Festive Web

Amongst the warded warmth and shelter of the gardens, the path bears little snow accumulation. The trees and flowers are dusted by the same yet unhindered. All the same, the snow continues to fall.

Verna makes her way unhurriedly along the path, a basket in the crook of her elbow. Her cloakhood is doffed and her eyes focus upwards to the descending precipitation as often as they rest upon the colorful foliage in her vicinity.

Amongst the grey sky is a small festive web. About ten feet or so off the ground, above the flora next to the walking path, is a knitted web of greens, reds, and yellows anchored to two metal rods that seemingly float in the middle of the air, unmoving.

Bowing out the bottom of the knitted web is a heavily scarred mul'neissa woman in an equally festive sweater, a long sock hat covering her head with fittings for her long ears. Her feet dangle over the edge, eyes closed while her hands move in a slow yet steady motion with two needles in hand. A loooooong sock taking form. She pauses. Looks down. Then over the hammock, frowning at the ground. A ball of yellow yarn nestled in a brush. Aryia lazily grunts as she tries to reach down for it, but alas. She is short.

The yellow ball is deposited into Aryia's hand after a moment. The hand that moves it is small and green, belonging to a Goblin dressed all in leather and fur.

"Y'dropped this.", says her scratchy little voice.

Murder glances around at the snow intruding upon the Gardens. "Isn't it not supposed t'snow in here?", she wonders of no one in particular. "Has someone sent a prayer to Althea about this? I think she might be mad to see this. At least, th'priests might be, for all the work they did to make the aura of this place."

Verna cannot help but notice the 'web' and Aryia (and subsequently Murder) with her gaze skyward. "The wards upon the gardens mediate temperature and weather, lessening their effects, " she clarifies. "They do not prevent such outright." She then exhales a breath. "The snow shall continue to fall until my Mistress deems otherwise."

Aryia blinks, dangling upside down as the ball is handed back to her. She gives a brief gesture of 'thanks' before tossing it into her nest. She waves hello.

Still hanging, her attention shifts towards Verna. Brows raise (lower?), and a smile cracks her face. "Hey, good to see you're not old as hell anymore," she signs with a hand. Verna's explanation is met with Aryia vaguely motioning something akin to 'what she said' before she rolls herself back up into her hammock. She peers over at Murder, sizing her up briefly before going back to her knitting. The sock gets wider, now with yellow. <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Yeah, but it's supposed ta melt!", the GOblin complains.

She nods at Aryia, "No problem. Short people need all the help they can get." Her grin is full of cheek and teeth.

The Goblin looks back at Verna. "An' why does your Mistress get ta determine that? Is too much snow!"

Another look to Aryia. "That's an oddly shaped hat..."

Aryia's greeting and observation pull Verna from her thoughts. "Indeed, I am not, and grateful. Auranar was inspired, resourceful, and kind enough to employ the means take the years upon herself for a time. The efects were subsquently nullified upon herself and others affected; due to the fiend's demise, as I understand." She takes a long moment to study Aryia's garment-in-progress. "Is that a stocking? Perhaps intended for a Bebilith or Retriever, by the dimensions, yet I presume it must be for some other purpose." Not only are such creatures disinclined to wear apparel, are inured to cold, but Verna imagines they are not high upon Aryia's list of gifting recipients nor customers.

She then looks to Murder, lips turning down at the corners. "It is not that The Harpist determines nor desires the snow, but that She brings it. She mourns. She weeps that The Cycle is affronted." One gloved hand lifts towards the sky. "These are Her tears."

Well, if the gods were unhappy, then perhaps Eztli would need to upset them more often, as having the gardens frosted in a pleasant snow was more than welcome to the small makari slowly plodding her way through the district.

Seemed like there was some commotion nearby. A giant spider in the grounds Verna and Murder were here to eliminate? No, just Aryia lounging in a hammock. "Evening, all of you! I was hoping I could run into Aryia, actually, must be good luck!" The makari laughs. "Hope you are all doing well today."

The sock gets jabbed a few more times, the crook getting more crooked, the opening getting wider with a brim. She clips the string, then makes a small ball of yarn before attaching it to the top of the 'sock'. Well, it's no longer a sock at this point. To answer Verna's question, the transformed hat is shaken out, pulled a few times to stretch it, and then Aryia throw it down at Murder, plopping the hat right on her head. A yellow, green and red hat with a yellow ball of yearn atop it.

She sighs in relief at hearing what Verna and company are alright, as well as the fiend being vanquished. "I'm glad to hear that," she signs, pulling more yarn free. A stocking is a good idea. Knitting needles work faster. Less in the relaxed manner as before, and more in getting something done. The yellow ball unfurls quickly in the web.

The floating hammock in the air shifts slightly. Aryia with a long, festive hat on peers down. "Hello. I'm good." A pause. Squint. "If you're wanting another dress, I have to take your measurements again, otherwise it'll get ripped to shit." <Handspeech/Tongues>

The Goblin mirrors Verna's frown, though the corners of her mouth turn down much more. "Oh?" She peers up at the sky, and squints. "So what is She crying over, exactly? Which cycle are ya talking about? And can She cry elsewhere a bit, She's going to snow us under if she keeps at it."

Her head cants sideways and she eyes Eztli for a few moments. "Good enough, I guess. How're you, Ez...."

The Goblin pauses midsentence, staring upwards at the object that's just plopped onto her head. Her eyes cross, her expression one of puzzlement and growing concern.

Carver was just taking a stroll through the gardens, bundled again in her great layers of fur. Just sightseeing. An' what's more of a sight than a few legendary local heroes all discussing in the snow. She keeps back, lounging in the shadow of the great monument, bracing her shoulder into the stone... and observes.

GAME: Eztli rolls perception: (14)+5: 19

"I am well enough for the moment," Verna responds to Eztli and confirms for Aryia, though her flat tone and slight frown grant no more positive connotation than her words. She then expounds to Murder, "The inifinite cycle of life and death. My Mistress', and our, duties may revolve predominantly around one aspect, yet the maintenance of The Cycle lies at the pinnacle. Such is why undead are anethema as they are abominations in defiance of The Cycle."

"Hey, nice hat! Looks good on you, real festive." Eztli laughs, resisting a sudden urge to pull the hat down over the gobber's eyes. "Nice spot for some knitting."

"Well keep that moment and run with it I say, might as well keep doing well." she nods to Verna, looking over one shoulder. "Ah, well, I still love that dress of yours, but I don't need any at the moment. I was hoping you could make something else for me, or show me how to do some sewing some time."

Aryia doesn't have anything to add to the conversation- Verna was far better vetted to explain all of this- she just keeps knitting a large yellow sock. Color change, now forming red. She glances at Murder. "It's not going to strangle you," the mute signs offhandedly, her looking back to Verna. A brow raises. "Sounds like some bullshit is going on."

She bobs her head once in agreement- it is a good spot- but her knitting pauses briefly. Glances up to the statue. Then back down. "Okay. Go on. What do you want?"

Then back up to the statue once more, and she gestures wide and large, so the distance didn't matter. "Standing in shade is fucking useless against Mul'neissa." <Handspeech/Tongues>

The Goblin's expression remains concerned. Somehow, one eye remains peering up at the hat, while the other stares at Aryia. "How do I know it's not a mimic trying to eat my brains?"

Both of her eyes turn to look at Verna. "So she's been crying since forever, then, or is this a new thing? 'Cause it's been snowing a bit too much for a bit too long, yanno? As 'Ria says... smells like some bee ess is going on."

Murder frowns at Eztli momentarily, her hands going up to the hat to preemptively defend against a hatsing. "And standing in the shade doesn't really work against a Gobbo either."

Carver frowns, trying to make sense of the gestures clearly meant for her. Without the knowledge though, she can only presume the webbed seamstress is waving her forward.

Very slowly she slinks into view, then conversing distance, giving a wave for those she recognizes. Eztli gets a warmer gaptoothed smile.

"Ah, well, you see, it involvessomeonewhoIjustsawcomingandIdontwanttospoilitsotalklater?" Eztli responds, quickly running off the rest as she could manage quietly, before turning to grin. "Hey Carver! Having a good day?" She asks, rubbing one of her horns awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess the snow is weird, I like it, but it's still not great if it keeps up excessively."

Verna exhales a breath as not one, but two note the high probability and proliferation of verancular bovine excrement. She then nods with a simple, "Indeed" before clarifying, "though no bovines are directly involved and the issue is, instead, the work of fae. I presume that the most correct term, in balance of fact and vernacular, could be 'fae bullshit.'"

She shakes her head to Murder. "While She has ever mourned, this predicament is far more recent and far more ..." Verna pauses, frowning more deeply as she considers a proper adjective. "Heinous..." is what she ultimately decides. "Work is underway to resolve the matter. Once resolved, the snowfall should return to the norm."

"Do I look like a fucking wizard that knows how to make a mimic?" Aryia signs back at Murder. "Enjoy the hat."

The knitter is almost done with a red and yellow sock, a large stocking, her adding a lip to the opening and making a loop for a hook. She gives a side at Eztli, one of the covered ears twitching before glancing up to the approaching Carver and simply nodding. A sigh escapes her. "Of course it's fae bullshit."

She looks up to the sky briefly, contemplating what Verna is speaking of, as it sounds like there is more going on that it seems, before adding the finishing touches and completes the yellow and red stocking. It has a large 'V' in green stitched into the front of it. It gets tossed towards Verna's basket.

She squints at Carver, holds up two fingers, as if pinching her head sideways. There's a pause in thought, and she nods to herself, pulling free more red and green yarn. Knitting resumes faster. <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Well... if you need another sword, I'd b'glad t'help out.", the Goblin offers to Verna. "My blade works on demons and fae alike, somethin' Alexandria has suffered from for ages. If it would make the Deathgoddess stop crying, 'm'wiling to risk it." Murder waves to Carver, blinks at Eztli, and finally looks to Aryia.

She grins a fang-filled smile. "Well I dunno, you are a Mul'meissa after all and awfully good at that finger-wiggling stuff. There a snort and a giggle follows. "Thanks fer the hat!" Murder begins searching through a pouch on her belt, and pulls out a large-ish spider that squirms and wiggles in her hand. She shudders but offers it up to Aryia. "Chocolate?"

Eztli nods gratefully. "Ah, some fae causing problems? Well, I hope it gets sorted soon. I'm no good with diplomacy, and I feel burning things there would not go over well." Eztli shrugs. "She's good at punching people and dealing with unreasonable tailoring comissions. I think most of the finger waggling is mostly natural."

Verna blinks as she suddenly finders herself in possession of a monogramed, gifted garment(?). It is the speed of craft and the accuracy of through which surprise, though a moment of hindsight makes her realize that neither is unusual for Aryia. "I am grateful, Aryia."

She then turns to Murder, "And to you, as well, for your offer of aid. I expect that the involvement of fae royalty shall make this no easy matter to resolve." After a moment of pause, she adds, "I further expect direct action to be more involved than diplomacy." Verna then stows the stocking carefully into the basket. Before closing it, she looks to all with an inquiry, "Would any care for a cookie?"

Aryia snorts, rolling her eyes at Murder's jab and nodding with Eztli before she looks over. She frowns at the offer. Squints. Actual.. chocolate? Aryia does have a soft spot for spiders, buuut..."

She leans out, grabs it, and shoves it in her mouth without a moment of hesitation. Crunch! There's a pause as tilts her head, one of the chocolate spider legs sticking out of her mouth. "Not going to lie, that's probably the best spider I've eaten."

Verna gets a thumbs up in acknowledgement before morphing into a thanks towards Murder. She pauses. Another snack? The knitting pugilist holds up a finger, wanting one. "Direct action tends to work far better, in my opinion." <Handspeech/Tongues>

The Goblin gives another shudder as Aryia just... eats the spider, and manages to speak with her mouth full. The leg twitch causes another, her expression one of disgust. But she snorts and giggles. "It's either your first eaten spider ever... or you've got a harrowing tale of survival that I dunno if I wanna know about."

Murder looks at Eztli, and rolls her eyes. "Yes, I know Aryia's not a wizard, but she talks with her hands, so she's always wiggling her fingers. That's the whole joke... gods it completely removes the funny t'have to explain it." The sound of a stomach gurgling causes Murder to squirm a little, and she holds up two fingers. "Two please!"

With a cookie in each hand, the Goblin runs off into the city.

Carver ends with her standing next to Eztli, even as Murders becomes frustrated with her. She pats the shorter sorceress on the shoulder in solidarity. Closer, she finds she can understand the gesturing. Finds them to contain words.

Her expression says what she does not immediately. Huh, how you doing that reads very clear in her expression. No tongue spell needed.

"mm. Don't think it came across, sorry." Eztli shrugs. "Sure, I wouldn't mind a cookie! You want one, Carver?" She asks. "Though, I should get going. I need to go buy... things."

Thurid has arrived.

The prior haste of Aryia appears to pale in comparison to Murder and food. The offered sweets vanish, along with the gobber, before Verna can even offer the accompanying "Here." Well, if naught else, that leaves more for Aryia and the others?

Another small parcel of wrapped confections ais retrieved and, with a brief incantation and gesture from Verna's unoccupied hand, floats and rises to Aryia. Verna does not hold faith in her throwing might nor accuracy to appropriately deliver. A third is retrieved and offered to Eztli.

There's heaving. There's ho'ing. There's urgh-ing. There's a (relatively) small (for the rest of his kin) sith-makari (who are notoriously tall) carrying a large haysack (and not struggling due to his smaller size) making his way across the gardens (and easily at that too!), before with a loud exhale he drops the sack. Taking in his surroundings, he then notices the group gathered near the strange web attraction.

"Spel-", The draconian starts, then stops. "Pri-", another attempt, and then he puts his hand on his chin and clicks his tongue. "Spirits?" He finally settles on, and waves his hand. "Sheltering from the white curse as well?"

Aryia makes the uncouth move of slurping down the last leg. "It's the latter. You don't want to know," she signs, shrugging and wiping her lips free. She waves as Murder runs off, before clocking Carver's confusion. Seems like she's really, really used to this conundrum. The mute continues to gesture, and while the signs themselves don't make sense, the gist is enough to get across. "You're confused. I can explain." She offers a thankful nod towards Verna from the cookie being floated up to her and monches on it with a satisfied sigh. She points to Carver. "I lied. I don't know how it works. Just know if your gut says I'm calling someone a bitch, you're probably right."

The rest of the cookie is inhaled, and she resumes her hat making project up atop her floating, knitted festive web hammock. This one more dome shaped then a long sock. She glances at Aelwyn, raises a brow, and gives and up-nod. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Thurid makes her way into the gardens with a dusting of snow still clinging to her shoulders and hair. She doesn't seem to mind it, and it somewhat suits her- it makes her look like a mighty mountain. At least, in her own mind it does. She spies a cogegation of people she knows, and lifts one of her large hands to offer them a wave, before she starts heading over towards the Web which seems to be collecting adventurers by the minute. "Hail, all." she calls out once she's near enough for her voice to carry without startling.

"Curse?" she wonders, catching the tail end of Aelwyn's comment. "It's anything but! It's rare we get so much snow in the city. I've been enjoying it! Although roads up to the mountain pass and airship dock have grown perilously slippery." she admits. "Although, I did see a pair of goblins sledding down the path at frankly irresponsible speeds, so at least someone is enjoying it!"

Eztli takes the offered cookie, and promptly snaps it in half, sticking part of it in Carver's mouth, the other disappearing quickly into her maw.

"Hey Aelwyn! I'm enjoying the snow a ton, but I've gotta run." She laughs, waving to the Dragoon and the others, before promptly taking off.

Carver was opening her mouth after another second of deliberation only for Eztli to fill the void with one of the mourners treats.

If anything, between the polite muting and the poor explanation, she is even more bewildered. Hey, the cookie is pretty good though. She nods at the newest party members.

Verna's brief respite of culinary gift-giving fades at mention of the curse. She closes the basket, though bids "Greetings" to the latest arrivals. Afterwards, she falls Aryia-silent as she looks up to regard the falling frozen precipitation.

Aelwyn turns at Thurid, who was one of those exceptionally tall people. Never mind giantborn tend to be, well, giants. "Ah, Hero!" He flashes his teeth and then makes a face. "Tch, it is a curse upon this one's soles, the curse upon those who desire the sun, and curse upon this delivery," He gestures at the large sack he was lugging about. The goblins make him shake his head, spinning the long red ribbons tied around his straight horns. "Ah, but they shall find a way to cause havoc regardless. Besides, this one always found riding the dunes more enjoyable." He clicks his tongue.

The sack is hoisted back over his shoulder and he starts to make his way over, doing his best to balance the oversized thing, before he stops by the webbing. He glances around, then looks up at Aryia. A moment later he looks at Carver instead. "This one is missing something, yes?"

Aryia silently huffs in a laugh as her knitting needles continue to move faster, a helix of greens and reds mixing in the fabric. It gets completed, stretched out a few times, a ball of red is added to the top. She tosses the green and red knitted beanie at the dazed Carver, letting it land on her head. "Enjoy."

She grins as Thurid comes up, her giving a wave and reaching a hand out for a high-five as a greeting. "It's nice for a while, but it's cold as shit and I can't take my boat out. It's stuck in dock."

She looks down at Aelwyn. Squints. Pinches her fingers in the air at him at his head, then nods to herself and pulls more red yarn. She knits. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Thurid slaps Aelwyn on the back as he hefts up the sack once again- and though it might threaten to over topple him, instead she imparts a surge of strength to lighten his task for a short time. She continues her stride over towards Aryia, one-upping her offered greeting with a firm dap, grasping the other woman's hand for a moment after the percussive snap of palm against palm. "It's been a while!" she says. "And I'm sorry to hear about your boat. Is it the ice? I could bring my hammer and break you a path some time." she suggests and laughs again.

She peers over towards Verna, then, who seems to have become pensive. "What is it? Worried there might be substance to this being a curse, after all?" she asks. "I suppose it is a drain on the fuel stores, but Alexandria is well stocked- I'm sure we'll be fine."

Plap.

Carver is just collecting gifts without saying a single word. Her cheeks are still swollen and merry from the cold and the too large bite of a cookie, so if she has any complaints about her new beanie it is silenced.

Her amber eyes shift toward Aelwyn and she chews faster to try to get anything out, likely too late to not receive yet another blessing.

Aelwyn had no concern over the fuel stores. "Tch, this one is certain this town shan't starve over a bit of that white," He gestures dismissively. "A caravan travels months with far less." The Dragoon pauses to look at Carver when the beanie lands on her, and he leans over - actually slightly up - to look at it. "Fine commission work, certainly. Planning to ride it into the battle?" It is hard to say if he was jesting.

Straightening, he flashes his teeth at Thurid again. "If the path way is close enough to the heated sweat room, this one can lend some of his fire." He gestures at the flaming glaive. "That room is keeping a non-significant part of the city alive."

Verna's frown deepens as she looks to Thurid. "It is a curse," she confirms without further exposition. Her hands lift to don her cloakhood over her head. "My goddess weeps, and I am the cause." The hood then pivots, along with the rest of her, as she turns to reverse her steps along the path.

Aryia is quick to adjust, meeting the large hand with equal force, making the percussive snap deepen to a bassy thud. "Good to see you as well! I appreciate the offer, but the port master doesn't want other people getting the wrong idea of trying to go out there until this cold snap passes."

She keeps working quickly. Smirking to herself as Aelwyn mentions the good work on the beanie. She looks over briefly, what's this about a sweat room? Though, she pauses, a covered ear twitching at Verna's mention. A sigh slowly escapes her. "Let me know if you need help. I owe Her," the mute gestures to the retreating Mourner. But she doesn't stop Verna's retreat. Solitude is important. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Thurids jovial mood cools immediately at Verna's words, "The Harpist weeps?" she asks, and then shakes her head slowly, quickly realizing that it is perhaps a topic best not pried at she simply offers a nod of agreement with Aryia's sentiment. She does offer a smile Aelwyn's way, "I'm glad people are enjoying it! Even if a certain goblin is accusing me of trying to steal business from under her nose." she says then, and folds her arms over her chest to watch as Verna leaves.

"A shame." she says to Aryia then, "I've never really been much for rules- but I suppose I see his point. The reckless are not always the hardy." she adds.

Carver mumbles something sharp to Aelwyn, something that vaguely sounds like go get your own. Verna sours some of the spirit of the conversation, though having come out of their own anguish recently, she nods thoughtfully.

She has some stuff to work through. Still, there is one thing she would like to know. ?Tell Hunter I love him.?

Aelwyn clicks his tongue as Verna makes that statement and starts to head out, making him look on after her. "... tch, this one is surprised someone agrees with him." Which actually makes him worried. Twisting his lips in thought, he turns his attention back towards Thurid, flashing his teeth. "She has not had enough competition to improve, worry not, it is only good for the establishment. Perhaps come lure more customers from the baths?" He flickers his tongue. "A heroic presence would certainly inspire."

The Dragoon then turns towards the rest of the group. "What has happened to Mourner?"

Aryia shrugs at the questions about Verna, not interrupting the clacking of knitting needles. She has no clue. "Irshya's place is for a completely different time. I need to check out this steam house, I'd love to go in that, sounds right up my alley."

"It's what it is," she gestures about the port master. "Tournaments aren't being held due to the snow, sailing is out. So my ass is up here just making random shit. Speaking of-" She holds up a new creation. Two thin tubes connected by a knitted bridge with a string to tie under the chin. The mute hooks a leg over one of the floating rods in the air, and pulls herself out, dangling freely over Aelwyn as she slides them onto his horns- them stopping just before the ribbons- and lets the ends dangle at the sides of his face. Looks like little red and orange hats for his horns.

she curls back into the hammock, squinting at Thurid briefly, looks at her hands, nods and pulls out more yarn: white and yellow. <Handspeech/Tongues>

?What, all yous hear about the fight near the fountain? Some fellow she knew from the past came back to haunt her, seems like to me. Turned into a blinkin devil right before me eyes, smoke and whips like Taara sexy dungeon in that one book? Carver blabbers. ?He and, uh, she knew each other. Wish could remember his name. Elclaven? Elder Craven??. She frowns, beanie tipping forward as she thinks.

She gives up with a helpless shrug.

Thurid's grin is back, "It's down by the river, northern bank. We built it a few days ago. It's mostly bring your own coal, but folks have been dropping off the odd donation. Food too." she says then, sounding quite pleased with that. "It's good to know there's plenty of good folks in the city even when no one's watching. As for competing with the TarRaCe? Not my intention. I use the baths often enough I don't want to worry about losing a toe to a vengeful pool shark." she says then.

She looks Carver's way and her brows furrow, "A devil? The wards aught to stop that... although I suppose they might have been brought into this plane elsewhere and got to the city more conventionally." she says then. "I've not slain a Devil yet- demons, yes." she adds a moment later. "But she knew him? That's troubling indeed." she admits.

Aelwyn's face grows long - if it can - at the sound of the news. "... another?" The draconian takes in a deep breath, crossing his arms. The new tiny hats for his horns goes completely unnoticed. "Mourner does indeed have it difficult. Even if one were from a sexy dungeon." He clicks his tongue, then turns towards Thurid. "How long does this white fall last, regardless? It has been days now, has it not?"

And subtly, he leans over towards Carver. "... was the book illustrated?" He quietly whispers.

Aryia's knitting stops. Not in thought. Not in ponderance. Her face twists into a deep frown, and her hands curl into fists, the wood in the needles cracking. She deeply breathes Out. Releases her grip. "What in the ever living fuck is that fucking prick doing back. His ass is dead. Removed from existence. His echoes, dead. His remnants, dead. Even his fanbase, dead." Every 'dead' sign hits her legs with an audible thud. "He was the epitome of lies, torture, and cruelty. Verna, and others around her endured far much from that dick."

She rubs the bridge of her nose. "So yes. She knows him. I know him. This is not good news. It must be something pretending to be him, or having an echo of him." Aryia pats her cheeks, focusing on getting the work done with slightly bent knitting needles. "I will visit this steam house." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Carver is about to go into a spiel, about just how incredibly hot the Taara stand-in is in their ridiculous book but the spark of rage from Aryia stuns her into silence.

She breaks the awkward silence with a snotty sniff. It cold out here.

Thurid raises her eyebrows at Aryia's sudden anger, and she reaches out to place a hand on the other woman's forearm. "Your knitting needles aren't him. Save your anger for those deserving of it." she says to her then. "And if you need my hammer, I'll offer it gladly." she tells the Mul. She turns her attention back to the other two talking about saucy demonic books and tuts, "You know there are more wholesome tomes to titilaate." she tells them.

She looks back to Aryia and nods her head, "Good! It's good for the muscles, and the skin. Maybe I can even talk you into a snow bath or an ice plunge after. Most of the visitors have been squeamish about that part." she says, offering a small smile as she tries to bring a bit of humor back.

Thurid calms Aryia readily, her bowing her head and nodding slowly. Looking a tad silly with her festive sweater and long hat bobbing as she does so. "I understand," she signs once, holding up her finished work- large white mittens with yellow lightning bolts on the backs of them. The seamstress hands it them over to Thurid. "Here you go. Happy Yule."

She glances between the three of them, her shaking her head. "Sure. Wholesome." She taps her temple. Knowing exactly which one they're speaking of.

Aryia grins. "Now that sounds like a great idea. Let's do that!" She starts to pack up. Ice plunge time. <Handspeech/Tongues>

-End Scene-