The chariot's cushioned seats harmed Charice's butt as horses neighed in protest, as if aware of the arduous climb ahead of them.
People shouted and bellowed as the chariot made its way past, accompanied by only the most elite of the guards mounted on large warhorses - Their features obscured by blue capes and dark-plate armor, brigandine interlocked with wyvern scales hidden underneath.
The mounts loomed at over two meters tall, with golden hair and charcoal skin, their eyes burned with the steady gaze of a trusted soldier, the kind even Medusa would flinch at.
The Consort, the one people threw flowers and coins for, was hidden within his carriage behind alluring, silky curtains. The carriage was normal, though the seal and scriptures adorning its every inch were anything but.
Charice sighed, holding his hands to his ears gently.
"Are you alright?" Michael asked.
Charice silently shook his head, eyes shaking lightly as he brushed his pinky through his hair repeatedly, "It's too loud! I-I'm used to worse, but..." But his senses were much more sensitive now; he could hear and feel far more than ever before.
'Perhaps I should disperse the crowd? As a Paragon, I certainly have the authority...'
Michael had no badge; his armor was it. A Paragon - One of the most powerful beings within the city, and the only ones who bow to no one except the Senate, Consort, and God-King. That is what Michael was.
Charice noticed his gaze digging into his face, "Is there something...?"
"Ah, no. Apologies, I was just wondering if you'd like me to silence them?"
Charice's face lost some color as he waved his hands in a panic. "W-Woah, you shouldn't say stuff like that so casually!"
Michael was confused; he only wanted to disperse them after all. "I-I apologize? I know it's hard for individuals like you to-"
"E-Eh?! You could tell already...?" Charice interrupted, surprised, a bit shocked even, as doubts and the first seeds of insecurity were planted in his mind. 'He could tell I'm weird already! And I tried so hard to keep my weirdness to myself...'
In reality, Michael's mind was not at all considering Charice's mental quirks. Even he disliked such huge crowds for one simple reason.
'Chaos and Order, every living being overflows with it. Every movement, every thought, every word, they all carries a whisper of it... And the more attuned one is, the more sensitive they become to it.'
In a way, he was lucky not to be outside, bearing the forefront of a fanatical crowd's cheering and throwing.
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Every coin was like a flashbang of power to them. One person was nothing, a city overflowing with adoration, throwing coins and flowers alike... It was not to be compared.
'Yet... I think it would be easier to be outside.' Michael silently realized, feeling the raw pulse of power coming from the Consort. His power was calm, not active, but one does not need to behold a wave to fear a tsunami.
Just because Michael wasn't being drowned now doesn't mean he wouldn't be in the future. In a way, he and his colleagues had achieved such a high station due to their attunement to Order and Chaos, and also due to their ability to hold their breath through the flood of it.
Charice's hands traced the soft cushions, thighs pressing together and tongue darting to lick his lips, his heart slowing as the world grounded him. He was, of course, entirely unaware of Michael's struggle.
He was also unaware that he had just pressed his thighs together, licked his lips sensually, and opened up his body language as a result of his hands moving away.
Any man would assume there was an "invitation" there.
"...Consort, if I may ask-"