We're the hands of the Gods

Lupecyll-Atlon Home, midday

"It is so good to see you again, my lord!" Jyndei's happy, squeaky voice rings around the kitchen, the little faerie dragon curled around Telamon's shoulders and nuzzling his cheek. "I had feared the worst!"

Tel, for his part, patiently sighs and pets his sidekick -- certainly not a pet or a familiar! "Yes, it was hard -- more for Lana and Dolan than anyone else. But it's all right. Everything is working normally." He impishly wiggles his eyebrows. "As Lana can attest."

This yields up a long string of giggles from Jyndei, who gives Telamon one last tiny hug before vaulting off to perch on one of the chairs in the dining area. "So what are you doing today, milord? It smells interesting!" The little dragon is polite enough to not try and cram his snout into what Tel is working on, but his tiny nostrils are flexing in and out with curiosity.

"Mustard," Telamon replies with a grin. On the counter, a mortar and pestle are grinding mustard seeds in a liquid mixture, all by themselves. He inspects the container, then adds a little more fluid from a bottle. "Specifically -- mustard, made with fresh seeds and mushroom catsup. It's got a good strong flavor but not too spicy."

The Goblin's pace is slow and stiff, the usual click-clack of her sandals quite muted as she shuffles along. It takes her a few moments to approach the door, the raven regarded with a smile. "That could go on the fresco, too."

Pulling her hood in closer over her head, she reaches up a shaky hand to pull at the bell.

When the bell rings, Telamon glances up. Lana had gone out to buy some additional supplies for the house -- just odds and ends, nothing important -- and he really wasn't expecting any visitors. "Hm." He looks to his apparently self-driven mortar and pestle. "Keep going," he instructs the empty air, before walking to the door. Dressed down in a dark green linen tunic over breeches and, improbably enough, battered-looking fuzzy bear slippers, he's not really clad to receive formal guests. "Better not be another deal about my wagon's 'extended warranty' or that guy's going into the Tornmawr..." he mutters.

And then he opens the door, and blinks. "Simony! Welcome to the new digs -- ah, but you've seen part of it already, since you got the plaster and foundation laid down in the living room." He beckons her inside, and there's an inquisitive chirp. Then Jyndei glides over to land on Tel's shoulder, and the little dragon greets her. "Good day, Temperance Simony!" Jyndei trills out.

The Goblin takes care to conceal her face under her hood, peering down at the ground. "Extended warranty? I didn't know you had a wagon, I would have thought you'd have a carriage if anything..." She shuffles along behind Telamon as he beckons her inside. "Ah yes, it has been wonderfully renovated, I am glad that it has worked out so well. Hmmph, did you ever think that house repairs would be a major concern in your life, when you first came to Alexandria?"

She giggles at the little dragon, her head still canted downwards, hidden under her hood. "Welcome back, Jyndei, it is a pleasure to hear your voice once more. How have you been?"

GAME: Telamon rolls detectBS: aliased to sense motive: (7)+25: 32

The elegant half-elf -- well, he's dressed down, but he could look good in a produce sack if you ask certain people -- shuts the door behind Simony, and walks her inside. The dropcloths are still draped over the living room furniture, and so he leads her to the dining area, pulling out a chair for her. "Can I get you anything to drink? Tea -- hot or chilled? Or a cider? It's not too early for cider, I think." The mortar and pestle continue to merrily crush mustard seeds, and Tel spares a moment to check it, before adding a little more mustard and catsup to the mix.

Meanwhile, Jyndei alights on the table, and looks at Simony carefully. Then the little faerie dragon comes over to rest his head on Simony's shoulder, humming softly.

Her sigh of relief as she sits down is telling. "Oh! Chilled tea, please and thank you! I rather enjoyed it, it's a perfect drink on these hot days. At least there is a breeze today." She jumps a little when the dragon rests his head upon her shoulder, and after a few moments hesitation, she raises up a hand, and lightly touches Jyndei's head. Feeling daintily with her fingers, she finds the spot between his eyes and strokes there.

Simony's other hand shakes as she lifts her arm, her breathing pained as she tugs her hood back. Her hair is completely gone, and the skin on her face and head bears the freshly healed look, blotchy red here and there instead of her usual pale colouration.

"Fireballs hurt.", the Gobbo says with a huff.

Telamon has the composure to not flinch, but his expression is one of sympathy rather than horror. "... Ouch," he deadpans. "I've never had the pleasure, myself, though there were those fire-aspected fey I tangled with once. Alright, first thing..." He busies himself with the teakettle, pouring the tea into glasses, before grasping each. Both frost over, before he slides one across to Simony.

"Can I get you anything? I do have some soothing salve -- I don't burn easily but I got some for Lana, just in case." Indeed, annoyingly for someone with such a pale complexion Tel has instead tanned lightly, a surprising contrast. "Your hair... well, we've got some Perriman's, but I advise caution using that. Sometimes your hair grows back in a different color."

Meanwhile, Jyndei closes his eyes, purring at the pets, and cuddles gently against Simony. Clearly, the little dragon recognizes that Simony needs some attention and is happy to offer it.

The Goblin is distracted for a moment by the snuggly dragon, carefully petting his head, and offering longer strokes along Jyndei's side.

Her eyes flick suddenly to the tea, and she takes up the cup, downing the tea in one go. "Thank you very much!", she says, cheerfulness seeping back into her expression.

The cheerfulness doesn't last long. "I was scared, Telamon. This was one of the hardest fights. Carver went down, everyone was getting hurt and I was pushing myself to keep alive and then it was all fire. The wizard had already thrown one, but it didn't seem to do too much. The second one was pretty much at my feet." She lets out a long breath. "Then a Forgotten tore up my side. Schara cast a healing magic and I woke up burned all over. I don't know how I got back up. Kept healing."

"I don't want to do it any more."

That fathomless, starry gaze is on Simony. It's not judging, or disapproving, but it does feel like being under a glass. Or being stared at by something just a little -different-. The gaze really isn't that dissimilar from that of the strange creature Tel calls the Watcher.

"Hm," Telamon says once more, as he takes a seat across from Simony. "Well, I'm not going to be the one to -tell- you that you have to do something. But I would offer my own perspective on things, if you'd like to have it. Would you accept my counsel?"

Suddenly, it's not that vast, impersonal stare, it's the warm gaze of her friend Tel, who wants her to paint his ceiling. Who's making some concoction in his kitchen and serving tea. It may be hot outside, but the windows are open and a breeze flows through the house like a stream.

Simony is fixed in place by that stare, her only movement is to give Jyndei attention with her hand. She manages to blink when Telamon speaks, and her head nods.

"I.. I would hear what you have to say.. I am so very close to simply becoming a hermit, coming out only to paint."

A wee finger prods the small dragon's side. "If you wished, Jyndei, you could stretch out onto my shoulders.", she offers with a grin."

Jyndei thinks this is a marvelous idea, and carefully climbs up onto Simony's shoulders, curling around her neck carefully. Purring in her ear like a cat.

Telamon refills their cups, and then makes a gesture to the mortar and pestle. It floats over to sit next to Tel's hand, and he checks it, before it continues pulverizing mustard seeds into a paste. "Well, first I would caution against any snap decisions. You're tired and hurting and probably shouldn't be deciding on anything more important than 'what's to eat'. Which reminds me, -have- you eaten anything today?"

"Secondly... fear is normal. It's -sane-. It's a rational reaction to some of the things we see in our line of work. It's why a lot of adventurers take up fairly... hm, sedate side jobs. Like painting. Or lecturing. Because the mortal soul isn't cut out for nonstop terror."

The Goblin laughs at the purring in her ear, "Jyndei, are you sure you're not part feline?" Her hand lifts up to continue the fond attention, stroking under the dragon's chin."

Her second cup of tea is sipped at more daintily, her hand holding it carefully. "It's rather soothing on the skin.", she says softly. Her head nods, and at his question about eating, her stomach growls noisily. TO which she looks embarrassed. "I have not felt much like eating.", Simony says, with her stomach protesting further. "I suppose I should."

"Fear is sane, and I've always felt fear when going on guild missions or exploring. It's just.. we're trying to do good things, keep people safe... you can't do that cowering in your bed but that's all I feel I can do now. I might be broken."

Telamon snorts. "Ask -any- long-time campaigner, they'll tell you to never make decisions on an empty stomach." He checks the mortar and pestle, before gesturing again and saying, "Go get that wheel of cheese and a couple handbreads. And a knife." There's a faint susurrus in the air, something zipping off to the pantry and bringing back a couple loaves of bread, a knife, and a wax-jacketed wheel of cheese. "I think something simple's in order," he remarks.

As Tel cuts up slices of bread and bits of cheese, he continues, "It's funny, actually. I really was worried encountering the echo of Eclavdran under the city had broken you. And yet, oddly enough, you got right back on the horse again." He regards Simony with a gentle smile. "This is why you sometimes -have- to stand down, Simony. I don't think you're broken. I think you're rattled and hurting and desperately in need of a break. Why do you think I'm here, making mustard and entertaining my friend Jyndei? It's not a question of laziness -- it's a question of healing."

Jyndei puts his paw on Simony's cheek. "The Lord Lupecyll-Atlon speaks true. No one can face the trials of the world nonstop. You must eat, drink, rest. Find time for merriment, for happiness. To remember -why- you fight."

Her ears perk up at the sound of .. something passing by, and she snorts at the objects making their way to the table. "I would not complain at what I was served right now, it could be a full course meal or a stick of butter..." Her stomach grumbles its agreement.

"I have wondered that also, Tel. I think it is that while it was a very dangerous threat, and it was able to invoke existential fear, it didn't get to me. It didn't hurt me in an meaningful way. But this fight, it felt different. It felt like we were all on the edge. Death was a claw or misstep away."

Simony inhales and exhales noisily. "Okay, I will not make any decisions until after I am done painting here for you. I can lose myself safely for a bit, making my mark on your ceiling." She lets out a squeak at the paw on her face, and she turns to Jyndei. "It is hard to mope around you, and thank you both for your wisdom."

Telamon sniffs experimentally at the mustard taking form in his mortar and pestle. "Needs to age a bit, but this'll be good." He smiles at Simony. "Exactly! Some adventures are going to be like that, Simony. You'll find yourself on the thin edge. All you can do at that point is trust in yourself, and your friends, to seize victory."

He pauses. "I've had nightmares, you know. Not about dying -- that was pretty much 'whoops, lights out, wait where am I?'. But I dreamed I was trapped, and watched Seraquoix kill my friends one by one. Even though it didn't happen, it ... well, it could have." Tel picks up his glass, and drinks deeply, as the bread and cheese are served, along with a little butter and honey as needed.

"And yet... I know I'm needed. I can't walk away. I can't refuse this calling. I once said that we're the hands of the gods in this work, and I still believe it. It's one thing to stop to rest and heal, but I can't walk away from it entirely."

"What are you making in there?", she asks, of the mortar and pestle. Nodding, the Goblin sighs softly. "The thin, raggedy edge. I have had nightmares like that too. Not exactly like that, but similar in that bad things were happening and nothing I was doing was working or helping."

Simony accepts the bread and cheese, and adds a little scrape of butter with a more generous helping of honey. She then quickly wolfs it down, chewing sparingly and swallowing noisily. A fit of hiccupping follows, and she stills them by swallowing the rest of her tea.

"The little hands of the gods.", she says with a huff. "That was delicious!", she says cheerfully, helping herself to another portion of cheese. This is offered to Jyndei, "Do you like cheese, Jyndei?"

"Mustard," Telamon replies. "It has to age for a few days, though, can't use it yet. But..." He offers the mortar to Simony so she can sample the scent. "I find an unseen servant can do mortar and pestle grinding as well as I can, and it doesn't get tired either. I find it goes very well on bread, especially in wraps and sandywiches."

Jyndei, of course, happily takes the cheese with a squeak, and begins gnawing on it, lingering on the treat. Tel grins. "Jyndei takes his time when eating. I don't even know how Pothy -tastes- his food, as fast as he'll gobble it down."

Pouring another cup of tea for each of them, Telamon nods. "Here's the thing: it's all normal. Don't feel like you're failing because you're scared, or having nightmares, or wanting to hide under the bed. Look at what we do, for Ni'essa's sake! Even the things I've done that turned out for the best... I wonder how I had the nerve to do them in the first place."

He snorts. "Like calling out Grandfather. Oh gods, what the hells was I thinking there?" He shakes his head. "I am -so- damned glad he took a liking to me..."

Simony sniffs delicately at the mustard, her nose wrinkling at the smell. "Hmm, so it's a thing you spread, like butter?", she wonders. "It smells strong. What do you prefer to put it on?"

The Gobbo grins at Jyndei, and nods lightly. "I suspect that Pothy probably tastes with his stomach."

She eyes Telamon a moment, and then chuckles. "I would say your eyes work on everyone, even the fey. But honestly, when you say something with conviction, it's obvious in your voice. Perhaps in speaking boldly, you forced him to consider why you were doing so. That is worthy of respect, and honest people would recognize it."

She falls silent then, her expression thoughtful. "So. When may I start painting?"

Telamon chuckles softly. "I wasn't -that- imposing... at least, I don't think I was. But... it ended with Lana and I together, so I'd say it worked out." Jyndei makes a chirping sound (mouth full), and Tel rolls his eyes. "You stay out of this," he says to Jyndei with a grin.

"But yes. It's strong tasting, but not spicy-hot, and I think I prefer it over peppers." He shudders. "It's not just the makari who like to season their tlahcos that way. They do it similarly in Dran, and it's like stoking a furnace in your stomach."

At the mention of 'when', Tel grins. "Why not tomorrow? I think the plaster and foundation are dry, or close to it, and that way you can spend a little time eating and getting some well-earned rest before you start. Can't work on an empty stomach or feeling worn out."