The Banshee Proposal
Or: Why DP Should Not Be Left Alone With His Own Charm
The moon dipped a little lower, casting long silver shadows across Kellen’s garden, now thoroughly scandalized by the presence of two emotionally complex mythological disasters pretending this was just a chat.
Onorfin had turned back toward the moonflowers, whether to examine them or escape was unclear. His posture was perfect. His tension was not.
DP, arms folded and grin wide, was still leaning against the very tree he’d claimed earlier in a highly undignified fashion.
“You always this dramatic in your gardening,” he asked, “or am I just a special occasion?”
Onorfin didn’t turn. “You talk a lot for someone who claims to be dangerous.”
“I am dangerous. Just... selectively.”
“Mm. To coats, perhaps.”DP chuckled low in his throat, the kind of sound that made moths tremble and brambles lean in to listen. He slowly stepped forward, boots soft on the mossy earth, closing the space between them with intent that was about as subtle as his territorial marking.
“You know,” he said, “most people run when I show up.”
Onorfin glanced at him, expression unreadable. “And yet here I am. Still standing.”
“Exactly.” DP’s voice dropped just a little. “Most people bend. Or break.”
He leaned in close, letting the words slide out with a smirk that could dismantle furniture:
“I was hoping to make you break.”
The silence that followed could’ve shattered a mirror.
Onorfin stared at him... stunned, intrigued, infuriatingly unreadable. Then he blinked once... Slowly... Like rebooting.
“I… see,” he said, very much not seeing.
DP’s grin widened like the moon behind him. “Don’t worry. You’re holding up better than I expected.”
“You are insufferable.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
“I’m debating walking into a hedge.”
“That’d be a tragic loss to both the garden and my evening.”
Onorfin finally exhaled and folded his arms.. not defensive, just… grounding himself. “What do you want from me, exactly?”
DP’s tone shifted, just a touch. Still playful, but now edged with something sincere. “Well… I was going to offer you a job.”
Onorfin arched a perfectly accusatory brow.
DP shrugged. “There’s a banshee situation. My friend Kellen’s involved. There may be cursed marmalade and questionable goblins. It’s either come with me, or I try to manage it alone and probably end up hexed into a sentient loaf of bread."
Onorfin hesitated. “That sounds… deeply unappealing.”
“Exactly. Which is why I need backup. Preferably the silver-haired, smug kind who looks fantastic under moonlight and judges me creatively.”
“You want me on your quest?”
DP’s smile softened, just a bit. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it. Besides… I get the feeling you’re not exactly here just for the tulips.”
Onorfin hesitated.
Then: “Fine. But if I end up cursed, you’re buying me a new coat.”
DP stepped in, not quite closing the distance, but close enough to feel the shift in the air between them. “Deal. And I’ll even toss in a bottle of anti-possession shampoo. Comes in citrus or despair.”
Onorfin tilted his head, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “You’re impossible.”
“Yet strangely irresistible,” DP replied, his voice low.
The silence between them tightened like a drawn bowstring. The garden held its breath.
And then... before either could out-snark the moment... Onorfin leaned in, kissed him once.
Soft. Certain. Completely unexpected.
It was brief.. a brush of silver fire and startled warmth.. but it sent sparks down DP’s spine like a lightning spell wrapped in silk.
When they parted, Onorfin’s expression was unreadable again. Too composed. Too calm.
“I was just checking if kissing you would make you shut up,” he murmured.
DP blinked. “And?”
Onorfin turned toward the gate. “Regrettably… no.”
He walked off without looking back.
And DP?
DP just stood there, grinning like a man who’d just been hit by destiny wearing a tailored tunic and sass.
“Oh, I’m definitely bringing him on the banshee job,” he muttered.
DP’s grin lingered long after he was gone.
“Oh, I’ll break you,” he whispered to the moon. “One snark at a time.”
Onorfin had turned back toward the moonflowers, whether to examine them or escape was unclear. His posture was perfect. His tension was not.
DP, arms folded and grin wide, was still leaning against the very tree he’d claimed earlier in a highly undignified fashion.
“You always this dramatic in your gardening,” he asked, “or am I just a special occasion?”
Onorfin didn’t turn. “You talk a lot for someone who claims to be dangerous.”
“I am dangerous. Just... selectively.”
“Mm. To coats, perhaps.”DP chuckled low in his throat, the kind of sound that made moths tremble and brambles lean in to listen. He slowly stepped forward, boots soft on the mossy earth, closing the space between them with intent that was about as subtle as his territorial marking.
“You know,” he said, “most people run when I show up.”
Onorfin glanced at him, expression unreadable. “And yet here I am. Still standing.”
“Exactly.” DP’s voice dropped just a little. “Most people bend. Or break.”
He leaned in close, letting the words slide out with a smirk that could dismantle furniture:
“I was hoping to make you break.”
The silence that followed could’ve shattered a mirror.
Onorfin stared at him... stunned, intrigued, infuriatingly unreadable. Then he blinked once... Slowly... Like rebooting.
“I… see,” he said, very much not seeing.
DP’s grin widened like the moon behind him. “Don’t worry. You’re holding up better than I expected.”
“You are insufferable.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
“I’m debating walking into a hedge.”
“That’d be a tragic loss to both the garden and my evening.”
Onorfin finally exhaled and folded his arms.. not defensive, just… grounding himself. “What do you want from me, exactly?”
DP’s tone shifted, just a touch. Still playful, but now edged with something sincere. “Well… I was going to offer you a job.”
Onorfin arched a perfectly accusatory brow.
DP shrugged. “There’s a banshee situation. My friend Kellen’s involved. There may be cursed marmalade and questionable goblins. It’s either come with me, or I try to manage it alone and probably end up hexed into a sentient loaf of bread."
Onorfin hesitated. “That sounds… deeply unappealing.”
“Exactly. Which is why I need backup. Preferably the silver-haired, smug kind who looks fantastic under moonlight and judges me creatively.”
“You want me on your quest?”
DP’s smile softened, just a bit. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it. Besides… I get the feeling you’re not exactly here just for the tulips.”
Onorfin hesitated.
Then: “Fine. But if I end up cursed, you’re buying me a new coat.”
DP stepped in, not quite closing the distance, but close enough to feel the shift in the air between them. “Deal. And I’ll even toss in a bottle of anti-possession shampoo. Comes in citrus or despair.”
Onorfin tilted his head, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “You’re impossible.”
“Yet strangely irresistible,” DP replied, his voice low.
The silence between them tightened like a drawn bowstring. The garden held its breath.
And then... before either could out-snark the moment... Onorfin leaned in, kissed him once.
Soft. Certain. Completely unexpected.
It was brief.. a brush of silver fire and startled warmth.. but it sent sparks down DP’s spine like a lightning spell wrapped in silk.
When they parted, Onorfin’s expression was unreadable again. Too composed. Too calm.
“I was just checking if kissing you would make you shut up,” he murmured.
DP blinked. “And?”
Onorfin turned toward the gate. “Regrettably… no.”
He walked off without looking back.
And DP?
DP just stood there, grinning like a man who’d just been hit by destiny wearing a tailored tunic and sass.
“Oh, I’m definitely bringing him on the banshee job,” he muttered.
DP’s grin lingered long after he was gone.
“Oh, I’ll break you,” he whispered to the moon. “One snark at a time.”
