[Keerin Triliante]

      Their eyes snapped open. It was inexplicable, but Keerin knew something was wrong inside their home, their fortress. For a moment, they lay on their bed, breath clouding in the frigid air and frost catching on their lashes. They were safe here, of course; no one- indeed, nothing- could step inside their room and expect to survive. And yet--
      Their ears strained in the silence; behind the breathing, beating, buzzing heart of the city, a small ripple of cracks echoed. It practically sounded like gunshots in the silence of their ice field. Who, exactly, made it into their home? Keerin slid out of bed, bare feet steaming as they touched cold tile, cracks skittering up and around their doorframe as they eased their door open.
      They moved quickly and quietly, ever confident in their home. The dark was reassuring- the ice comforting; though there might be an intruder, Keerin held no fear. Of course, they reassured themself, it had to be their little guest. They've never had a cat before, but they couldn't expect the little thing to behave immediately. It was a stray cat, after all.
      The house warmed as they approached the outer walls, the cold leeching from their bones only to be replaced with the false and flat chill of the city sleeping at night. Keerin's eyes flicked to their living room, across their kitchen-

      And to the man at their door, shaking the handle as if he could shatter the glacier that sealed the door shut. A flick of their wrist brought the temperature crashing down below freezing, ice crackling as the air itself froze. "Darling," Keerin hummed. A blade glistened in the palm of their hand as they approached. "Do tell me why you're in my house, hm? I would hope you had a good reason to invade my space, or else you'll be blessed enough to meet Her."

[Ryan Littlewood]

OOC: this one is a little long because I love writing unnecessary first-character-post-context-dumps lol, but the next should be shorter! X3

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Long story short: it had been unbearably hot in the office. That was what had landed Ryan in this predicament.

Long story long: it was that time of year where half of his colleagues thought their floor of the building was too warm, while the other half knew it was basically still winter. A member from the latter team had stuck the radiators on full blast and managed to break the room’s thermostat (Ryan suspected Irving – the guy was always messing with the room temp), so after a day of languishing in a heat that July would be jealous of, Ryan had shifted pretty much as soon as he’d clocked out – no longer wanting to feel his shirt sticking to his skin and hoping that his smaller body would help make the heat feel less oppressive.

Then, on the evening walk home, he’d walked past a person and felt blissful cold. Radiating from them like they were an ice lolly taken straight from the freezer.

Ryan was part of the Sector and he was Gifted himself; he wasn’t an idiot, he knew what the person was. Still, being a fluffball, he had the perfect excuse to brush up against their legs and eventually settle in their lap for a (honestly unplanned) nap. Living with a gift like Ryan’s for as long as he had, he didn’t feel any shame or embarrassment about being stroked and fussed over. When he was a cat, he was a cat, and that was that.

Being taken back to a person’s home was uncommon, though.

It was nighttime when he woke in an unfamiliar, dark, icy house. He explored as much of it as he could, using his feline form’s superior night vision to help him navigate. Yet once it became clear he wouldn’t be getting out of there without use of opposable thumbs, he’d shifted. Started trying to turn door handles.

The temperature abruptly dropped further – cold enough that he could see his breath, even in the dark. Goose bumps rose on his skin and a shiver ran down his spine.

“Darling.”

He jumped. The voice of his host came from not too far behind him. He spun towards them and instinctively lifted his hands, ready to surrender and placate to the best of ability, but froze (pun not intended) at the sight of a knife glinting in their hand.

They advanced slowly. Ryan's mind became a jumbled mess as he struggled to identify what the right thing to say would be in this situation, until the person mentioned meeting a ‘her’ and effectively pressed pause on his whole thought process.

Ryan’s brow wrinkled. “Don’t you live alone?” He hadn’t seen anyone else in his ventures through their place. Unless – “Oh.” He blinked down at the knife. Weapons and boats and storms – people tended to call them ‘she’ and ‘her’, didn’t they? Was the blade ‘her’?

He was getting distracted.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted. A nervous smile stretched across his lips, his teeth in danger of chattering due to the frigid air. “I uh, I really didn’t mean to trespass, I’m not robbing you or anything – you can check my pockets if you want, I have nothing on me – and I don’t want to hurt you or anything. I’m sorry.”

Presumably that was why the person had the knife; because they felt unsafe, because they thought Ryan was a threat. It was understandable that they’d want to arm themselves. All he could do was hope they’d accept his words as the truth and put the weapon down; Ryan decidedly did not want to feel it slice against his neck.

“And now that you know I mean no harm, I’d appreciate it if you would lower the knife. I really value my voice box.” He liked his second job. He liked being able to speak. “And my life,” he added as an afterthought.



Tag: Keerin Triliante

[Keerin Triliante]

Keerin's head tilted, silver hair falling gently against bare, pale skin that didn't prickle with gooseflesh in the cold. He seemed genuine; as much as Keerin would enjoy introducing him to the Mother, there was no need for a corpse in their home. They'd certainly have no place to put the body should it start rotting.

They sighed. Of course he would be concerned about his insignificant life. But the blade lowered regardless; it would certainly help him feel as if he were safe. "I'm sure you do. But, you have to understand, that this is a bit more dire than a simple case of breaking and entering, yes? You've entered my home, and that is far more unforgivable than taking some simple trinkets."

A hum escaped them. "Do tell me how you got in, and you can go." One hand disappeared into the folds of their robe, the knife vanishing with little more than a little flare of frost. "In the meantime, would you like something hot to drink?"

An impassive eye glances over Ryan Littlewood; he was shivering like a leaf in the wind. Keerin could practically hear his teeth clattering together. Of course, he untrained and unused to the cold, though Keerin could hardly fault him for that. Few people were unable to tolerate such temperatures after all.

They weren't heartless; pitying, certainly. Keerin makes no effort to hide it. "Or, perhaps, a blanket?"

[Ryan Littlewood]

Despite their sigh, they acquiesced to lower the knife and Ryan relaxed a little. A little – because there was no real way to stop them from withdrawing the weapon from their robe again if they wished to. And although what they were saying was undoubtedly important, Ryan found he was focusing more on how they said it. Even when Ryan was a cat they had spoken eloquently to him, and they continued to do so now he was human; the formal tone evidently wasn’t a ‘voice’ that was taken on when speaking to furry friends.

They sound like a book, Ryan thought. It was nice. He liked it.

He wasn’t sure he liked how his trespassing was called ‘unforgiveable’, though.

Regardless of whether he was forgiven or not, he was not immediately pointed towards the exit and ushered out the way he expected. Instead, his host suggested he might like some things to make him more comfortable, to make the cold more bearable. Ryan's lips parted, his eyes widening for a moment as he processed the offers.

He smiled again, this time with more gratitude than nerves. “Yeah… Yeah, a drink and a blanket would be really nice actually, thank you.” And maybe some central heating… Yet he supposed that would probably be pushing his luck and so he held his tongue. He could hardly ask for such a thing while in the home of someone who clearly preferred (and created) cold, especially since he was an intruder (he wouldn’t go so far as to call himself an ‘uninvited’ intruder though; they had taken him there, after all).

“As for how I got in–” he hesitated. It was impossible to predict how they would react, but – “I suppose it would be okay to show you because, well, I know, you know?” That they were Gifted. He lifted his brow pointedly. The Sector could hardly tell him off for revealing his own power to someone who was similarly 'abled' – mot that The Sector would be hearing about this at all.

The thought crossed his mind that his host could be a hunter. He decided to push it aside, choosing optimism.

“Maybe we should sit down first? Turn a light on?” It was pretty dark, being the middle of the night. “And I should introduce myself, if that would help make this any less weird. I’m Ryan. What’s your name?”


Keerin Triliante

[Keerin Triliante]

      Keerin hummed quietly. "It's nice to meet you, Ryan Littlewood," they said. "My name is Keerin Triliante. Follow me, hm? And do stay close. I'd hate for you to get frostbite on this short walk." They gestured to him, all but gliding through the sheen of ice on their floor. One hand reached out and grazed the hallway wall, frost vanishing into pale fingers as strained warmth suffused the air around Ryan. Behind him, the ice spread and cracked across the walls and floor; there was no going back now.
     "Have a seat." Keerin waved to their couch as they opened a cabinet. A quilt was produced, pale blue and white arranged into a snowflake, carefully stitched with silver thread. It was warm and seemed to stave off the cold with ease as it was given to Ryan. A lamp was lit next to him, dimly illuminating the white walls of the icy living room. What weak light it gave off didn't reach very far as the rays were seemingly swallowed by the dark that settled thick and heavy around them.
     The water ran in the sink, white noise splashed across the silence. The kettle clanked against the stove as the burner click-click-clicked on. They moved with practiced ease; if there was anything to be known about them, they were in their domain here in the kitchen.
     "Ah, Ryan, my dear, I have to ask- while you seem to imply that you know something about me, I haven't the faintest clue what you could be alluding to," Keerin said innocently as they watched the water bubble. They knew, of course, what he was talking about. But they wanted to hear him say it, to take responsibility for his words. "What is it that you know, exactly?"

[Ryan Littlewood]

They introduced themself as Keerin Triliante (which sounded as fancy as they looked), then beckoned for Ryan to follow them with something that might have sounded vaguely like a threat, had it not been said so lightly. But it did seem like Ryan had little choice. In fact, it rather seemed like they were intent on preventing Ryan from going anywhere else at all; the space behind them quickly coated in another layer of ice, thicker than before and effectively cutting off his previous attempted escape route.

Still, just as he’d followed Keerin when commanded, he obediently took a seat on the couch when told to do so. Almost immediately he felt a soft, heavy fabric being laid on him – a welcome defence against the chill – and he blinked in the new (albeit dim) light that a freshly lit lamp provided.

It would be too easy to find familiarity in being coddled (or more simply, being looked after) and to let himself sit back and melt into the feeling. Yet he was not in cat form anymore. He was human and Keerin only knew him as an intruder; he would need to be vigilant.

He eyed the snowflake pattern on the quilt, listening intently for Keerin’s movements which the boiling kettle did not make an easy task. Could this be a Hansel and Gretel situation? In which the deceptive host tried to lure him into false security with a soft ‘bed’ and refreshments?

When Keerin (too innocently – Ryan had the sudden thought that they could spin around and throw the scorching hot water right on him, if he said the wrong thing) asked what he knew about them, he gave another short (nervous) chuckle.

“Well, the whole–” he shifted in his seat to gesture vaguely behind them, back the way they’d came – “Elsa thing.” Though, with the overall refinement that Keerin seemed to radiate, Ryan felt a sudden swish of doubt that they would be familiar enough with the movie to understand that reference. “From Frozen.” And again – would it be presumptuous to assume that someone like Keerin might not have seen the popular Disney movies? “Or the Witch in ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’? Or ‘The Snow Queen’?” he tried again, thinking literature could be more Keerin’s speed.

He took a breath. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m familiar with the whole… gifted, thing.” Maybe this was why he hadn’t been made a field agent yet. But that wasn’t fair – this was an unusual situation! If he had the job, he’d be allowed to practice how to address gifted people and give ‘The Sector Talk’.

“I’m not a hunter,” he added quickly, in case Keerin jumped to conclusions as to why Ryan might know about gifted and be in their house. “If I were, I wouldn’t have been trying to leave, right? I would’ve been looking for you.” Did that sound creepy? Try again. “I just know gifted people. And – same.” He lifted his hand in a small, lame wave.


Keerin Triliante c: