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makinglies2025-09-27 05:54 pm
lysoke) wrote in makinglies2025-09-27 05:54 pm
Entry tags:
Respite
Respite
The lake is dark and calm with a small breeze by the time they arrive at its shores. The stars above reflect perfectly in the still waters before them, and a small copse of trees lines one side, starting on their side of the river and jumping along the other side.
Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.
He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.
As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.
Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.
"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.
Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.
A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.
Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.
"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."
Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.
He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.
As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.
Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.
"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.
Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.
A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.
Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.
"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."
no subject
He’s a bit embarrassed it takes more than a second or two to clock Wolfe and Amelia in the pillow pit. Dimmers. Chris knows what a dimmer switch is, so there’s probably one around here.
The Archivist shakes his head slightly and moves to sit at the edge of the pit, ready to let Chris crawl in first and snuggle up to his mage. He does spare a raised brow for Amelia, though, already seemingly asleep. Good for her being able to just pass out. Would that they all possessed such fortitude.
no subject
He steps down into the pit and strips out of Jacob’s hoodie so he can set it aside. Between his and Jon’s emotions and the mucus and tears that came with them, he’d need to clean it. The normal way, unfortunately.
He snags a soft, thick blanket from the mass and crawls over to Wolfe and Amelia. The latter gets a brief kiss to her cheek before Chris settles on his side to press his back fully into the line of Wolfe’s body. His arms and the blanket are held open for his Archivist to fill. Between his boys, warm on both sides and in the safety of the near-impenetrable temple, Chris can feel his anxiety slowly start to unravel.
“Sorry we took a while, we need to discuss some things in the morning…for now we ought try for some sleep. Also: clever of you to manage the lights, love. I’m impressed.” He keeps his voice low to not disturb their rogue over much, but once all three are in the pillows, the room darkens to nearly nothing but a low, gentle glow from the raven head at the back wall.
no subject
"I just treated the room like a candle for the lights, if that makes sense? One of the first things I ever learned was to dim a candle." He yawns, curling his arm around Chris in a possessive squeeze before rolling it back out to let Jon settle in. He'll find Jon's shoulder and give him a gentler squeeze too when he settles. He may be Involved with Amelia and Chris, but Jon is his as well. They're all his, and he'd not only die for them; He'd live for them. All three of them. Even if there's temporary Tranquility in his future, he'll trust they'll find a way to overcome it. He trusts them.
"I'm proud of you, too. I know you hate to cry," Wolfe murmurs softly into Chris' hair, burying his nose in that familiar scent. He'd missed them so much he'd hallucinated his partners sometimes while he was being put through his paces. To have them actually here, now, is the most settling thing in the world. "We can talk tomorrow, like you said. I just wanted you to know that."
cw: minor ptsd moment, paranoia
His hands grip the side of the pit harder for a moment as Wolfe praises Chris. Chris needs this. He needs Jon to relax as much as he can and curl close. The Archivist knows he can keep a vigil even if he's lying down. He just can't let himself fall asleep.
With that mental compromise, he pushes off and into the pile to wade in and settle himself next to his cleric, arms curled against his chest as Jon faces him and presses another small kiss to his lips. Wolfe's hand on his shoulder is a comfort, as well, knowing the other man is there, just out of sight.
"Goodnight," Jon offers quietly to his friend, to all of them. "Be here in the morning, please." While he closes his eyes, Chris and Wolfe may be able to feel that he doesn't actually relax for a long while.
no subject
"We will be, love. Promise." That, at least, was a promise he felt reasonably sure he could make. Yet he didn't doubt every single one of them would have a moment of relief to see it wasn't all a dream come morning.
Poppet flies down on her gentle wings and takes up a perch on Jon's shoulder as Chris turns his focus onto his holy symbol. It wouldn't take much, he didn't have to use the chalk, he just liked the ritual of it...for this, it could wait. The spell casts and the connection opens in a way it hasn't in five years, and Chris nearly finds his throat paralyzed at finding Commune working as it should.
Gods, he has too many questions. Would she turn him away as not actually her cleric? Would she see him as a fake in comparison? Would her curiosity allow him answers once and then no more for even a reason as simple as the fact he hadn't set out to kill every undead in the city while he'd been there? They were all likely dead now; what did it matter?
"Are we shaved slivers of the same souls we're based on?" It wasn't his most important question whispered as quietly into the night as he could manage, but it was the one burning in him all the same.
He waits a moment before the answer comes to his mind, a flicker of confusion and curiosity behind the single word: No. He breathes a small sigh.
"Is there a way to wind and collect the soul threads needed to bind these people with me to pass through your halls alone?" Another pause, though much shorter and much less confused. Yes.
Last question. He scrambles for what he should prioritize with exhaustion creeping at the edges of him.
"Is there a way to contact Mystra, Lady of Magic and the Weave, to have these people with me woven into the proper place of all magics, ambient and ambitious?" There's almost no pause this time, as if she already expected the next question. Yes.
The relief is leaden comfort in him, but he remembers to offer a quiet thank you to the fading connection before sleep steals him entirely. If the others were awake and heard him at all, they'd just have to wait until morning.