The Blip

Arune has made a fatal error.  

He follows the tip of the finger, pointing directly at his nose, up the veiny arm with cut-off sleeves to the well-trimmed beard of a man he had hoped never to speak to again. Barnabus Creel, better known as Bat the Tracker. A prized fighter for the king and notorious for being the best bounty hunter in the land. One whiff of your scent, and he would track you to the ends of the earth. The man’s eyes were wide for a brief moment, tilting his head to the side, nostrils flaring. Arune searches for a trace of recognition but finds none. It seems the tracker’s scent recollection isn't as good as they say. 

“Well, the Owl has spoken.” Bat’s eyes traced slowly over Arune’s form. Has it been so long that Bat does not recognize him? How many lovers must Bat take on where he cannot remember one staring him straight in the face? 

“S-s-spoken? Hm?” He turns his head over his shoulder, a line of peasants huddled against a wall. Arune gulps, sweat beading his brow. Last he had known, he was sound asleep at his desk, waiting for Winifred to finish collecting the samples for their newest experiment. He must have teleported in his sleep. Damn, he had not done that in ages. He needed a vacation.  

 “The Owl has selected you for today’s demonstration. An effort to build rapport between the King’s Knights and their people. Any able body will do.” 

“A demonstration? Oh, I see. Well, this has been a mistake because I –”

“The Owl does not make mistakes.” Arune bites his tongue, managing not to roll his eyes only through sheer willpower. Arune is confident that the Owl, God of fate and destiny, does not care how he spends his Sunday. The Owl could give less of a rat’s ass about him. 

“Of course,” Bristling, Arune cursed religious nuts. “I was not placed here by the Owl, you see. I accidentally,” Bat holds a hand up. 

“Oh, but we are all placed on our paths by the Owl; accidents are merely works of his divine fate.” Arune waves away this notion, mouth curled down in a frown.

“If you would summon Lady Winifred, she could surely clear this whole mess up,” 

“The royal scientist is far too busy to come to meditate,” Bat pushes onward. Sourness bubbles beneath Arune’s skin. Each word provokes a new pustule of spite. 

“I am a bloody royal scientist, you bore! Look!” His anger explodes. He holds out the collar of his shirt, showing off the embroidered patch of the royal seal. Except, it wasn’t there. He wore a regular, plain white tunic. Bat lifts an unsatisfied eyebrow. “I-I-I-” 

“Stop blubbering like a guppy and join me in the circle. It's just a bit of sparring, nothing to cry over.”

“Sparring? No. I do not spar. No, you see, I cannot join the king’s army because I am blind as a bat.” He goes to push up his glasses, which are not on the bridge of his nose. Bat’s club of a hand claps down on his shoulder and forcibly guides him into the circle. 

He positions Arune where he wants him and leans in close. Memory sparks behind Arune’s eyes, an image of firelight dappling the two of them in shadow, Bat’s stubble rubbing roughly against his neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.” His voice was soft, and his eyes had a kind glint. Whether Bat said that just now or back then in the dimly lit inn, Arune could not be certain. 

“The rules are simple,” Bat booms out, “Whoever is knocked from the circle first wins. Bat stalks to the other end of the circle, rolling his shoulders. He’s acting as though a great challenge looms before him when, in reality, standing before him is a man who he could likely throw into the neighboring kingdom without breaking a sweat.

“Begin!” A knight at the edge of the circle bellows. 

“N-N-ow let's talk about this. Really, this is quite uncivilized!” Across the way, Bat did not hesitate. He starts toward him like a bat out of hell. Bat drops his right shoulder, angling for Arune’s waist. As soon as Bat is a hair’s breadth from him, Arune squeaks before blipping out of existence. A moment later, he reappears a few feet behind Bat, who is struggling to slow himself and is at risk of running straight out of the circle. Thankfully, Arune is still inside the circle himself. 

He eyes the chalk, contemplating stepping over it and disqualifying himself. Not only did he doubt that he would be let off the hook so easily, but he also hated to lose. Anxiety’s grip on Arune’s heart slowly started to unclench. Anger thrummed in his blood. Bat skidded right before the line on the opposite side of the circle. He stared out at the knights for a beat, hands on his hip. He slowly turned around, eyebrows drawn downward. Arune's heart dropped to his ass. 

“No magic.” Bat grunts, taking deliberate steps back toward the center of the circle. 

“Really, there’s no magic on the battlefield? The King’s mages sit around twiddling their thumbs?” Arune walks backward, keeping an eye on Bat while making sure to inch further away from the circle’s edge. 

“What is your name?” Bitterness blocked his throat. Not only was Arune forgettable, but he was also apparently invisible. He held one of the most pristine positions in the castle, and the god’s damn kings guard who he had laid beside didn’t know who he was. Halting his backward march, his leg, against all logical reason, started a forward march.

“Arune,” Seething with anger, he spit the word with as much venom as he could muster. 

“Arune,” A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, “a bit on the nose, isn’t it? A mage, named a rune?” Bat snorts, hands open at his sides. Arune knew what he was trying to do. He would not rise to the bait. He refused to do so despite the blood roaring in his ears.

“Bite me.”

“Get him, Bat!” Hoots and hollers rise from the knights—a bunch of buffoons, the lot of them.

“Show the bard how it's done,” This chilled Arune to the core. Did he genuinely look like a bard? He looked down at his purple-striped bell-bottom pants—a gift from his mother.  Arune was not in the mood for an existential crisis today. He was already fully booked with trying to escape this damned circle in one piece. But really, a goddamn bard? 

“Must’ve left my lute in my other pants. Don’t leave your fan club waiting. Let's get this over with.” Arune taunts, pulling bravado from thin air. It evaporated as soon as Bat began closing the remaining distance between them. 

Arune felt as though he was watching his body from above. A lunging throw of a meaty left hook with all of Bat’s weight behind it was a second from impacting his chin. This blow would likely wipe him off the face of the earth. Arune thanked the Owl for his power regenerating so quickly. In the blink of an eye, Arune vanished and appeared behind Bat’s left shoulder, shoving with all his might. He managed to make the large oaf stumble. Bat stumbles near enough to the edge that a hush falls over the knights. Surprised, smattered applause came from the peasants. Feeling very pleased with himself, Arune raised a hand toward his new fans. 

  The thrill of earning cheers dissipated as Arune looked back toward Bat. In a move surprisingly agile for a man well over six feet who weighs as much as an ox, he rights himself just before the chalk line. Spraying dirt, he shifts his foot and alters his trajectory toward the circle's center. 

Just two more breaths and his power would be ready again. 

One…

But Bat is too quick. Those damn tree trunk legs close the distance in no time at all.

Two… 

As Arune readies himself to flash away, Bat snags onto the edge of his T-shirt. In an instant, they both blip across the arena. They land in a heap of limbs, legs entwined as they land on the floor. Arune could feel Bat’s hot breath fanning his face. Close enough to count each freckle. Something sparks in Bat’s light green eyes. “Have we met before?” 

“I thought a dog never forgot a scent. I know you might not have much going on there, but do try and think hard. Feels like we’ve been in this position before, hm?” Arune scrambles off Bat’s lap and into the dust, quickly ambling onto his feet.

 Arune has no time to regenerate his teleportation before Bat scrambles to his feet behind him. He lifts Arune over his shoulder like a sack of flour in one smooth movement. In any other situation, Arune would relish in being manhandled, but currently, not so much. His fists rain against Bat’s back, accomplishing nothing. 

An idea pops into his head. Arune could smack himself for not thinking of it sooner. He lets himself go limp, feigning defeat to be tossed over the edge. 

“You put up a good fight, don’t be too hard on yourself.” Bat consoles, hands gripping Arune’s ribcage. Arune feels Bat bend his knees, preparing to launch him out of the circle. As soon as his last fingertip releases his abdomen and a gap presents itself between their bodies, Arune snaps. Flashing to the other side of the arena, he spins quickly, pumping his fist as Bat’s body falls forward over the chalk line from the momentum of throwing Arune.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself; you put up a good fight!” Arune crows. Still against the wall, the peasants jump with joy and cheer as though they were at a jousting tournament. The knights awkwardly look at one another, kicking pebbles in the dust. Before Bat can gather his wits, Arune turns tail and returns to the comfort of his cold, damp, mice-infested tower. 

—- —- —-

Bat had Arune pinned against the wall, hands cupping his face. “Arune!” 

Bat’s hazel eyes flicked from his eyes to his lips.

“Arune! Wake up! We have visitors.” Arune lifts his head slowly; a paper stuck to his face from a string of drool. He cracks an eye open and sees Bat. He shuts his eyes tightly, but Bat is still there when he opens them again. 

Winifred circles Bat, lifting his arms and poking at his ribs. “Ohhhh, what a fine specimen you are. This is truly a blessed day. And you can follow the scent of things for how far?” Bat shrugs. Bat seems oblivious to her fussing as he stares at Arune. Arune held his gaze, refusing to be the one to look away first. 

“Ow!” Bat bats her away after she plucks a hair from his head. “Listen,” He opens his mouth and shuts it again. Winifred stands well within his personal space, staring up at him. “Uh,” Bat pulls at the lapel of his soldier’s uniform. “Is it alright if I speak with Arune alone?” 

Winifred lets out a long, knowing sigh, “I see. This is the ‘beast’ who pulled you into the ring?” Her eyes dart between Arune and Bat. She pats Bat on the shoulder. “Thank you, dearie. He could benefit from some good exercise.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry, deary. I’ll busy myself. It’ll be like I’m not even here!” She shuffles over to her desk, which is overflowing with papers and vials of what seem to be blood. 

Bat clears his throat. Arune opens his mouth, then promptly shuts it. Winifred lets out a cackle from the other side of the room but does not otherwise comment. 

“Listen, I came to say that –” Bat starts 

“Do you know –” Arune starts 

“Bat, while you’re here, could you make yourself useful?” Winifred interrupts, unable to help herself. “Arune, your shirt, please.” Arune whips his head toward her, eyes wide. “Shirt or sit still and let the…what did you call him, an excessively large dog, sniff you –” This old hag… he peels it off. He feels Bat’s eyes travel down his chest.

Winifred tosses the shirt to Bat. “Arune, go hide somewhere in the city. Bat, I trust you to track him down.”

“Winifred, is this –”

“I have duties to attend to. I -” Both Arune and Bat complain simultaneously 

“Please be quick; I’ll need his help in an hour.”  She glances at the clock on the wall. Winifred shoulders the door open and leaves the room. Arune flushes bright red, snaps his finger, and vanishes from the room before Bat’s gaze sweeps back toward him. 

— —- —- 

A mug and a half of ale later, Arune sighed as Bat barreled through the door of the Pirate’s Cradle tavern and inn. The inn. 

Bat sits on the bench across from him. 

“You are quite the mage. Took me ages to walk here from the castle. This place is as much of a dump as I remember it being.” 

“It's mainly good for a quick drink and a mediocre hook-up.” Arune looks at Bat over the rim of his mug as he lifts it to his lips. They sit in a tense silence for several minutes. 

“Gods, I can’t take this any longer.” Arune grabs a mug of beer from the passing wench and slams it back in quick, successive gulps. He slams it onto the table; unfortunately, Bat doesn’t flinch.  “I’m not sure what you sought me out for; frankly, I do not care. If it's some sort of sick joke pretending not to know me, you can knock it off, alright? The jokes overdone.”

“Pretending not to…” Bat searches his face. Arune watches the gears turn in Bat’s mind. Arune pales; he honestly does not remember him. Not even now are they back where they met. Bat’s pinched eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. 

“Wait, you – you’re the one! I woke up, and you were gone. The other side of the bed was cold, and” Bat scratches the back of his neck, eyes anywhere but Arune’s. “For the life of me, I could not remember your name.”

“Couldn’t remember my face either, hm?” Arune picks at his nail beds.

“It's been – how long has it been? At least a couple of years, right?” Bat pauses for a beat. “Although clearly, I left quite the impression.” Arune wanted to reach across the table and tear that smirk clean off of Bat’s face. A swift kick to the shin would have to suffice. 

“Like I said, a spot for mediocre hookups. One night stands.” 

Bat winced from his bruised shin or hurt ego. Arune could not be sure. “No one had ever, um, no one had ever walked out on me before. I was embarrassed.” He says the words so quietly that Arune has to lean halfway over the table to catch them. “I did remember your face,” Bat’s hand raises, inching toward Arune’s face before dropping back onto the table. “But I couldn’t find you.”

“I… I guess I did leave to study in Thespis a few days later.” Arune ducked his head, realizing the fault lay more on him than he’d like to admit. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t walk out. Not on purpose, anyway. I have a tendency to sleep travel. It doesn’t happen often, but it likes to get me in trouble.” 

‘Ah, that’s how you wound up in the arena.” He ducks his head, smiling. Bat glances up, one eyebrow quirked. “Another confession? I may not have remembered who you were the other day, but I did know that you were a Royal Scientist.”

“I should have Montgomery take your head!” Arune gasps, his outrage half-hearted. “Why did you drag me into your demonstration then?”

“Twisted perversion? A chance to get my hands on the cute, blushing scientist?” Bat offers a sincere smile.

Arune huffs and puffs and tuts but has no retort. It seems as though his brain has stopped working. 

“You look good. It's all coming back to me now. You’ve let your hair grow out.”

“Oh, please.” Gathering his wits about him, Arune stands, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I should be returning before Winifred posts another wanted poster with my face on it.” He nods one last time at Bat. Powers spent from the long distance blip, he starts toward the door stealing himself for a long walk back to the castle. Bat grabs his wrist and brushes his thumb gently over Arune’s palm. 

Bat keeps looking straightforward, words coming out slowly as if he were learning to speak. “I’m sorry. Sorry for forcing you into the arena yesterday. And I’m sorry for not recognizing you or remembering your name.” Arune stares at the man, slack-jawed. For years, he had watched Bat rising through the ranks of the Kingsguard. Boiling with bitterness each time, they passed wordlessly in the hall. 

“I’m sorry, too. For embarrassing you in front of all the other knights yesterday,” His voice starts in a light, teasing lilt but deepens as Bat turns to face him. “I’m also sorry for vanishing without a trace and, despite knowing your name and face, never speaking to you again.” The words settle between them, and the din of the tavern fades to the background as they stare at each other, neither in a rush to get away. 

“Walk me home?” Arune asks. 

“I’ve got a better idea.” 

— — —

Two days later, Bat strolls into the laboratory with a beet-red Arune under one arm and a stack of wanted posters in his opposite hand. “Pay up, Winifred,” Bat says with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.