somewhatclear

deerna
somewhatclear

Rating: SAFE
Fandom: dnd — silver sun
Relationship: michel poubelle & ilona poubelle
Tags: adopted family, sibling dynamic
Wordcount: 981
Notes: michel and ilona belong to MAF

Summary:
michel shaves his tail, ilona helps him make it pretty again

Excerpt:

“It looks like Florian's now.”

The naked contempt in her voice was so absolute it made Michel forget he was upset for a moment. He turned to her, amused and caught off guard. “What's wrong with Florian's? Doesn't yours look the same?”

“Of course not. Florian's is boring.”

{ read here }

“Why?”

Ilona stomped her little foot to the floor. She wasn't quite crying yet, but her blue eyes were big and shiny and wide, and her rounded ears were pinned sideways with distress. Michel felt awful, but he wasn't going to justify himself with a kid.

“Because!” he cried back. He refused to look at her any longer. “It's my tail, I do whatever I want with it.”

“But it was so much more beautiful, before!” She huddled to the floor, paws hovering dramatically over Michel's shaven tail. She whimpered like the heroine of some tragic folk tale who had discovered her long lost lover lifeless in the middle of a field. “It was so fluffy…”

“It’s still fluffy!” Michel said, the furry tip of said tail snapping against the ground.

“It's not the same. It looked so different, before.”

Michel winced; by stating the obvious, Ilona had struck the matter at its core.

He admitted he hadn't been thinking very hard, when he had decided to take a blade to the issue. He just had grown weary of sticking out like a sore thumb among his sleek, elegant, adoptive family. It didn't solve anything, in the end. It was just fur.

But Ilona wasn't done. “It looks like Florian's now.”

The naked contempt in her voice was so absolute it made Michel forget he was upset for a moment. He turned to her, amused and caught off guard. “What's wrong with Florian's? Doesn't yours look the same?”

“Of course not. Florian's is boring.” She enunciated every word clearly, like she thought Michel was being slow. With a flourish she gestured at her own tail, prettily coiled around her skirts. “Mine is—” she stopped, eyes wide. Then her expression brightened. “Oh! I'm silly. Come, Michel!”

“Aw, what now?”

She jumped on her feet and grabbed his hand. Michel feigned a put-upon sigh and let her pull him along. She guided him outside of his rooms and into the depths of hers, at the other side of the corridor, past dozens of portraits of ancient royalty whose names Michel didn't even know.

She had him sit on her bed — a princess’ bed, full of soft duvets and pillows and surrounded by curtains of velvet and silk.

“I'll be right back. Don't move!”

Michel watched her vanish behind a door that he assumed was a closet, and did not move.

He entertained himself by looking around the room. There was so much stuff; signs of Ilona's love for the stars and for the night sky were a bit everywhere — in the embroidery on the covers, in the scrolls hanging off the walls, in the piles of scribbly drawings scattered on her desk.

It always impressed him how much his siblings’ quarters looked like spaces that had been lived in. In comparison, Michel's were much plainer; but maybe it was because he still felt like one of the temporary guests his bedrooms had been originally designed for.

“Here!” Ilona emerged from the closet with a triumphant, mischievous little grin, something hidden in each of her hands like secret prizes.

She walked up to Michel, and offered her closed fists. “Pick one!”

“Pick what?”

“I'll tell you later, pick one!”

Michel laughed. “Alright, alright.” He made a show of thinking very hard about his choice, then he tapped the knuckles of her right hand with a finger. “This one.”

“Ta-dah!” she said, and turned her hand over.

A slightly wrinkled blue satin ribbon lay in her palm. “So your tail won't be boring!” she said smugly, her own flicking with satisfaction.

Michel blinked, realising. “Oh.”

“Here, hold this while I tie it for you.” She shoved a second ribbon at Michel—dark blue and velvety like the deepest night, with silver threads stitched along the edge. It felt nice under his fingers.

“May I?”

She waited for Michel to nod his permission before touching his tail. The shaven section felt odd under someone else's hands, but Ilona was very gentle while she worked. She wrapped the ribbon just below the line of fur, and then tied it off in a bow with practised ease.

She wiggled happily when she was done. “There! I'm so glad you chose this one, it looks so pretty with your fur… plus, we match!” She showed her own bow. “It's my favourite colour.”

“I can see that,” Michel said. It was the same colour of her eyes, and it matched her dress, too.

He found that he liked the dark blue one better. He ran his fingers along the velvet one last time, enjoying the texture, and handed it back to her.

“Oh, no,” Ilona said, “that's for fancy dinners. You wear it when important people come to visit, so they know you're seriously happy to have them as your guests— I think. Mom said.”

Something clicked in Michel. “…I can keep them?”

“Yeah! Don't worry, I have more.”

Michel felt oddly touched. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome!” Ilona glowed with satisfaction. “Can I have a hug?”

They hugged. Michel tucked her gently under his chin, but she didn't hesitate to squeeze him back tightly, giggling and wiggling. He didn't understand why most people in the palace kept him at arm's length, while Ilona, who felt so small and fragile in his embrace, was utterly unafraid and unconcerned. He decided not to question it.

“I'm happy you like the ribbons,” she told him, when they separated. “Can we go show Florian? He never lets me put ribbons on his tail, but maybe if he sees how cool yours is…”

He grinned. “We can do whatever you want.”

Ilona squeaked happily. Once again grabbed his hand to pull him into the hallway of dead kings.

Michel let her drag him along, his new ribbon wrapped around his wrist for safekeeping and a lightness in his chest that he had never felt before.