He looks.

He doesn't know what he's expecting to see, but a salamander isn't it. 

"I am the Great God Tholassi, and you have been chosen as my prophet."

...he's finally snapped, hasn't he. 

It's not like he didn't know he was rotting from the inside out and he was going to collapse in on himself at some point, but —

Tholassi can still read minds. Well, sort of. Humans are hard to read in general, all fleeting impulses and unspoken flinches and unacknowledged desires. But he can get the shape of things.

He presses on. "You have been chosen for your unmatched purity, faithfulness, and devotion."

Completely unmatched, as far as Tholassi can tell, he thinks sourly.

Okay. That's — he can deal with this. All the lies and sins and impurities built up and now he's snapped and he's, just going to have to live with that. Assuming nobody tortures him to death for hubris. 

It isn't normally this hard. Humans like being prophets.

He tries, "You shall not question your Lord and God and Creator!"

He flinches, and then presses the bases of his palms into his eyes. 

Two days should help — no, better make it three — 

"You shall obey your God with purity of will and without doubt or question!"

He flinches again. 

It's — he shouldn't — 

(He's broken what would his God want from him other than fasting to purge the — he doesn't want to call it brokenness but this feels different than the rot that seeps through his thoughts when he lets it —) 

Not only does he-- admit it, it won't be different if you deny it-- only have one believer, his believer is an absolute bloody mess. 

"I am your God, Sataro, and you have been chosen for the most solemn of duties."

"What is the most solemn of duties," he says, instead of any of the things he's thinking. 

"I have been trapped as a salamander by demons. You must go to the Great Library, find a natural philosopher, and learn how to free me."

Lovely. The product of his broken mind wants him to cross the tundra and the border to find a natural philosopher who will think Sataro is insane because Sataro is insane. 

A natural philosopher would know how to recognize a small god when he sees one.

Tholassi sighs, reaches out, hopes that this power is one that still exists when you're small, and touches Sataro's mind. 

It feels like the sun's harsh rays over the glaciers on a summer's day. It feels like being judged by an all-knowing, merciless eye, one that notices your every fault and foible, and then judged acceptable. It feels like an ice bath-- the sharpness of the cold, but also the sensation of being cleansed. It feels like being pure. 

"Oh," he whispers, and falls to his knees. 

"Let's start this again," Tholassi says, still touching Sataro's mind. "I am the Great God Tholassi, and you have been chosen as my prophet for your unmatched purity, faithfulness, and devotion."

The touch says that it is obvious that Sataro is worthy-- he is clean he is whole he is pure--

He can't remember how long it's been since he last felt pure. 

"Yes, Your radiance," still in a whisper. 

"Now," he says. "About getting to Tarev."

He nods and doesn't rise to his feet. 

He glances around at the wintertime snow and shivers.

"--Actually," he says, "first take me inside in front of a nice fire and get me some meat."

"Yes, Your radiance," he repeats, and picks up the salamander — there might be questions but he can't not — and takes him inside into the barracks and finds a fire, shares from his own meat ration. 

He curls up on Sataro's hand and eats.

The warm thrum of Sataro's belief calms him. He feels better than he has since getting trapped as a salamander.

"I see you have a salamander."

Kirasu wears the thick, heavy robes of an inquisitor. 

"I do have a salamander," he agrees. 

It is — probably better if he doesn't get tortured to death for heresy and hubris.

"As your god," Tholassi says, "I order you not to get tortured to death for any reason."

Kirasu does not appear to hear Tholassi. 

"Did you take him in from outside?"

"Yes." 

Tholassi should maybe comment but he has had A Day. He came down from the godworld for Winter Solstice to state some new commandments and strike fear in the hearts o backsliders and make sure his religion is all ship-shape and Bristol fashion, only to find himself trapped as a salamander. And then he had to crawl half-frozen for three and a half miles to get to his one sole believer in the whole entire world, who turned out to be a basket case. AND he had to eat a fly, which Tholassi feels is not remotely suitable to the dignity of a god with more than a million worshippers.

He curls up on Sataro's arm, basks in the warmth, and goes to sleep. 

"I have had such a day."

Me too, he doesn't say. 

"Tell me about it?" he says, and pats the spot on the ground next to him. 

Kirasu sits next to him. Their knees brush together in an accidental fashion.

"They've been short-handed down in the pits. We keep telling them 'if you don't have enough inquisitors for the Cleansing, you don't have enough inquisitors, even if they won't have much to do during the summer', but do they listen? No. And now everyone else has to pull twelve-hour shifts. I barely have time for my own penance."

"That does sound like them," he says, and notes the way he wants to put his head on Kirasu's shoulder (three more hours every time he thinks that —) and does not do that. 

"What are we going to do if I'm not attending to my duties because I'm busy cleansing some heretic of his sin and then a wave of blasphemy breaks out in the barracks? Before Winter Solstice, no less."

"He should pay more attention," Tholassi says sleepily.

He does not tell Kirasu that. "You say that every year." He's smiling. 

"Well, this year I'm going to be right."

Their knees are definitely accidentally brushing together more often than occurs when Sataro sits next to anybody else.

I am literally holding our God in my hand, Sataro does not say. 

He adds another six hours onto his fast and doesn't pull away. 

"You say that every year too." 

"Six hours onto your what?"

"Maybe I should just not bother to talk if you can predict all my conversation."

He laughs — that thought's another six — and says "I can stop!" 

"You had better stop! Are you listening to me? I am your god. You are to eat three meals a day. And snacks!"

"How's life been in the barracks?"

His foot has come to rest touching Sataro's. He doesn't appear to notice.

"Oh, you know, same crop of newbies not sure whether to be nervous or excited for the solstice as every year." 

"Put the fear of Tholassi in them for me."

"I will." (Wanting that is another nine, which makes an even twenty-four —) 

"NO YOU WILL NOT FAST FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS I AM YOUR GOD AND I COMPLETELY FORBID IT."

HE HAS ONE! BELIEVER!!!!! AND HIS BELIEVER INSISTS ON TRYING TO STARVE HIMSELF TO DEATH!!!!!!!!

"I've been fasting," Kirasu says, "because you can do that while you're in the pits-- and I figured out this really nice thing you can do with spikes digging into your skin so it hurts whenever you move--"

Of course not, Tholassi already forbade it, but he can still keep track of how many hours he would be fasting — should, how else would he know how much penance he needs — 

"That does sound nice." 

"Is this penance going to be prayers?" Tholassi says hopefully. "Or... hymnsinging, maybe. Almsgiving. Something that won't cause potentially infected wounds."

"You can borrow it if you want, try it out."

"Thank you. — and yes, please." 

Kirasu lifts up his robes, showing a line of bruises around his mid-thigh and a wicked-looking device he made out of spikes. 

"It's probably easier if I put it on you."

"It looks like it, yes," and he takes off exactly as many of his clothes as Kirasu will need to put that on him and — shies away from that thought — 

Kirasu kneels before Sataro. He gently and tenderly wraps the spike thing around his thigh and tightens the straps. His fingers brush lightly against the inside of Sataro's thigh. 

"Feel okay?"

Just fuck already.

He shivers, very slightly. "Yeah. 

Thank you." 

Kirasu lingers for a moment, his fingers on Sataro's thigh, his breath warm on Sataro's skin.

Then he stands. "You'll have to tell me what you think."

"I'll make sure to do that," he says, and puts — those thoughts — out of his mind. 

"Unfortunately, we have another load of heretics coming on tonight, so I'll have to be going. It was nice to see you."

Seeeeeeriously Tholassi did not become a great god in order to observe the details of GROSS HUMAN MATING RITUALS.

"It was nice seeing you." He's very sincere. 

He really doesn't want to go.

He doesn't want him to go either. 

(Wishing an Inquisitor would put down his duties and talk to you so you can think about — that — is the sort of thing he'd ordinarily fast for. He isn't sure whether a day with these spikes is more or less severe than a day of fasting, yet.) 

Tholassi can see the incredibly dull future stretching ahead of him. Even if he manages to keep his believer from doing anything life-threatening, it's going to be all "hours of prayer and singing and baths and handwashing and ritual" and "getting distracted when carrying out your duties because there are spikes in your skin" and "spending money on alms instead of on advancing Tholassi's goals" from here on out.

"You are pure," Tholassi says. "I have touched you with my radiance. Do you think a passing thought can tarnish it?"

"— Of course not, Your radiance," he says. 

(Yes, screams part of his mind, yes, of course, because I am not pure and never have been and never will be, the core of me is rotten — he tries to silence that part; he doesn't succeed —) 

Most humans stop having self-esteem issues when their god tells them they've been chosen for their particular holiness!

He tries a different tactic. "Perhaps a ritual bath would help your purity seem more real to you."

He nods and collects his coat — brings Tholassi with him, tucked into an internal pocket where he'll be warm and unseen — and goes to the baths. 

Walking with it hurts more than sitting does. It's — good, in a way he doesn't know how to put words to. 

Whyyyyyy is his believer full of weird gross self-harm/human reproduction thoughts.

Captain Ashka is already in the baths, naked and soaping himself up.

He's a very beautiful man, and well-built enough to be used as an anatomy textbook.

He smiles to Captain Ashka and strips, careful not to dislodge the salamander in his pocket, and unbraids his hair and sinks into the water. 

Cleaning the genitals is part of the ritual bath process, the genitals being a source of all sorts of impurity. Most people do not seem to do it with quite as much attention as Captain Ashka. Perhaps it is due to his great piety. 

(His genitals are large and well-formed.)

Sataro is not looking. 

(He wants to, for a brief moment — shuts the thought down.) 

The first soap has bits of charcoal, so as to scrape away impurities from the skin; he's always liked the feeling of it on his shoulders. 

The bathhouse is very warm. Tholassi likes it. This is the sort of thing you have to be worried about if you're a salamander.

Ashka leans against the side of the bath and says, "can you do my back?"

"Of course." 

His hands are gentle on Ashka's back. 

Ashka's back is broad and he makes soft little noises when Sataro touches him.

Are humans usually this horny all the time. Tholassi hasn't super been paying attention for the last two hundred years.

Ashka has a lovely voice. 

When he's done he turns and pulls his hair out of the way and says "Can you do mine?" 

Ashka also has lovely hands. 

They're large and strong and surprisingly gentle, and the way he rubs the soap into Sataro's back is almost a massage.

He can feel the tension draining out of him at the touch, can feel his shoulders relaxing. 

He should probably keep going and make sure that Sataro is really clean.

This is GROSS. This is GROSS and he is BORED.

Ashka's hands really are lovely. 

(Maybe he should help Sataro wash his hair, whispers some traitorous part of his mind.) 

His hands linger on Sataro's shoulders.

"Need help with anything else?"

Tholassi ponders the situation. 

Perhaps, he reflects, his believer would have less gay subtext all the time if he ever got to kiss someone. On the other hand, it might lead to his believer's mind being full of thoughts about all kinds of disgusting human reproduction things. Not worth it. Maybe if he kept Sataro busy then there would be less of this.

He curls up in his pocket and idly flips through Ashka's brain.

He hesitates for a moment before he says "My hair?" 

He's so so gentle. His fingers rub little circles in Sataro's scalp, from front to back and back to front, covering every inch of the skin. Then he presses his thumbs in little motions along Sataro's hairline, down to the base of his skull.

It's probably a good thing that most of his body is underwater.

Ashka makes sense. He's the first person Tholassi has met so far who makes sense.

Ashka snacks on fast days and keeps blasphemous books in his safe and drinks. Despite being sworn to celibacy, he has three children that he knows about and has his suspicions about several other unusually dark-skinned children running about the keep. Ashka acts every inch the believer in order to buy himself the license to behave however he likes. Ashka fits with Tholassi's understanding of humans.

But Kirasu nearly shines with the light of devotion. Kirasu self-flagellates, Kirasu tortures heretics with admirable zeal, Kirasu will never progress farther with Sataro than a brush of a hand against another hand. Kirasu has no hobbies other than kneeling before the statue of Tholassi in the temple for five hours at a time and driving himself into fits of ecstasy. Why isn't Kirasu a believer?

Tholassi had made enemies in the godworld, no doubt. It was one of the reasons he'd gone so long between visits to the human world. But he had never heard of a god being able to do this.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. 

He had nearly forgotten how nice it is to have someone touch his hair. 

Well, then, they don't have to stop.

One of his hands is massaging Sataro's neck.

He makes a soft appreciative sound, and — he should end this — doesn't end this. 

Ashka is standing very close.

He shouldn't. 

He pulls away. "Thank you," Sataro says, and his voice is even. 

Ashka smiles. It's easy, happy, without the conflict that Sataro was experiencing. 

"Welcome."

Is the bath done yet.

Not quite, but Sataro goes through the rest of it efficiently. 

He still feels vaguely dirty by the end, although his skin has been scraped pink. 

"You need to take me to Tarev."

"I can't get to Tarev on my own, and I especially can't do it in winter." People freeze even when an army crosses together; Sataro going alone would be suicide. 

(tempting, a little, but —) 

Whyyyyyyy is his believer suicidal. 

"Do not contradict your god. Can you take a boat?"

"They aren't designed to be sailed by one." And I'm in the Guard, not the Navy. 

"I meant booking passage on a ship to Tarev. There have to be like-- traders, and things."

"Not many. Tarev isn't exactly fond of us." 

Sataro is, Tholassi feels, just not dedicated enough. If Tholassi had been left with Karisu they'd be halfway to Tarev by now and he wouldn't have to put any thought into keeping his damn prophet alive.

"Well, where do you have trade with?"

"I'm a member of Dhavilot's honor guard. We're going to be visiting Tarev anyway, and if I bring you with me then I won't get tortured to death for desertion." 

"--I knew that," Tholassi says quickly. "I was just testing your devotion."

"Of course." 

"So how long will it be until we can leave?"

"I'm not entirely sure but it's soon. If I had to guess I'd say directly after the Solstice." 

That is an unreasonably long time to be trapped as a salamander. He totally thought he'd be back in the godworld by the Solstice.

"All right." He curls up. "You are a prophet so you should take care of yourself."

Sataro puts a hand over him to keep him warm. 

"I will, Your radiance." 

That is very nice. Before he was a salamander Tholassi had been aware of many good traits about humans, such as their belief, but he had totally failed to appreciate how warm they are. He should do that more in the future.

"And you don't have to keep calling me 'Your radiance.' You're my prophet, we are going to be spending a lot of time together."

Unfortunately.

"Yes, Tholassi." 

Tholassi watches the shape of Sataro's thoughts for a bit and then says, "you are mistaken about the character of most people in the keep."

"Hmm?" 

"You think you are less pure than they are and you are not."

His thoughts flick back to how much he'd enjoyed Ashka's touch while he was supposed to be purifying. He can't think how to respond out loud; he stays quiet. 

Tholassi's voice has a dry humor to it. "Ashka has slept with men."

"— ah." 

A hundred remarks or touches or sideways looks that had seemed like nothing at the time are suddenly and abruptly recontextualised. Sataro doesn't voice how much he would like to tear off his skin, but his shoulders curl inwards. 

"He has five kids"-- Tholassi has no idea how many kids Ashka has but it's important to sound decisive around humans, it's not like anyone else has any idea-- "and he drinks and he's halfway through Kalevi's On The Nature Of Stars, which he confiscated and took to his cell instead of burning. He has quite the book collection."

Sataro pulls his knees to his chest and pulls himself away from any number of things he could be thinking about. 

That's probably enough, don't want to lay it on too thick, just enough to make him believe that he's better than anyone else around here and not enough to get him a swelled head--

--Sataro hates himself MORE?! 

Why is Tholassi's sole believer so difficult.

"You are the purest person in the keep," Tholassi says, "and the only one who deserves to be my prophet."

He doesn't uncurl. "Thank you, Tholassi." 

He doesn't like doing this too often, it tends to warp humans--

Tholassi reaches out and touches his mind again.

It feels like sunlight in the summer, like cold air in the fall, like the shock of ice water.

It feels like being clean, like being pure, like peace. 

"You are my prophet," he says, and his words have the ring of truth. "You are the only person in the keep who is worthy."

He nods and doesn't object. 

That... is probably the best Tholassi is going to get.

"Now, go to bed," Tholassi says. "You'll have duties in the morning."

"Yes, Tholassi." 

There are a lot of things he isn't going to think about, before he falls asleep. 

There are also a lot of things Tholassi is not going to think about, and he doesn't sleep, so he has a lot of time not to think about it in.

(One believer-- one believer in all the world-- it can't be, someone has to have done something, Kirasu at least believes in him, he knows it-- someone in Tarev will be able to explain--)

He doesn't dream, and if he did dream he wouldn't remember it when he woke up. 

He shares his food with Tholassi. 

Tholassi doesn't thank him. 

He wasn't expecting Tholassi to thank him. 

He's not sure how to ask about the duties Tholassi mentioned last night. 

Fortunately for him, Ashka stops by the barracks before he can put his question into words. 

"Deacon Dhavilot wants to see us."

He's just.... not going to think about all of the things he now knows about Ashka. 

He nods and follows him, brings Tholassi with him. 

Great. Now they can get a timeline on heading towards Tarev.

"Enter."

He enters. 

He glances up and down Sataro. Whenever Dhavilot looks at you, it feels like you're being pierced through, like every petty little detail of yourself is being seen and found wanting. 

"You have a salamander."

It's no surprise that this guy isn't a believer. Nothing inside his head but himself.

"Yes," he agrees. 

"Give it here."

I forbid you to get yourself tortured to death for any reason, Tholassi had said. 

Sataro obeys. 

Tholassi is SERIOUSLY RECONSIDERING HIS ORDER RIGHT NOW. 

Dhavilot takes the salamander into his palm. 

"Fascinating animals. I used to play with them when I was a boy."

Ashka's face is very very calm.

So is Sataro's. 

Dhavilot takes a finger and presses it into Tholassi's chest. 

Salamander bodies are weak, and Dhavilot's hands are strong. It is not at all hard for him to crush Tholassi's heart.

Tholassi feels a bizarre sensation. It-- it is unpleasant, it redefines the word unpleasant, he has never felt anything like this before, everything he called unpleasant before pales in comparison to this-- this thing. He can't breathe. His body is reporting damage but, but it's much worse than a simple report, it's a wrongness, a fundamental wrongness in the universe, something is wrong and he has to fix it he would do anything to fix it he--

It-- he gropes for the word from his understanding of human minds-- it hurts.

Dhavilot does not appear to notice the thrashings of the salamander.

"You will be accompanying me to Tarev."

He nods, and his hands are not shaking. 

Tholassi screams. 

It's a loud piercing sound that only Sataro can hear.

He doesn't flinch; his face is perfectly still. 

(The muscles of his leg tighten; the spikes press into his skin.) 

"I am merely a deacon. I have no real power. No doubt that is why I have been chosen for this routine mission."

He nods. 

Tholassi is still screaming. Sataro still doesn't react, not outwardly. 

"Soldiers can often go places where men of the cloth do not."

He glances at Ashka. It is perfectly clear that Ashka is not the only person who has noticed a few suspiciously dark-skinned children around the keep.

He bites his tongue and focuses on keeping his face still. 

"Both of you are very"-- he pauses and glances at Ashka again-- "trustworthy men. You should take note of what you see when you're in Tarev. Perhaps you will learn some interesting things, to the greater glory of Tholassi."

Tholassi's screaming has been replaced with soft, quiet, broken whimpers.

He dips his head and keeps his hands where they are, doesn't press his fingernails into his palms. 

"Will you do that, Captain Ashka? Lieutenant Sataro?"

"Yes, Deacon." His voice is even and doesn't shake. 

"Excellent." He presses down harder on Tholassi's chest. "There are... temptations in Tarev. I understand there is a demon incarnate there who will talk to you about books. And of course all manner of"-- significant glance at Ashka-- "amusements."

His hands are still. 

He nods. 

"It is blessed to flee temptation, is it not."

He takes out a knife and begins to toss it in his hand. 

"We must come to understand evil, yet we must take care not to partake and compromise our purity ourselves."

He sends up a silent prayer — remembers halfway through that if Tholassi could stop himself from being tortured he would be doing it — prays anyway. 

"Yes, Deacon." 

Tholassi appreciates the thought but he is kind of busy being concerned about that knife.

With a single movement Dhavilot stabs the salamander in the heart.

Tholassi twitches.

He would conclude that dying is pretty awful, even if you're not going to stay dead, but the only thought he is capable of having right now is a renewed and silent scream.

"Perhaps you should go see the burning of the heretics this afternoon. I understand they have a crop of worshippers of Bandile. It will be most... edifying."

"Yes, Deacon." 

"Dismissed."

He takes Tholassi's still-broken body and stands. 

Tholassi's not breathing.

When they're safely away from Dhavilot's door, Ashka says, "not wise to take the salamander. Now he knows you care about animals."

"Just this once I think it's worth it," he says, and doesn't elaborate. 

He shrugs. 

"Not like I've never taken a risk."

Tholassi goes in a pocket, so that when he starts breathing again he'll be hidden and warm. 

He doesn't reach out for Ashka's hand no matter how much he would like to. 

Ashka doesn't reach out for his either.

"I am going to come up with some new commandments," Tholassi says crossly. "I have clearly overlooked some important issues. Thou Shalt Not Torture Small Animals. Thou Shalt Not Stick Knives In The Hearts Of Salamanders, that's a good one. Thou Shalt Check Thoroughly Whether A Salamander Is In Fact Thy God And If It Is Thou Shalt Help It Get To Where It Is Going And Not Crush Its Chest Even A Little Bit."

Sataro thinks it might be hard to check whether a salamander is your God and not sticking knives in the hearts of salamanders is a little bit specific to be generally useful but 'thou shalt not torture small animals' seems solid. 

"Well, if he believed, I could talk to him."

--Shit.

What. 

What. 

"--New commandments," Tholassi says hastily. "I clearly did not plan ahead for the possibility that I might be stuck as a salamander and let me tell you as soon as I'm not stuck as a salamander anymore new arrangements are going to be made."

No go back what is this about Dhavilot not believing. 

Tholassi nervously flicks his tail. "Uh. There may have been some. Uh. Problems. --Which I am sure are all related to demonic activity and as soon as we get to Tarev and figure out what is going on it will all be sorted out."

Sataro could say a lot of things about Deacon Dhavilot but 'prone to falling under the influence of demons' really does not seem like one of them. 

Tail-lash. It is hard to lash your tail in a pocket but Tholassi really does not want to be outside a pocket right now.

"Well. As far as I can tell, uh, and probably this is due to demonic activity or something and not actually the actual situation because that would be absurd but, uh, the only person in all of Tholassia who actually believes in me is, in fact, um. You."

That — 

That can't be right because Kirasu exists — but if it is — 

"Look, I did not choose this," Tholassi says. "I would much rather have had Kirasu as my one believer. I am not exactly a fan of having my life depend on the continued existence of a single suicidal soldier who keeps skipping meals-- do you know what all of that starvation has done to your heart because let me tell you it is not pretty--"

He isn't suicidal and never has been but honestly right now he kind of wants to throw up — fasting as penance was Tholassi's idea — 

"No, that one was you guys."

He doesn't have time to process any of this before they reach the Pit. 

"Sataro! I wasn't expecting you."

There are flecks of blood on his clothes.

"Neither was I," and he's smiling, friendly, normal. "I'm just here to watch, today." 

"All right," he says. "We still have a couple more demon-worshippers to get to confess before they burn. They're so stubborn."

Tholassi pokes his head out of his pocket and looks around.

Tholassi being visible to people seems like maybe not the best idea! "I imagine," he tells Kirasu instead of that, and finds an out of the way place to stand, and keeps his face carefully neutral. 

Kirasu returns to his work!

He is efficient and businesslike and morally untroubled. 

It has been long-recognized among practitioners of magic that the form you take changes your thoughts. If you become a horse, you will appreciate the joy of running; if you become a frog, flies will suddenly seem appealing; if you become a human, you have to watch yourself carefully, lest you forget all your goals and spend all your time playing social games more-or-less related to them.

Tholassi has generally presented as a pillar of flame or a person made out of fire or a solar disc, none of which affect your thoughts particularly much. But now he is a salamander, an animal that is preyed upon, and he is having salamander thoughts. 

Like, "that really, really looks like it hurts."

And "I didn't like it when my heart was crushed and I don't think they like it either."

And "the looks on the inquisitors' faces are terrifying. The ones that enjoy it are bad enough. The ones that don't are worse."

An inquisitor, ignoring the cries of the man he's working on, whistles a cheerful tune.

Two inquisitors, just getting off work, walk by Sataro. He can catch a snatch of conversation. It appears to be about how one's daughter is doing very poorly in school, and he loves her and wants her to do better, and he's worried about giving her the message that she needs to succeed while also telling her that of course she is unconditionally loved.

(A little girl, who seems to be about the same age, cries out.)

Carefully. Neutral. 

"...I don't like it here."

Neither does he. 

He had always called that weakness, before. 

"Can we go. I prefer humans' insides to stay on their insides."

Two more minutes. If they don't even stay for five minutes it'll look strange and Dhavilot might hear  about it and that would be very very bad. 

"I am your god. You are supposed to care more about me than Dhavilot. This whole system is supposed to be set up for people to care about me."

Yes and Tholassi's screams are echoing in his ears and he is pretty sure that caring about your God extends to not doing things that might get Him tortured. 

That... is a good argument.

Tholassi curls up in the pocket so he can't see anything but he can still hear.

He counts down from 120 and when he reaches 0 he counts down from 10 and then he leaves.

Things are... different when you're a salamander.

He wants to stop being a salamander as fast as he can.

"I hate it there," he says very quietly when they're alone. 

"Humans are made of meat and it is disgusting."

"There's that too," still quiet. "I mind other injuries less, though." 

"Well, I mind all of them," Tholassi says.

Salamander thoughts. He is not a fan of being a salamander.

Mm. 

"What did you mean, that your continued existence depends on me?" 

"Uh, nothing." Tail-flick. "I was confused. The whole-- experiencing physical pain for the first time in my existence as an entity-- very discombobulating. Makes you say all kinds of random things."

"It was not nothing." 

"You will obey me without question, you are my believer. I can find another prophet you know."

What is he doing what is he doing — 

"I can't help if I don't know what's going on. And it obviously wasn't nothing." 

Tail-flick. "Well, uh, it is possible that Tholassianism teaches certain things about reality that, while they are true on, uh, a higher spiritual level, are not necessarily, um, literally and completely factually accurate."

"Such as?" 

"Well, I am not literally physically the creator of the universe without whom every molecule would dissolve. That's more of, um, a metaphor. For how important I should be in your life."

"Uh huh." 

"And the whole 'demon' thing is, uh, sort of a metaphor for how I am pure and they are evil. We are not a fundamentally different... kind of... being."

"Uh huh." 

"And the kind of being we are is a kind that is, uh, only conscious if we're believed in."

Tholassi closes his eyes and prepares himself for death.

It doesn't come. 

Sataro presses his palms into his eyes and sighs. "Okay. So there are no demons, and you're trapped as a salamander because I'm the only person who actually believes in you, and you want to go to Tarev — why." 

"I don't know if you've seen, but I kind of have an entire country full of worshipers. It's not that I only have one believer. It's that for some reason I can't access all the belief I have."

He is reminded involuntarily of Ashka, but — Kirasu exists. Sataro is clearly, obviously, not the only one.

He nods. "Right." 

"And if you want an answer to a question about gods there's no better place to go than Tarev."

He nods again. 

"Clearly some enemy god is doing some sort of action to oppose me, and once I find out who it is they are going to regret it."

"I'm sure." 

"And then there are going to be some new commandments, about how impure it is for people's insides to go to the outside of their bodies, and about making sure to feed any salamanders you come across the nice meat."

Sataro smiles and lets his shoulders relax. 

"And eating enough food if you are a prophet. Probably also if you're not a prophet, I can't have my believers dying on me."

.....he's not relaxed anymore. 

"What is it?"

"It's nothing." 

(it's not nothing) it's nothing. 

"I can read your mind."

"I'd noticed." 

"So what is it that you're so concerned about?"

"...I don't know," he says honestly. 

"To be quite frank you're not the prophet I would have chosen," Tholassi says, "and I suspect that's quite deliberate, but I'm an honorable god and if you return me to my usual state I will keep you as my prophet with the perks that implies. You can"-- he searches through Sataro's head for a good bribe-- "have a nice indoor job with no heavy lifting? forbid the Inquisition from carrying out its current activities? have sex with Kirasu? have sex with Kirasu and Ashka both?"

"— um!" 

Obviously he is going to return Tholassi to his usual state, because Tholassi is his God, not because — not because of that — 

"That's not even hard," Tholassi says, "they're both hopelessly in love with you. The Prophet Rathenu liked a girl and I had to mind-control her to get her to the altar."

— and that is a totally separate issue that he will deal with at a totally separate time, it's still disgusting that he would even want —

"Oh, don't worry about it, I just forbade it because it makes humans feel better to hear a lot of sermons against a sin almost none of them actually want to commit."

He is not going to scream. 

He is not going to throw anything. He is not going to turn and punch a wall, he is not going to do anything stupid and rash that he'd have to explain to anyone who saw. 

He is not. 

"Uh," Tholassi says. "--This is really more distressed than most humans are when a god grants the most secret desires of their heart."

This seems like a perfectly sane amount of distressed to be when everything you have ever strived for turns out to have been pointless. 

"I don't think it's pointless!" Tholassi says. "I'm not dead."

Please just be quiet. 

Tholassi can follow instructions from people who are responsible for him not being dead!

That's good. 

Following instructions, following instructions-- Sataro didn't say anything about not keeping an eye on his brain to see how he's doing so Tholassi does that--

He's doing his level best to be blank. 

Underneath that is disgust, turned inward — barely bridled self-loathing, same as ever — a profound sense of loss — 

(and underneath that, unacknowledged, the desire to curl up in the snow and stay there — the same instinctive recoil when he thinks about food —) 

Tholassi is going to continue not talking, and also idly wishing that whomever-it-was had left him with Kirasu. Kirasu, Tholassi feels, would not be having these problems. Even Dhavilot was someone he could work with.

Okay. He's — not okay. But he's stable, he's pretty sure if Tholassi keeps talking that won't make things worse. 

"You don't have to be a prophet," Tholassi says. "You can take me to Tarev and help me figure out how to fix it and then I can make Kirasu the prophet."

"That would probably be better for everyone," he agrees. 

"...although he's going to ask to date you and then you're going to have the same problem. Again."

"I will figure that out when it happens." His voice sounds sort of distant, he notes absently. 

"All right," Tholassi says. "--For the record, because of the whole one-believer thing, I am working with a pretty limited set of miracles here. I can heal myself and read minds and speak to you and touch your mind and control fire as long as I don't try to make it do anything too fancy."

He nods. "That makes sense." 

Tholassi has had a very, very long day.

He curls up in Sataro's pocket and takes a nap.

Sataro gets as much work done as he can. 

Ashka smiles at him kind of a lot.

They're both hopelessly in love with you. 

He. Smiles back, less than usual but still not zero. 

"You okay?" he asks after prayers. "You aren't acting like yourself."

"...no," he says after a moment, "I'm not." 

"We can go back to my cell to talk about it if you like."

This isn't a good idea, but, "Let's." 

Tholassi briefly wakes up and then decides he is going to spend the next couple hours exploring the incarnate notion of unconsciousness.

They go back to Ashka's cell. "What's happening?"

......does he say it? 

"This is going to sound completely insane, and I want you to know that I know how insane it sounds." 

It's normally the sort of thing Ashka would joke about but instead he says--

"I've seen more insane things than you can imagine."

Is that so.

"Our God is stuck in the form of a salamander and is currently asleep in my pocket." 

"...I need a drink."

Ashka stands up, presses a spot on his wall, and a safe swings open. He takes out a bottle and two glasses and pours one for each of them.

Sataro takes his glass and doesn't drink from it. "It gets worse," he says. "The reason He's stuck as a salamander is that apparently gods only exist when they're believed in, and He has exactly one believer. Guess who it is." 

Ashka looks at his glass and drinks it in one gulp. 

"I know." 

"...Is this your first time with alcohol?"

"— I was going to say 'no, because I'm not going to drink that,' but I think I might need it too." 

"It's easier if you drink it fast, your first time. It burns less."

He picks up the glass and examines it and takes a drink and promptly chokes. 

"Sorry," Ashka says, "I have crappy stuff you get drunk fast on."

"That's fine," he says once he's done coughing, and drinks the rest as fast as he can. 

"So. No one else in all of Tholassia believes in our alleged god."

"Apparently that's what it looks like. He's very sure He has other believers and just can't access the belief for some reason, which is why He wants me to go to Tarev to find a natural philosopher to ask." 

"Good place to look. --Huh. Wasn't actually expecting to ever get drunk with a prophet."

If he had any more alcohol left he'd take another drink. "Don't remind me." 

Ashka can give him more alcohol!

"...what's Tholassi like?"

He thinks about it. 

"Less of a fan of torture than you might imagine, although that might have just been Dhavilot. Deeply, deeply clueless about why someone might be upset to hear that an ideal they'd worked for their whole life was pointless." 

"Pointless? --I mean, he's not the creator of the universe but lots of people serve gods who aren't the creator of the universe and are fine."

"....he does not actually approve of fasting, or at least not of me fasting, and only forbade sodomy because, and I quote, 'it makes humans feel better to hear sermons against a sin almost none of them actually want to commit.'" 

"Well that's. Fun."

"Yes." 

Ashka sits on his bed. 

"I might not approve of you fasting either, depends on how much you fast."

"I don't —" and he swallows and tries again, "I can't —" 

He sounds more than a little panicked. 

Ashka stands up and hugs him.

"It's okay."

He melts into the hug. 

Ashka is very warm. 

Navigating a person to sit on the bed with you while you're hugging them is complicated.

Fortunately, Ashka has practice.

That is fortunate. 

He presses his face into Ashka's shoulder. 

Ashka is going to pull him into a full-body cuddle.

He tries to stop himself, but — the rule doesn't mean anything anyway — 

Ashka is very warm. 

Ashka has a hand on the back of his head and is holding him protectively. 

"See," he says. "This is the best way to have a crisis."

He laughs, shaky, and holds onto him tight. 

"It's all bullshit and it's always been bullshit."

It's not. It hasn't. It can't have been. 

He doesn't argue. 

"When I first joined up I thought there was-- a point, you know. Kill and die for the greater glory of Tholassi. But I was always curious, and I stole a few of those books we were supposed to be burning, and. Well."

"It's not all bad, knowing there's no point. Lots of the stuff they forbid is fun."

His next breath comes out half a sob, and he clings to Ashka. 

He makes a soothing noise and starts petting Sataro's hair.

Having his hair pet is nice. Ashka still has nice hands. He's not sure if it's the alcohol or the closeness or both that's making him feel so warm. 

It could be both.

Ashka very deliberately presses a kiss into his forehead.

That's nice. Sataro kisses Ashka's shoulder, very lightly. 

Then Ashka will kiss him on the lips, sweet and gentle and innocent and pure.

....oh. 

Sataro doesn't pull away. 

Ashka's lips are so soft.

"See?" Ashka says. "It's not all bad."

"Yeah," he whispers, "yeah, it's not," and he leans forward and just barely kisses Ashka again. 

Ashka keeps pressing little feather-light kisses onto his lips.

That's — good. 

When this ends he's going to feel awful about it. But right now Ashka's touch is soft and warm and good. 

"Do you know what sort of things you try to avoid thinking about, or should I guess?"

His voice is kind, trustworthy.

"— I like when it hurts," he whispers, and takes Ashka's hand and puts it on the back of his neck. 

Ashka digs his fingers into Sataro's neck, puts his other hand in Sataro's hair, and pulls.

"I was going to guess," he says casually, "that you'd like it if I forced you."

He bites down on his lip to keep quiet and nods. 

He pins Sataro's wrists to the bed with one hand, yanks his hair with the other, and kisses him forcefully.

It's not sweet and it's not gentle and it's hot not warm — he's going to hate himself for this when it's over, he hates himself for this a little bit now, and right now he relaxes and opens his mouth and — lets Ashka take what he wants. 

He's smiling, big, like he does when he's made a joke at a celebration and expects you all to laugh.

He reaches down and rips off Sataro's shirt.

"Mine."

"Yours," more gasped than spoken. 

He's so hard against Sataro's thigh.

"You know how long I thought about this? About you?"

So is he.

"How long —?" 

Soft, gentle kiss. His fingers are digging into Sataro's wrists hard enough to bruise.

"Years."

He clings to Ashka's shoulders. 

"I — spent years not thinking about it — hating how much I loved when you touched me —" 

"Well, now you're mine, and I'm going to touch you if I like whether you hate yourself for it or not."

Ashka starts to undo Sataro's pants.

He's so so hard. 

Ashka pins his hips to the bed with both hands and presses the softest kiss to the tip of his cock.

"Are you going to be good? It won't change anything if you aren't, I'll just have to fuck your thighs instead and you won't get to finish."

He whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut and nods. 

Ashka kisses and licks Sataro's dick, so so lightly, almost maddeningly. His fingers dig in to Sataro's hips.

He bites his lip again and puts his hands on Ashka's head, doesn't push doesn't pull, holds himself so so still. 

And Ashka swallows him down into his throat.

He bites down harder and only just manages to keep himself quiet. 

Ashka pins him and swallows him down and moans like he likes it.

He doesn't quite manage to close his throat around the whimper. 

Delightful.

Ashka has had rather a lot of practice with this and has no gag reflex. His fingers pinch and squeeze Sataro's hips.

He takes one hand from Ashka's hair and bites down on his wrist to muffle himself. 

He nibbles very tentatively against Sataro's cock.

His fingers pull tight in Ashka's hair and he sinks his teeth into his wrist and moans. 

Then there shall be some less tentative nibbles!

Good — good, that's — 

He murmurs something that might very well be ''mine."

Around his wrist he says something that might very well be "yours." 

What happens if he nibbles Sataro's dick and digs fingers into his hips hard enough to bruise at the same time?

He shudders and his breath comes out broken and he pulls involuntarily on Ashka's hair and comes. 

Ashka swallows all of it and sits up to straddle him and kisses him.

Kissing and afterglow and Ashka are — comfortable. Soft, like sinking into warm water. 

Ashka strips off his shirt and pants and starts slowly and lazily jerking himself off.

Sataro keeps kissing him, keeps his hands in Ashka's hair. 

He sits up, moves so he's sitting on Sataro's chesr and his dick is so close to Sataro's lips, keeps stroking.

He's not really sure what to do with that — he's not close enough to kiss him again — 

Ashka puts his fingers to Sataro's lips and says, "Suck."

He obeys. 

It — 

He feels like his skin is crawling. 

"...you okay?"

(disgusting dirty broken rotting should just lie down in the snow and stay there how could he how could he) 

"I'm alright." 

Ashka looks at him, lies down next to him, and pulls him close.

The touch shouldn't help. It still does.