Royesland [Full]

[theunearthlyfool]

There was a moment where her brain short-circuited and she thought, sister? Her cheeks colored as Cathal shook her hand. He means Molly, you idiot.

“We will!” she called brightly after him, then turned to Tom and Jackie, who were already off on their bit again. Hands on hips, drawing herself up to her full 5’2, Nicola glared at them both. “You guys need to fucking chill,” she declared. “Jackie, I love you very much, but Tom’s already on the verge of a panic attack and you’re not helping, okay?

“As for you-” But when she drew a breath to go off on Tom, too, she stopped. What could she possibly shout at him for? He really did nothing wrong, just had a fuckton of emotions thrown at him in a very short amount of time and none of the life experience with which to contextualize it. So instead she sighed. “Just- just ignore Jackie. Except for the breathing part. Breathing is good. You should do that.” It was weak, but she was truly at a loss for anything more to say.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Downstairs, Cathal flopped face first on the bed and exhaled loudly and dramatically into the mattress. And then he sat up.

At least he had thumbs. That was something.

He got up and peeled the robes off, trading them for his own pants and shirt and boots and jacket, and then he braided his hair, trying not to think as he did so. When he finished, he got up and went to get his tin whistle. He wiped it clean on his sleeve and then played a few notes, his fingers clumsy. He paused and tried again, until his hands sorted themselves out and his tongue remembered notes.

Then he went down the stairs, rather more clompily than he had gone up them, until he was in the kitchen.

Tom worked at the top of the tower, but he did most of his work here.

"Hello, house," Cathal said. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to take care of you. I'm sorry I let Tuesday in. I thought he might behave." He took a deep breath, and then another, and put the whistle to his lips.

Magic, he had wanted to tell Molly, is about intention, and he wished she were here, to show her what he meant.

The reel was a spell he'd invented long ago, bright and cheerful, with plenty of bounce, and at the first note the broom and duster sprang to life, whirling layers of dust and neglect from the cabinets and counters. He focused for a while on the kitchen--the windows and the leaf liter and the spiderwebs--but as the song wound on Cathal let the spell circle the stairs, up into the other rooms, tidying the mess Tuesday had made and dusting off bookshelves and bannisters. Trinkets and tomes replaced themselves on their shelves, instruments sprang back into place, furniture righted itself.

Cathal hesitated a moment as the spell reached the last level. Usually, he left the library be, since Tom was particular about its organization, and that's where everyone was gathered.

But it was very dusty.

Cathal moved the song along, and knew his duster was working in the library, cleaning if not moving anything else.

He finished when he knew the tower was clean, and when it felt like home again, properly. (Tom had his wards, and Cathal had his.) He lowered the whistle and let out a big sigh into the now spotless kitchen. "I could do with a cup of tea," he said.

 

[theunearthlyfool]

Speaking of Molly, she kind of wished her sister was there with her. She was so gentle and empathetic, and she knew Cathal (again, kind of), too. Nicola was sure she’d know what to say [author’s note: she would not]. But Molly wasn’t there, and everybody was freaking out, and she felt really, really bad letting Tom pace himself into having an aneurysm.

“I… I know you were very attached to the cat,” she began awkwardly. “But… um… you haven’t lost anything, since he’s not a cat anymore. You know? Like, if Cathal is half the man you told us- mostly Jackie- about, then… any comfort or shelter you found in Bathtub is still there. Just… taller.”

She almost felt like she should offer Tom a hug, but that would be weird, and she’d never live it down. “He seems very understanding. So you shouldn’t feel pressured into jumping back into something you don’t remember, okay? Take it at the pace you need to. Even if that means not, like, being with him again right away? You know?” I’m seriously the last person who should be giving this kind of advice, she thought with a groan, but here we are. “And if Cathal really loves you, he’ll get that. But also, I’m sure he’ll be there for you if you need him.”

Suddenly the hair on Nicola’s arms and neck stood on end. From way down at the bottom of the tower, winding its way up all those stairs, came a magic song. It hit them properly after a few minutes, a duster fluttering through the door all by itself to get to work on the incredibly dusty library. The books and parchment she’d gotten all over the place righted themselves into neat piles: not back to where she’d retrieved them from, thank goodness, but so they at least weren’t scattered around the floor anymore.

It wasn’t the most flashy or elaborate spell she’d ever seen, but it was good magic, cast with love. She smiled. “It’s gonna be okay, Tom. You’re gonna be okay. I know it.”

 

[CelticSol]

It's meant with all the love in Nicola's heart, and she knows she's deescalating Jackie because that's what Nicola does - she's part of the glue that kept Jackie, Tom, and Finn from killing each other at any point during their grouping. She's doing it to help. She's doing it to help. She's telling Jackie to shut up because Jackie isn't good at comforting anyone, so it's better that Jackie keep quiet while Nicola soothes over anxiety. And yet, Jackie bristles. It sets her jaw as anger and embarrassment races down her spine.

She holds still, slumped over the table, even as papers and books begin to magically lift and carry themselves away from under her elbows, until Nicola is done, breathing in and out too evenly to not be intentionally, spinning the breathing exercises Alistair would murmur in her ear whenever she'd get too angry, and the memory only serves to make her angrier, and when Nicola finishes on her note, Jackie can't hold her anger or her tongue and she explodes.

She slams her arms on the table as she pushes herself up, vitriol and spite spilling over in an ugly snarl, "Y'know what? No, I will not be nice. I will not be fucking nice, Nicola. Because I spent the last, oh, pfft, I dunno, five fucking years? Crossing the fucking continent for this-" She jabs a finger in Tom's direction, "-amnesiatic motherfucker to find his dream boy, and now that we actually found him, he can't remember and can't even pretend to be happy about it so he doesn't break that twink ginger's heart? Are you fucking kidding me? And I'm the asshole? Well, I'm yelling now, so obviously I'm the fucking asshole, but seriously?"

"Like I've stayed pretty fucking quiet about how much of a shit show this has fucking been when you really break down how much of a mess this is. But y'know, maybe, just maybe, I might be pretty fucking upset that he doesn't remember me, either?" She looks to Tom, her snarl twisting as hurt rises from where she buried it into her chest, sharp as a knife being twisting in between her ribs as she looks into his panicked but achingly vacant expression, "Like, hey, man, you're my best friend. I know you don't know that. And I know we both hate that sentimental shit equally, but you're my best fucking friend, I've bared my fucking soul to you. We joked while we were drunk about being platonic soulmates. Holy fuck, I risked my life for you, I got stabbed so many fucking times for you, and I've now lost the functional use of my hands - for you, because I wanted so much to give you the chance to find your man again because I'm never going to get to see mine again. And you don't even fucking know me! You don't know me. And I should have the grace of Cathal and pretend that I'm okay with that and that I'm happy to be patient and yada yada, but I - I can't pretend that this doesn't fucking suck. And I can't even fucking drink about it, because I don't have any goddamned fucking hands!"

Jackie pants, her outburst a physical exertion that has done nothing to make her feel better, and feels a rising shame burning her insides as she looks at Nicola and Tom's expressions. She scoffs, shaking her her head and wiping away what suspiciously looks like a tear, "Whatever. I'm going to go check on the fucking cat man, since I'm sure we'll just be two fucking peas in a pod in the misery department."

Stomping her way to the stairs, she whacks a duster out of the way with her elbow, then disappears down the stairs. The first steps are a blur, which could do with the tears she can't stop in her eyes. She wipes them furiously into her sleeve as she begins to hear music from downstairs - the boy was a bard, right? Composing herself as much as she can fake, turning the corner into the kitchen with red eyes and a miserable expression. "So. I'm sorry we broke your boyfriend," Before Jackie drops herself into a chair and buries her head under her arms like it will help her disappear.

 

[TrashRabbit]

"Great," Tom says after Jackie goes and sits on one of the fat plush reading chairs with a thump. "No pressure," He mumbles.

 

[theunearthlyfool]

The initial slam of her hands on the table surprised Nicola, both because of the sudden loud noise and that Jackie was solid enough to make the sudden loud noise. And it’s not that she wasn’t listening to her tirade, because she heard every word of it. But she also spent the whole thing trying to stifle the alarm on her face and thinking fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

“Jackie. Jackie-!” Nope, there she goes. Nicola hesitated, took a few steps after her, stopped again when she hurled herself down the stairs. Which maybe was a good thing, since she had absolutely no fucking idea what to say in that moment other than:

“I’m sorry I shouted,” a small voice whispered to the echo of Jackie’s feet pounding down the stairs.

When all grew quiet again, she groaned and leaned against the doorframe. Tom sat down and mumbled something under his breath as she slid down the frame, burying her face in her hands when her ass hit the ground. Nicola sighed again. All I do anymore is sigh, she thought, pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut. “I fucked up. Hell’s bells, I fucked up,” she mumbled back. “That’s what I get for thinking I can be the emotionally mature one. Never again.”

She stewed in guilt for a good several minutes, because Jackie was right and Nicola knew it. She had as much right to be upset as Tom did, and while she couldn't presently think of a better way to have handled that, she knew there was one.

…I hate this. I hate this so much.

“All right.” Nicola scrambled to her feet abruptly. Collecting the documents Cathal’s spell had straightened out and shoving them into the bag she’d stolen, she thought out loud to Tom as much as herself, “That’s enough hurting each other’s feelings for one day. I’ve got a start on fixing that incorporeality curse, I’m going to follow up on it. I’m sick of being so goddamned useless.”

Once she had everything, she finally looked at him, though she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “You can come with me or not, but I owe Jackie this much at the very least. If not, I’ll see you at the Silver Prawn later.” She hovered for a moment. “This is all so fucking stupid,” Nicola huffed as she turned and hurried out the door.

 

[TrashRabbit]

Tom didn't know what he wanted and that was the majority of his current malfunction.

"Okay," He said to Nicola as she to fled.

And alone in his library he took a deep steadying breath, "Seriously though, how can any one be that handsome?" He complained, because if anyone had bothered to ask, that was his whole malfunction. He hadn't meant to trigger an entire cascade of emotions becuase a hot boy made him too tongue tied to function. But here he was.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Cathal looked up as Jackie entered the kitchen from the stove, where his kettle was beginning to boil.

“He isn’t broken,” he said, lifting the kettle and pouring hot water into his squat cast iron teapot. Jackie looked like she could use several cups of tea. “He’s only lost his memories. Maybe we get them back for him. If we don’t, so what? We make new ones. There was a time before Tom had memories with either of us. He learned to love us once, and he’ll learn to love us again.”

He went and fetched two mugs and scooped honey into them both before pouring tea into them. He thought very hard about how substantial the mugs were, how easy to hold as he did so. “The cream went bad,” he apologized, and slid a mug in front of Jackie. “You’ll be able to hold that, love,” he added, because speaking things out loud sometimes made them true.

 

[theunearthlyfool]

Molly​

While all of this was happening, Molly was having quite a lovely day.

She stayed on the log and played for a good little while, delighted by the birds that came and went, some stopping and seeming to listen to her music. Some of these must be the finches Tuesday was talking to the other day, she thought, greeting them in between songs.

Once she began to grow bored she bid them farewell and packed her things up, having picked the most winding path to follow. It felt right; there was an air of magic to it that was distinctly faerie and very old, and moreover was just the most interesting-looking one. There were very few homes out here, though she bid good day to the few people she passed. The majority of her strolling, though, she was the only human she saw. Plenty of birds, bugs, squirrels, rabbits, deer, and others watched her pass with mild curiosity as she hummed this and that, trying to put together a song about the nymphs' waterfall pond.

Molly had been walking for some time when she came to one last homestead. It was a very neatly managed little farm with many cows, sheep, pigs, and chickens. "Oh, hello, friends!" she gasped, waving at the various livestock as she went by. At the end of this property line was where the path, though still well-trodden, became more overgrown, the trees closing in around its edges. It was clearly the beginning of the Fairy Woods. Molly looked around but there was no real way to wander around it as she'd been hoping for, even if she were to trespass onto the farm.

"Well," she said to herself, adjusting her guitar on her back. "I'll just go in a few yards. That won't hurt anything." In retrospect she half-wished she'd left a note at the inn to tell Nicola or Tuesday or somebody where she'd gone. But it was long too late for that now.

Still hesitating, she gave a chastened smile at a cow lounging against the fence. "If I don't come back this way after a day or two, please tell my sister where I've gone? Thanks." The cow of course said nothing, but Molly called, "So long!" and continued down the path.

The woods proper was really no different than the path she'd walked down so far. It was still a beautiful day, the air still full of the symphony of woodland creatures going about their business. Her nerves calmed a bit, though she wasn't letting her guard down, as she walked more slowly through the forest than she had outside. Singing to herself she kept her eyes open, for what however she couldn't say yet.

A peculiar sound suddenly rang through the trees, sounding almost like hammers pounding against wood. It would be a first for her to encounter fae building something with human tools so it was either a trick, or there were actually people living out here. If it was a trick it certainly was a new one, so she let curiosity get the better of her and kept going, singing more quietly until a structure became visible through the foliage. Molly paused but the hammering didn't, so she tentatively crept forward.

An ancient cabin sat in what might have once been a clearing in the woods. It was a ghost of the shelter it had been in the past, most of the wood grey and mildewy beneath moss and creepers except for corners where it had been reinforced with clean, new beams. The hammering came from above where two people worked on installing a new roof. Molly leaned out further from the tree cover and was surprised to see it was Lockette, the giant who'd slam-dunked Tuesday into the fountain, and the beautiful woman she'd first seen holding Cathal/Bathtub.

She leaned out yet further to see better, inevitably stumbling over her own feet and announcing her presence to the roofers. Fortunately she didn't actually fall on her face, but the damage was done; her squeak of surprise would've alerted the blind Lockette if nothing else had.

There was an awkward silence as the roofers looked down at her in surprise. "Uhhh." Molly blushed. "H-hail and well-met!" She finally regained her wits somewhat and gave a shy wave. "Sorry to disturb, but don't mind me! I'm just out for a walk, not here to bother anyone. Sorry."

 

[CelticSol]

Jacqueline "Jackie" Sapienti
​

She's not sure how much she believes Cathal, but there's a part in her brain that desperately wants to believe that, should she and Tom need to start from scratch, it will work. She's not sure when she became optimistic, as everything is so difficult and she's exhausted in a way that has turned her bones to lead under her skin. There's just the smallest fuzziness in her brain, smoothing over the jagged edges of her feelings. It must be magic - there is gentle but firm intention behind every word. It's how Jackie's mother would do magic, pushing a desired reality into tangibility that could be felt and touched.

Cathal places her mug in front of her, and Jackie looks up, not bothering to wipe the welled up tears from her face. She feels less angry, but her anger has left her feeling raw and tired, despite the peace Cathal invokes into the kitchen. She reaches out, testing Cathal's theory that she can hold it by touching her fingertips to the lip of the mug, her fingers making contact and warming at the heat. She smiles, huffing a laugh, "'M jealous of that. My ma was really good at manifesting, too."

She traces the edge of her mug with her finger, luxuriating in the feeling of contact with something, "I know I - we - Xanth - whatever, didn't break him. Just caught in that irrational thought that I should've done more, you know?" She shakes her head, then scoffs, before telling Cathal "I tried to rob Tom when I met him, which didn't go well, because he had no money and we immediately almost got murdered by some local magic wildlife. But he, y'know, told me about what he was doing so far from home, out here in the South following a hint about you. And I just..."

Her words hang in the air, and she shakes her head, "I can see why Tom was willing to cross the world for you. I'm talking my ass off here."

 

[TrashRabbit]

Riley​

Riley is still basking in Lockette's offer to fight off the fae if they came back to collect her when she catches site of a little red headed wmon at the edge of the path.

"Oh we have company," Riley tells Lockette before greeting Molly, "Allo there, love!" She calls, "You wont want to go much farther into the woods than this. This is the last stop." She says with a smile. It was the reasons Lockette had stopped her that day on the path after all.

Riley had left her shawl and her knapsack on a broad stump along with their lunch. She was wearing knee length pleated white skirt with trousers underneath and a grey shirt embroidered with autumnal colors and flowers- she looked a little too fancy be climbed on to a roof with a hammer, but not so fancy not to belong in port of pearls. The outfit was a little old fashioned but it was quintessential Royesland. Against that grey blouse though hung the a peculiar necklace; a magpie feather as big as a hand hung on a thin gold chain shimmer oil colors in the dappled sunlight of the forest.

 

[Nimbus]

Apollo

Asks for directions and catches catfish.

The sometime seafaring traveler reached the docks in time enough to ask after Lockette from folks loading up some of the more sizable outbound vessels. After his requisite hellos and ship-going chatter, he asked, "Do you know where Lockette the, ah, the Carpenter might be?"

And he was told she hadn't been seen in town for quite a few days, most likely at home, or maybe over at the Magpie House - or perhaps that old salt was joking? For all Pol knew, the two places may well be one in the same. He hadn't heard of any such house in his few months residence. So, taking care not to look at the ocean, made inquiries around Magpie House.

One crabby porter chastened him, "I dunno, I just haul fish to the market and don't ask any bloody questions of anybody while they're working."

A sailor with a floppy-brimmed hat, bustling up and down the deck of a sleek clipper, said, "Magpie House? Belongs to the Donovans, if you can call anything that overgrown a house."

Pol remarked, only slightly ruffled, "Well that's a bizarre trivia, but where exactly is Magpie House?"

The woven basket full of wriggling creatures she held slipped from her hands halfway up the gang plank. The lid flew off, landing in the tidal sands with a wet plop.

Instead of giving proper directions, the sailor shouted, "NOOOO, my catfish!"

The sailor looked about ready to cry, though that didn't stop her from grabbing as many wriggling catfish as she could get her hands on and shoving them back into the basket, under her sizable hat.

Apollo goggled at the strange creatures. These did not look at all like the Qin catfish casinos served split and spiced atop braised greens. For one, these had legs. For two, they were cute, albeit in a froglike way. For three, not a one seemed hooked - which explained why they were so lively! Pol wondered why else someone would catch these catfish live, if they weren't going to become supper. They weren't, were they?

"Whatcha doing standing there? Ye can't let any of them fall into the ocean!"

"Why? Will they die?" Pol asked the sailor as he doubled down on the catfish catching.

He reversed his outer robe and used his sleeves as makeshift nets. The slippery silk seemed to prevent the catfish from crawling out before Pol dropped them off

"Tides, no! If these catfish get a taste of saltwater, they'll turn into sea serpents!"

That seemed...sus.

"These little guys get one fleck of seafoam on them and, presto, instant terror of the tides?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Have you...actually seen a catfish turn into a sea serpent?"

The sailor snapped in between catfish-nabbing, "No. We contain the lot of 'em. So that doesn't happen. Just this time - we got such a haul, we ran out of storage. Had to improvise."

Pol huffed in response, snatching a catfish about to hop itself overboard by the middle.

"If ye don't believe ole Morgana, just let that one go. It's runty, at least. Probably could only terrorize a single tide pool if it did turn into a catfishdragon."

Pol dropped it into his sleeve-pouch instead, shaking his head.

Not long after, all the catfish were safely swept away from the powers of the ocean. Pol trusted it slightly less than his new acquaintance, but he really wanted to see Lockette before teatime.

"My assistance in that daring rescue of your prized catfish warrants a great deal more information about Magpie House and its location, does it not?"

Morgana the sailor grimaced and made some sort of obeisant gesture to a god before muttering, "Magpie House is on the Tithe Road."

Pol considered it a strange name for a road, but no reason to be cagey about it, or the house. Honestly, since there was a road, at least that meant Pol could have some path to follow to Lockette's last known whereabouts.

"And this tithe road is where, exactly?"

"Ye don't need to be going anywhere near that road, let alone Magpie House!"

Apollo bluffed, pretending he had saved that runt catfish, "Oh no! A catfish got stuck in my sleeve! It's got my arm! I can't control it aaaaaaaaa!"

Morgana started, but remembered that juvenile catfish don't have a fight instinct before she could tackle him and wrestle the imaginary catfish.

"Yer an odd duck, kiddo, wantin me to clobber ye over a bluff."

"I had you for a minute though."

"No, ye almost had me for maybe one second."

The sailor groused, but not much more needling was necessary for her to spill the beans on the Tithe Road.

"Near the western woods, heard tell. Ye know land roads aren't really my department, aye?"

Pol sighed and conceded, "Aye. That's close enough to a direction, I suppose. Best of luck, ah, with the catfish."

The sailor pushed the wobbling hat back firmly on the basket it lidded.
"Thanks, kiddo! If yer beau comes round these parts, should I tell him ye went off to the forest by yer lonesome like a bleedin' madman?"

Pol turned at least three shades of pink and stammered "wh?!" as Morgana hauled away her barrel of catfish and cackled with a much deserved last laugh.

Pol folded his arms. She couldn't have meant Quill. There wasn't - couldn't
be - anything between Quill and him. No matter how much he wanted as much of Quill as they would be willing to give. Not with the whole mist thing.

Perhaps she'd mistaken him for some other local?

"That would be odd indeed. No one here shares my striking looks, razor wit and audacious yet amiable personality, after all."

Little did he know, Pol did have an audience for his last comment and the many more he made to himself as he tottered away from the ships: a certain guest huddling in his sleeves, lazily gumming the silks.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Cathal felt his face flush when Jackie said she could see why Tom would cross countries for him. He sat across from her and ran a finger around the rim of his own mug.

"The thing about could'ves and should'ves and what ifs is that no matter how hard you wish for them, they never happen," Cathal said. "Why drive yourself mad over it? You're here, and Tom's here, and you have today and tomorrow, and that's more important, isn't it?" He lifted his mug in both hands, and took a sip of hot, strong, sweet tea, and he made a little noise of satisfaction.

"Goddess, I missed tea. I missed food," he said, and then stood up again abruptly, still holding his mug, and went over to bang around in the cabinets. "I need buttermilk. How am I supposed to make bread?"

 

[CelticSol]

Lockette Kenway
​

The stranger is heard and acknowledged in Lockette's head far before she trips over her feet. A pointed ear twitches, just ever so softly, and while Riley continues to hammer away, Lockette feigns a break, heading to the far wall of the rotted cabin where she knows her claymore hangs. It sounds like mortal steps, lacking in the heaviness of some of the larger creatures that wander these woods, nor does she taste the distinct magic of the wilds that indicates their visitor is among the fae. She waits, fingers waiting over the hilt of her weapon just as she hears a hesitant voice announce themselves. Riley drops herself from the ladder, making her way to the door to speak with the stranger who, as Lockette thinks, isn't as strange as she thought.

Recognizing the voice as the too-magically talented bard from a few days ago, she huffs the smallest chuckle to herself. Lockette's fingers drop from hovering over the hilt, making her way to Riley. A hand brushing Riley's upper back, Lockette dips her head to murmur in Riley's ear, "Shame it wasn't a fae - was going to make good on that promise."

Leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, Lockette lolls her head in the bard's general direction, "You can keep going, should you fancy getting spirited away by the fae, but I hear they make poor hosts for mortals, bard."

Jacqueline "Jackie" Sapienti
​

Jackie is quiet after Cathal speaks, then chuckles to herself, "So, you carry the emotional intelligence braincell between you and Tom. Noted," She sips her tea, which is indeed very good, then says, "You're right. 'Coulda been worse... Could've died. Could've had rooster feet - God, I really am praying for Finn, that poor son of a fuckin' bitch."

Jackie, her hands still holding their tangibility, drums her hands against the table, "We could drag Tom to the market and go shopping. Seems like you're in desperate need of groceries. Besides, no time like the present to start that relationship over, right?"

 

[theunearthlyfool]

The woman with long hair had such a friendly grin, the pink stayed in Molly’s cheeks as she returned it. Her gaze was fixed on the woman as she climbed down the ladder: she must’ve been around Molly’s own age but was dressed in an old-fashioned style much like Godmother used to prefer. This is of course when she noticed the grand magpie feather hanging from the woman’s necklace. It looked remarkably close to the one Tuesday had retrieved from the wizard’s tower the other day; the one that he’d been wearing in his hair ever since. Now why would someone besides Tom have one of Tuesday’s feathers? she puzzled.

“I know pretty well what kind of hosts they can be,” she answered Lockette, smiling thinly. A nervous tick brought up by the memory, Molly gently rubbed the big scar on her chin. “No spiriting anywhere for me today!” She took a few steps closer so she wasn’t shouting across the clearing anymore, freezing when Lockette called her ‘bard’. Uh-oh. They remember me, she moaned internally.

“But, uh, thank you! Really, I wasn’t planning on going much further.” Last stop, huh? I wonder if they're friendly with the local fae. “It’s good to have a landmark for where to turn around, though! I’ll be staying in the area for awhile so I appreciate the advice. My name’s Molly, by the way.” She bobbed one of her odd curtseys, letting her eyes fall naturally on the necklace as she glanced up again. “Oh my goodness,” she breathed. It wasn’t hard to feign awe at the gorgeous feather, anyway. “What a beautiful feather! Did you find that here in the woods?”

Molly edged forward a bit more, staying well out of Lockette and the other woman’s personal space, but close enough to see the necklace clearly. “It looks like it’s from a magpie, right?” Her voice was innocent, passively curious; somewhere Cathal was saying something about intent. “May I have a look at it, please? I love magpies.” But as she asked, she’d already drawn her seeing stone from inside her blouse. Holding it up to her eye she focused on the feather, yet couldn’t help but catch sight of Lockette and their friend through the true sight as well.

 

[TrashRabbit]

"Oh you have some experience with the fae then?" Riley asked with interest. Her previous line of questioning with Lockette bubbled up in her mind and then popped like a soap bubble when Lockette put her hand on her back and she forgot how to talk for a moment. And when her mind tuned back in Molly was asking about her necklace, "Oh, this thing?" She asks. She'd just always had it. As long as she'd had anything she owned. She picked it up by the shaft were it was capped with gold and couple little pearls, "I used to keep a whole a flock of them. They called this magpie house- there was a pine- big as anything they used to roost in but-" She gestured at the very large stump that Molly was standing near.

Through the fairy stone the pair was resplendent. Lockette seemed to burn around the edges and her aura churned with a knotted platinum serpent with no beginning or end, wings and claws surfaces and disappearing like rocks beneath the tide. Riley was simply pearlescent, like she glowed from the inside and the feather in hand blurred and flickered like it had the potential to be many other things- even if now as a feather was its true form. Both of them too had the tell tale pointed ears of those with fairy blood- those in some parts called elvish or fae touched. Not un heard of but certainly not common.

 

[theunearthlyfool]

The auras of the people before her were so strong and bright after only a few seconds Molly dropped the stone as if it were hot, barely stifling a hiss of pain. Her eyes watered like she'd been staring into the sun. "Oh, gosh!" she managed, stepping back and wiping the tears away. "I think the sun got in my eyes for a second there, whoops! Please excuse me."

Maybe more than friendly with the local fae, then! Though she rubbed at her streaming eyes Lockette's burning serpent still writhed in her vision. She'd never seen anything like it. Holy smokes, people in this town sure have some bright auras.

"Yeah, I've had a run in or two with 'em," Molly sniffed as she recovered. With a sarcastic grin she pointed to two other scars around her left eye and a light bruise on her right cheek that would never fully heal. "Or three or five. Not many from these woods, but I digress."

While she'd been hoping to find answers, Lockette and their friend had thus far only given Molly more questions. She pondered what to do next, wishing Nicola was there with her to better interpret what she'd seen. She probably knew all about this sort of thing [author's note: she kind of did, a bit].

"Wow, a whole flock? Must've made for some very mischievous pets." She mournfully looked at the great stump the woman gestured to. It always saddened her when people cut down trees, especially such magnificent old growth as this pine must've been. How many lives a tree like that would've supported, how many families… wait. A sudden feeling of deja vu came over her, and she thought more about what the woman had said, squinting as she tried to match it to something she'd heard a few days prior.

Tuesday had said he'd grown up in this forest, right? In a big old tree? Whether it was a pine or not she couldn't recall for certain, but that sounded right. Hadn't he said Truffle was a childhood friend?

Now Molly considered the resident of magpie house with some suspicion. Out here on the edge of the woods, they must know about the disappearance of the faerie king. Especially since she was so sure that feather was Tuesday's that she would've bet her guitar on it.

"I'll be honest though: part of why I came out here was, I'm looking for news of someone a friend of mine told me about. He's been expecting her to meet him in the Port for some time now but no one's seen hide nor hair of her." It was technically the truth. "I'm worried something might have happened to her because, you know." She gestured to the surrounding trees. "Fairy Woods. I don't suppose either of you know or have met someone called Truffle?" Molly eyed the other woman and said carefully, "I think she's fond of magpies as well."

 

[TrashRabbit]

Riley
​

"Bit of a handful," Riley agreed and watched her carefully as she fumbled with her spying rock. She looked thoughtful for a moment at Molly's question; "Doesn't ring any bells, I'm Riley by the way. Riley Donovan- this is Lockette." She said gesturing at all of Lockette. She wondered if Lockette might know of Truffle but figured she'd chime in if she choose to. Riley was a bit awkward herself so she bumbled right ahead and asked, "What's the little rock for?"

Quill
​

Quill had not only spoken to their goddess but could feel again and was out in fine form today.

After the morning rush they had popped out into the market and acquired many lilac blooms to furnish the shop with, putting them in little glass bottles at each table and onthe counter. The Shop was filled already with a great number of drying herbs but the fresh flowers really did something for their mood. And now the shop was abuzz with bouncing song on harp and lute came miraculously from nowhere the little device was situated in a corner and spuns a dark disc that played music without a player.

Quill did a quick spin to the music as they crossed the shop and decided it was a great time to reorganize the apothecary, a chore they had been putting off for months, this involved scampering up and down the lader and peeking into the drawers, sniffing and otherwise testing the contents for freshness and laying out herbs and ingredients that perhaps needed to be used up on the counter. They did all this in a pair of fine purple silk Hakamaand patterned with yellow flowers and a white high collared Royesland style cotton blouse embroidered with little stars and suns in orange and red, and they had pulled their hair back in two neat pig tails done up with two small purple ribons that fell around their face and shoulders in loops and done their eyes up with khol.

If anyone where to come looking for them, this is the state they'd find them in.

 

[CelticSol]

Lockette Kenway​

It's a very particular line of questioning, and the more the bard asks of them, the more Lockette can feel the hackles on the back of her neck raising, "Truffle is a fae name if I've ever heard one, bard. If you've got a real question to ask, ask it. Neither of us are named Truffle but you're obviously implying something."

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

"Oh, I'd hate to drag him if he doesn't want to go. I'll make him grumpy," Cathal said, peering into the big crock on the counter where his sourdough starter lived. It looked sad, but alive. "Can't woo a wizard if he's grumpy. But I'll see if he wants to come." Cathal dumped a cup of flour into the crock and added a little water, stirring it in to get his starter fed, before going over and making a third cup of tea, humming softly as he worked. And then he took is fresh mug and darted back up the stairs, until he was at the library again.

"Tom?" he asked. "Jackie and I are going to go to the market. Would you like to come, or would you rather stay here?"

 

[TrashRabbit]

Cathal didn't mean to spook Tom but the wizard startled anyway when the ginger popped back into the library. He luaghed awkwardly and while looking mildly alarmed atempted and failed several times to start a sentence but managed, "Here is fine."

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

"I suspected so," Cathal said, and put the tea down on the table near him, resisting the urge to kiss Tom's forehead like he had a thousand times before. "Do you need anything, while we're out?"

 

[TrashRabbit]

"No," He said but it sounded a lot like a squeak toy.

 

[CelticSol]

Jacqueline "Jackie" Sapienti​

Jackie follows Cathal at a much lazier pace, watching in utter enjoyment as Tom has a homosexual meltdown. She sips her tea, then says to Tom, "I'll buy you a case of pale ale for the tower if you come along. And I promise I won't yell again. It's all out of my system."

 

[TrashRabbit]

".... I'm good. I have- things... to... read," He said gesturing at the library at large.