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Everything is conditioned to have different scents than others.
Some places smell like summer, like old paintings in newer displays, but Kjerag reeks of nothing but a menacing blizzard. It lurks, threatens, and is often dirty. Silverash used to not understand that until he directly got to address the matter himself; politics are dirty, they said—in any way which smells like rotten eggs.
Even though everything is as it was, Silverash does have his own exceptions, justified by those close with him. Some people smells like nothing when they are nearing their death, and Silverash thought he was losing his sense before he lost his parents instead. But people still smell, regardless of whatever emotions they have. Cliffheart smells like adventure—a thrilling release point where you can get lost in. Pramanix used to smell like lilies, something he finds himself comfortable upon the loss of their parents, but she has long lost it and gained the scent of rain instead. Perhaps the disappointment drowns her heart, perhaps her heart cries as a downpour is. Most in his family do not understand, and as he grows older, he grew to eat his feelings and keep the emotions perceived as scents in.
Matterhorn usually smells like his cooking: wonderful. Sometimes he smells like boulder, as everything building his muscles until today. The Doctor smells like war, as he would begin to understand his scope of comprehension and skills. Most people in Rhodes Island hide a scent of home beneath the layer of their therapeutical routines and restrictions.
Everything is conditioned to have different scents than others.
And for as much as he knows, Courier has so much more of them.
No matter how many times Silverash insists of not smelling, Courier does reeks of so many things at different time.
Courier used to smell like haunted forests, lost and almost-forgotten. Beyond the point of being found, however, he starts to smell like meadows—comforting in its own swaying existence and firm in its being. Whenever he returns from a mission, he has the biggest smile and brightest laughter, second only to Cliffheart’s, but he reeks of the ocean. Silverash does not mind listening, but he wonders he may drown in it. One day, Silverash almost did not smell anything from him, but his concerns were proven to be unnecessary as Courier returned safely—although needing medical assistance. He continued to smell like fire for a week—perhaps the battle was haunting him in his dreams, reflected in each of his burnt scars.
Silverash still had nothing to said, only grasping on Courier’s hand as the latter had long fallen asleep under the effects of his medications. He intends to relieve him of the nightmares through the night, and for once, Courier did not smell like fire and his condition started to improve.
Courier smells of old letters when he is with the Doctor, fresh packages when he is with the infected: fresh and relief-inducing. He smells like the dusts sitting atop an old book when he reminds Silverash of his schedules, and it will never stop following him for the rest of the day. In the dusk, he starts to smell warmer, like a cinnamon—the days without mission feel like toeing on the line between being troubling and providing comfort; often a mixture and unsure about how to go about things.
Dusts are one thing, but anger is another. Courier has smelled of anger once, at times they were assigned in the same mission and Silverash got hurt. It was defensive, yet unforgiving, sounds about ashes and everything else. As if showing that he preys, and he does. However, at the dawn of their deployment he will always smell like the flowers brought by their medic along, Inclusive, welcoming, and reassuring.
Regardless of the results, Courier will still smell nothing but the ocean when they return, smelling warmer as they are nearing the base. In their chamber, he smells sweeter through his embraces and warmer atop him. Sometimes, it can be suffocating, but more than often just trapping Silverash from going anywhere and Silverash does not mind it. Whatever worthy of him, at first—and the rest is comfort.
“May I request your assistance in telling me if I start smelling uncomfortable again, Sir?”
“Unnecessary. I like yours as it is.”
Everything is conditioned to have different scents than others.
Courier may have so many of them, but Silverash does not mind it.