Feet, Paws, Talons

Ritsuka’s feet are perfectly ordinary.

This is noteworthy, because nothing else about them looks ordinary anymore. Their hands are permanently charred back from magic overuse. Their belly is split by a large surgery scar. Their face, despite their best efforts, still adorn large bags under their eyes.

And yet, here they are. Perfectly ordinary feet. Ten toes, pristine skin. Perhaps a bit callused, from trekking around so much, but nothing that would be out of place in twentieth century Japan.

“They look so fragile.” Artoria comments as they put on flip flops. “They don’t look like they’re meant for this.”

(You don’t look like you're meant for this.)

Ritsuka doesn’t think about their feet much, because they don’t think about their body much. (It’s hard to think about something you forget the existence of half of the time.) They just enjoy having muscles that are still working properly. They step onto the beach, feeling sand gathering between their toes, and the best they can come up with is ah, I still have a sense of touch here.

Artoria’s feet are large, blocky things that barely fit in human boots. Thick pads cushion the underneath of them, light fur the top of them, and short claws crown the tip of her toes. They’re more like paws than feet, really, more beastly than human.

She hides them away, for the most part. She hides her missing toes like she hides the rest of her hurt. She hides her fur like she hides every other inhuman thing about her. 

“I think they’re cute.” Ritsuka comments with a large smile, squeezing her toebeans. “My cat never let me touch it like that.”

“Be careful.” She wiggles her biggest toe. She doesn’t trim her nails; never had the tools to. Her claws are blunt, but that doesn’t make them safe. “These could hurt you.”

(I could hurt you.)

A stupider person would argue that she couldn’t. That they trust her. That they know she would never hurt a fly, and even less a friend.

Ritsuka, for all their faults, is not stupid. They’re insane, and that is worse. “I’ll live.” They respond, and that is all there is to say.

Oberon’s feet are fake.

His entire being is a lie. His body, naturally, is just a costume; he can take it on and off as he pleases. Is his hair grey, or black? Are his hands fingers, or talons? What do you want him to be, dear viewer?

“Drama queen.” Ritsuka whispers against his lips, pinning him against the wall. Annoying. Annoying annoying annoying little fuck who doesn’t know how to back away when the bug bites.

Oberon grabs a fistful of their ass then- not with his hands, but with his feet. He knows his claws must be prickling at the cloth of their pants. He knows it must be fucking weird to feel opposable thumbs on talons. Come on. Get scared. Get weirded out. Act fucking normal for once in your life and leave.

Ritsuka grunts, swears, but they do not flinch. They kiss him again, with more teeth this time. Annoying. Annoying annoying annoying little fuck who cannot look at the abyss without seeing a person. Do they not realize that to see your equal in the monstrous is as much humanizing the worm as it is animalizing the human? Do they not realize what seeing their equal in a dragon implies about their own nature?

Perhaps they don’t. Perhaps they do. The only thing Oberon knows is that they do not care. Feet or paw or talon- they don’t look at the footprints they leave behind. The only thing that matters to them is how far will you walk with me? and then walk, walk, walk, to the end of this world and the end of the next.