticingly, but the knot in his brow still remains.
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"I'm not upset with you."
As usual, Pom's problem is with Pom himself.
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Gale presses a kiss into the same spot between Pom's eyebrows. "You don't have to tell me," he says, amending his previous request. Because now more than ever, Gale understands not wanting to talk about certain things, "But you can. You know that right?"
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He gnaws his lip; he knows he can tell Gale, but worries about crossing a line, hurting his feelings, making him regret this partnership already. He promised he'd be more honest, and here he is, trying to go back to pretending already.
"Something I said bothered you, and you clammed up. About the illusions. I know I can talk to you, but can you talk to me? It don't have to be tonight, but... I don't want to ruin this immediately. Don't want to lose this good thing I wanted so bad right after getting it."
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Above all, he understands what Gale is saying. He's wanted that so many times: to be someone else, someone better, who someone deserves — or who he thinks they deserve — rather than who they are truly asking for. Pom tries so often to play a role, and he can't help but wonder in that moment if it's the same for Gale. He's used to being an important person, after all - one doesn't get a title like Of Waterdeep without being at least a little important. If he's used to being more, to having the magic that made him so important... maybe that's what people are used to seeing, why they paid attention to him. He came to think that's all he was.
And then there's Pom, who doesn't particularly feel comfortable around magic, asking Gale to be something he feels he's not. And, selfish thing that he is, he didn't even think about it because he's used to trying to be what people want rather than himself. Pom doesn't know himself, and what he does know, he doesn't necessarily like. Maybe there's a bit of that confusion in Gale, too - he doesn't know who he is without his magic, the same way Pom doesn't know who he is without Purl. They don't know how to be anything else, after all.
People are so much more complicated than monsters, but Pom's willing to try if Gale is. He can get used to magic, and Gale can get used to being without it, and the two of them can meet somewhere in the middle of illusion and reality.
"You don't need to be someone else just for me. I want that nice fella who checks on me when I'm out too long. Who reads to me at night while I tune my horn. Who cares so much about others, and not nearly enough about himself."
He turns his head Gale's way to meet his eyes, reaching down for his hand, his fingers aching to lace themselves between Gale's.
"If that means illusions, then I'll get used to them... so long as you're real with me. And if you're someone other than that nice fella I've known for months now, then you've sure got me fooled."
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Gale twines his fingers together with Pom. "I promise to always be genuine with you. But please tell me when things make you uncomfortable too."