h3llcat:

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For @koujaaku​ after our discussion about Skyrim Kylux dealing with game design issues~ and thank you @kyluxtrashcompactor​ for looking it over for me and being my cheerleader ❤

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Hux tips his head to glance up at the sky as he feels the first drops of a summer rain spotting his tunic. Clouds are closing in, darkening the sky to a somber grey, and he hasn’t had a customer in the last hour anyways. He throws a canvas tarp over the tidy rows of glass bottles full of murky liquids of different hues and viscosity–some promising fortune, others strength, love, charisma–and wheels the cart down the muddying dirt road towards home.

He was halfway there when the sky opened up on him, cooling drops transforming to drenching sheets of water pelting him and turning the ground soggy. By the time he arrives at their modest farm on the outskirts of Riften, his arms ache from the effort of dragging the cart through the sludge, and he’s bitterly aware of his resemblance to a rodent drowned in the Ratway.

“Ren, I’m home! Move the cart to the barn while I change out of my wet clothes, will you?”

He hears an answering, muffled call from the basement, a room they’ve modified with shelves stocked full of herbs, flowers, and other reagents, an alchemy table sitting heavy in the center for Ren to create weak tinctures to sell to gullible townsfolk.

He makes his way up the stairs to their shared bedroom, shucking his dripping tunic and depositing it on the floor with a squelching plop as he goes. He slides open the top drawer of their tooled wood chest of drawers, and, instead of dry clothes, he finds… a femur. A very large femur that certainly hadn’t been there when he had dressed that morning.

He tries the second drawer.

Instead of neatly rolled woolen socks, he’s faced with three vertebra, each chunk of chalky white bone at least as large as his head.

He doesn’t find it odd as much as he finds it terribly annoying and inconvenient, an unfortunately common state of existence now that he’s chosen to share his life with a mage. He pads around their room, throwing open drawers and iron bound chests, he checks the bookshelves in the front walkway, the cupboards in the halls, their belongings gone from each and replaced with pieces of a gargantuan skeleton. Even pots, cups, plates, the wheel of cheese they had just purchased, the bottle of spiced wine they were saving for a special occasion: gone. He storms inelegantly from the back door of their cosy home, the impact of his prowl hindered by the soles of his boots sticking stubbornly in the slop with each step.

“Kylo Ren!” Hux slams the barn door open with a harsh thwack, wood bashing against wood, the mage starting and whipping around to face him at the dramatic entrance. Ren draws to his full height from where he’s been bent over their vendor cart, warm, honey-brown eyes wide and uncertain like he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to be scared, worried, or if they’re under attack. “Care to explain to me why all of my clothes have been replaced with bones? Why everything we own has been replaced with bones?”

“Oh, that.” Ren’s broad shoulders slump out of their tense line with his relief, clumsy lips pulling up at the corners into a smile as if the discovery was one he expected Hux to be pleased about.

Hux crosses his arms over his chest, tapping his toe in the soft, dry dirt on the floor of their barn, looking for all the world like a parent waiting for an explanation for naughty behavior. “Yes, that.”

“You’re mad?” Thick black brows draw inwards, setting his entire face into an expression so pathetic that Hux almost considers easing up. “I was looking for nirnroot and came across a dragon skeleton. Do you have any idea what they’re worth?”

“Of course, I’ve heard of armor being crafted from it. That doesn’t explain what dragon remains are doing in my wardrobe.”

“I’m having a hard time having a serious discussion with you when you’re not wearing a–”

“Ren!”

“Okay, okay.” Ren holds his hands, palms-up, in front of him in a gesture of peace. “Bersi ran out of money today, but he swears he wants to buy it all. When he does, we’ll be able to buy new clothes, Hux! We’ll be able to buy everything we could ever think to need and more! This is an investment in our future.”

At the mention of Bersi Honey-Hand, Hux curses under his breath. That man has a silver tongue and rarely pure intentions, a dangerous combination when faced with Ren’s tendency towards naivety. “And did dear old Bersi tell you how long it would be before he has the funds to take the investment off our hands?”

“He receives a sum of five hundred septims every two days, so… about a month.”

“A month?!”

“Hux! Think about our future!”

Hux scrubs a hand over his face, calculating the number of shoddy potions they’ll need to sell to reacquire a few sets of clothes each. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

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