makinglies | Respite

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faerun

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."

♥

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He watches each of his people take their potions in turn, and some part of him feels a little better. At least, if one of them went down, he'd know they'd come back to him under his spells.

"I don't think you or Jon should go." Chris chimes in after Wolfe's kiss to his cheek. "Amelia and I can handle it."

Chris moves back to Topher and stands in front of him, less threatening, but definitely annoyed. "And don't flirt with my partners. What, there's not attractive men in Letherna you can be a nuisance to?"

It's easier to think on this, to focus on something as stupid as flirting than think about how his choices, the guardian's choices, made things somehow worse for that dark mirror of Melvaunt. That hadn't been their intention...and if they knew...

"I'm sorry for your home. I know we- they didn't mean for that to happen." He can address that much, at least. Topher's relationship to his city was rife with pain and betrayal, enough to want to flee it...but it had been his home. If he was any part of Chris, he must feel something about it becoming all the more tainted and terrible.

Hawke's threat is couched as a warning, Amelia's is wildly vicious and disproportionate. So... about standard for both of them. Jon would give Amelia a warning look not to be quite so mercurial, but Topher beats him to it, and he's busy coughing on his own potion. It's unpleasant, like there's a hairball in his throat mixed with having tapped a live wire, but when it settles...

Jon doesn't respond for a long moment to Topher's explanation or Chris' insistence, he's too focused on the sense of completeness. The Archivist has known this sensation once in his life, a feeling that all the broken pieces of himself have drawn together in a single magnificent moment.

He turns away from the others abruptly and takes a few steps away, hoping it looks more like he might be sick than anything else. The hand going to his mouth likely helps for that appearance. This becoming feels good, right, not exactly like his transformation into the Archivist, but it's the closest equivalent Jon has. It had brought a sense of peace to him when he'd woken up from his coma--if only for a short while--like he was the man he was meant to be and his purpose and place were clear.

Jon swallows down the emotions, forces it away, knowing that this is different, that it isn't him becoming some eldritch horror extension of an unfathomable eyeball thing. It's good. It's finding his soul--nice to know he has enough of one as himself to count--connected to Faerun, to Chris. It makes everything so much more real.

The effect is slow and feels like pins and needles to Wolfe, only on the inside of his soul. Its not painful, but it is unpleasant, and he thinks he can feel that "leak" Topher mentioned regarding his magic. It's not being shorn up but there's something about the effect of the potion that simply makes him more aware that something is leaving as it adds something else in elsewhere. The strongest sense, though, is a sort of tug, like he has a... - not a leash, dammit - a thread drawn out from a spool at his back, coiling from his ribs and around his spine then out. It's such a strange sensation he knows he's probably making a nigh comical expression but there's no help for it.

After what feels like both an instant and an eternity, the feeling fades and whats left is still him, but different. More solid. Grounded. It reminds him of home in a way that he'd never been cognitively aware of until he'd been removed from it in the Fleet and it hadn't left him since. That off-kilter, unmoored jitter that had run through him hard and then softened as he was "away" for years from the world that supposedly bore him. He hadn't known what it was or what was missing until this moment.

He's here. He's home.

Staring into the middle distance, his face a mask of nameless emotion, Adalwolfe Hawke takes his first breath as a denizen of Faerûn and tries not to let it catch on the lump in his throat.

"I, um," he says thickly, running a hand over his face and trying to focus on the conversation and not how he feels like he might cry again. "I think a horde of zombies is at least a three-person job, if not four."

He's not keen on having just got here and then losing them both immediately.

Topher attempts to flirt with their Wolfe and before Chris can jump in, Amelia growls at him. They may all belong to this world now, but the mage belongs to them and no one else, especially this dick. Her jaw tenses and sets, only shifting into something more relaxed as Chris comes into her vision again after telling the emissary off.

If he ever dares show up again without Chris there to get between them, she's likely to stab him for that comment about her Wolfe.

"I don't think we're meant to take on a whole horde," she assures her mage, putting a hand lightly on his arm. "Only to offset some of what's been done as a result of The Guardians' efforts yesterday. You have most of your strength now, love, but we don't know how quickly that will fade. Let Chris and I gather what we need and take care of it. We can't stay long as it is, so I doubt we'll be gone for more than a day or two." Her eyes move to where Chris is standing by the table in front of Topher. "Am I wrong? If we do need additional help, now's the time to know when we're beginning our planning."

Topher waves off the comment about attractive men and finishes off his drink. He's about to head back towards the door when Chris's other words stop him. Green eyes meet a blank metal band, and Topher is quiet for a long moment.

"Couldn't have happened to nicer people." He says, a quiet response for Chris only. "If her corpse makes it out of there, don't hesitate. I wouldn't."

He waves off the tension and heads past Chris. "Be aware, she may meet you when you visit. Anyway, I've done my good deed and been threatened for it, but I got food, so I think I'll cut my losses and leave now. I'm not going to be any help with planning. Fair well...whatever you lot or going to decide to call yourselves. 'Displaced Beasts? Mmm....maybe not. Good luck with the rest of your plans!"

If left to his own devices or not physically stopped, Topher heads out of the temple, returning to a bird's form as soon as he crosses the threshold.

Again, he bites his tongue, though he knows he likely wouldn't have before. Whatever Topher's relationship with his own dark twin, Chris doubted it would be so easy to kill her. He's not sure it would be so easy for him either, even knowing what she was capable of. Hopefully, it wouldn't matter. Besides, if he hesitated, Amelia wouldn't.

He doesn't stop his mirror from leaving, just takes up some bread for himself, even as his appetite wars with itself.

"No, you're not wrong. A day at max. Besides, it's a dark and horrid place; you aren't missing much. We don't need to kill them all, just enough. Besides, I don't want to leave either of you behind by yourselves, so better you watch out for each other. Practice your Common." And don't drain their magical well too quickly, lest the side effects come for them too soon.

Jon masters himself and turns back to the others as Topher is making his exit. He's seen transformation magic before, but the ability to just... be a bird on command is still fascinating. The fact he has no hands to close the bloody door is, however, annoying. The Archivist moves to shut it as he weighs in on the Shadowfell matter.

"I'm not leaving you a hand short just because I'm useless in a fight. We're coming with you." It's said with finality. "He said our magic is 'leaking,' not gushing. I'll just... hide somewhere. And between Amelia"-a nod in the rogue's direction-"and Astarion I can defend myself with a dagger if push comes to shove. Or you can leave me with one of your Spirit Guardians, or whatever the thing you can do to make a totem is called."

He also doesn't want to miss the opportunity to see this place. Curiosity is a terrible thing, and he needs to satisfy it.

Edited 2025-10-18 14:46 (UTC)

"How long have you been having these lessons?" It's one thing if its been years but a few months isn't going to get him near a sneakthief's level, let alone a professional rogue like Amelia or Astarion. Still, his tone isn't dubious at Jon's skill. He's appraising, trying to work in this heretofor unknown skill of Jon's. At least he knows Jon likely won't get overwhelmingly frightened like some damsel; earth has zombies, and Jon's faced worse besides.

"Jon and I can stay together. I'll keep them also far range as possible with my magic and Jon can stab at anything that gets under our guard," he sounds confident in that plan, though he does look at Jon again. "Did you bring your cane?"

Hopefully he did, that protection magic will come in handy. "Either way, I've only just got you all back. I'm not leaving your sides so soon."

Amelia waits for the door to close behind Topher before embedding a dagger into it at the level his neck had been at only a moment before. "I'm going to stab him the next time he says anything like that again. No one threatens any of you and lives without some mark of penance taken."

If that means she has to find a way to bleed a god, so be it. These are the only people in any plane that she has left and she's not going to let anything happen to them while she still breathes. Hang anyone who tries; she's got plenty of strength and stamina to take on any threat, and wit and cleverness where those fail. If anyone wants any of the men in this temple, they'll have to go through her.

The sudden exit done and over, she heaves a sigh at the continued insistence of their magic users that they'll be fine to whittle down what they have. She understands the desire, but the risks are too great. A leak is one thing and a tip of the bucket an entire other.

"There's no guarantee that using your abilities won't tap you fast enough that our worst fears about what happens when they run out won't come true while we're there. I'm glad you want to help us and watch our backs, but what happens if you can't cast after a while," she looks to Wolfe, then Jon, "or you become catatonic? Do you think we're going to complete the task before we leave to care for you? Do you think we'd do anything but drop everything we're doing to keep you safe?"

She rests her elbows on the table and presses her face into her hands. "There isn't an 'us' without the two of you, and I'll be damned by any god listening if I let you do something this foolhardy."

There's no stopping them if they've set their minds to it completely, but she has to try. Dreams, if anything should happen because they come and they use their magic too much too soon or too long before they can contact Mystra...

Her hands shift over her eyes as she clenches them shut in a vain attempt to keep from crying.

No rest. No stopping. They're not safe and she has to protect them. She has to keep them in one piece until they can make things right with the god of magic.

Amelia's getting overwhelmed, and he doesn't rightly blame her. This was a bit of a rude wake-up call, and now their boys were pushing back in a way that felt reckless. He wouldn't want to be left behind either, if they were reversed...but still.

Chris moves to sit with her and breaks a piece of his bread off to set in front of her. She hadn't eaten in too long.

"You need to learn not to fight the gods where they aren't involved, love. This is between us, we've received our request, how we go about it is up to us." He looks to both Jon and Wolfe in turn, his concern finally coming onto his features now that Topher was gone.

"I agree with her, though...it's leaking, however slowly, pouring out from the top when there's no guarantee you can regain a single drop of your abilities seems beyond reckless. We don't know the first thing yet about getting you all written into the Weave; throwing your abilities away on an errand is stupidity." However... "If you two come, know that it will be to act as observers only in the interest of recognizing you don't want to be parted from us any more than we do."

If he had to throw an anti-life shell up to block their boys from coming too close, he'd do that, too.

"If they're undead, this really won't take long regardless."

Amelia starts tearing up, Chris pushes back, and Jon... balks. He knows he shouldn't. He knows this is sense, but they're finally free to go where they want, do what they want, and he's being told he can't go to this other plane within Faerun, somewhere Chris has talked to him about. Beyond the burning curiosity to see it for himself, there's a sense of obligation.

"I'm not even planning to tap anything," Jon points out. "And Wolfe can fight without magic when he needs to." Maybe he shouldn't speak for the mage, but Jon assumes he'll be on side for pushing this. Although, his girlfriend working herself up over it might sway him. Or Chris' reasonable argument. Unfortunately for everyone, Jonathan Sims is a stubborn man. "I've been practicing with a dagger for several months now. I'm not going to claim to be an expert, but again, I can put myself somewhere out of the fray to watch and call out if there are any oddity. The Shadowfell's been damaged somehow, yes? If there's an issue with the fabric of reality there, I might be able to see it where the rest of you can't."

He doesn't know that for sure, but trying to find a way to make himself desirable as an observer might help persuade Chris, is not Amelia. "There also isn't an 'us' without the two of you, either, and if something happens, I think both of us would rather be present to at least attempt to do something."

It could be worse than simply not being able to cast after awhile as Amelia puts it, and it hits Wolfe then that he doesn't think he's ever told Amelia about Tranquility at all. That... That can wait until after the Shadowfel, surely. He will tell her, but that would be even more reason for them to shut him out and leave him behind. They have reason to, and their arguments make sense, but these gods as his witness he absolutely refuses to be the last man standing again.

There's a compromise to be made here.

"I won't cast a thing, not unless it's to save our lives, though I expect as a cleric who has a divine directive against the undead that you're more than equipped to handle whatever is being asked of us. And Jon is correct, I can hold my own even without magic."

He crosses to Amelia and puts his arms around her, knowing that what he's keeping back will just make her cry more, but the realization that he'd rather be made Tranquil then spend one more second worrying that he's going to lose them for good is a staggering one. He just regrets that he's the reason for her tears yet again.

"Let us all stay together and support you, even if we're not in the thick of it ourselves. And the first thing we'll do when we return is work on contacting Mystra." That seems reasonable, doesn't it?

Edited (skill check :x) 2025-10-18 23:42 (UTC)

It's unfair how they make good arguments in return. The truth that they're right about being able to contribute only makes the desire to protect them that much stronger and herself more brittle. When Wolfe's arms close around her, all she can do is sob and shake her head in disbelief.

How did they do this to her? Why is she going to say yes? This is a terrible idea even if her heart aches at the thought of them being so far away.
No no no no no no what happens when shit goes wrong?

She doesn't try to say anything, instead burying her face into her mages arms to keep everyone from seeing the absolute mess she's become after getting through one hell just to find another. All without a single bite of food to her name.

They both push back as he should have expected, and Chris sighs, bone-deep and defeated. It was a losing argument from the start for different reasons. Denying Jon a chance to see something new, see something that was in his statements, was nearly a cruelty where his Archivist was involved...and denying Wolfe his closeness, especially after being apart for so long was a cruelty to him.

Chris places the rest of his bread in front of Amelia and scrapes his hand over his face. "Fine. Fine, you can both come too. We'll go tomorrow at the earliest; I still insist on a rest day." It was clearly needed.

He stands again and strides over to the door to retrieve Amelia's dagger from the door and bring it back to her. He had that whole conversation with Topher while in his smallclothes...wonderful. That will come back to him at some point, he's sure.

He deposits the knife on the table with the bread. "We're also not going anywhere until everyone's had some food, since none of you have eaten for almost twenty-four hours. Even you, Jon, we don't know how much your body here will still need regular food."

He fixes his Archivist with a look that starts as 'don't challenge me on this' and then turns into one of narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "Also...you told me you were only having lessons from Amelia...why didn't you tell me about Astarion?"

Jon is ready to acquiesce on food after the victory of whether or not they get to come to the Shadowfell. Chris would have had to tie him up to keep him from sneaking along. Or barging. The Archivist hadn't planned on being particularly clandestine about it. He settles in one of the chairs farther away from Amelia, if only to give her room to pull herself together with Wolfe's assistance. He knows they're all strung out after... everything. They've all cried at this point, will cry more, no doubt, but there is a mission ahead, and the Archivist is all too familiar with compartmentalizing grief.

In the back of his mind, he can hear Elias, speaking in his own voice, 'Don’t worry, Jon. You'll get used to it...' A blessing and a curse, all in one, the ability to just... survive. Whether he truly wants to or not. But with his feet planted more firmly in Faerun, he does want to survive, to live in a way none of them have been able to for years.

And that starts with this.

"Er..." Or it starts with a hard look from his boyfriend. Jon quickly focuses on some nuts and cheese as he grabs for those and fills his mouth to give him time to think of an 'acceptable' answer. In spite of the look and texture, they're oddly bland, which gives him momentary pause. But, no. Chris had said it would be like this. It's not gone off and it's not poisoned, just... magically the equivalent of cauliflower. "Never came up, I suppose." The Archivist goes back to eating. Look at him being so very good and doing as he's told!

Wolfe snorts, recognizing a very bad avoidance tactic when he sees one and reaching around Amelia for the food so she doesn't have to leave his arms yet. He's suddenly ravenous now that the question of the Shadowfell is settled, and starts with bread and cheese. It's... A little disappointing, honestly, but he supposes magically conjured food with nourishment prioritized over taste would be. Still, useful spell to know. Could he learn it? Not yet more than likely, but he can revisit that list of things he does want to learn.

"I'd feel a bit better if you eat something, my heart," he murmurs to her, gathering some of the cheese for her bread and generally keeping out of the argument between Chris and Jon. For now.

The others are welcome to what privacy Amelia's crying can offer. The rogue certainly isn't paying any attention to them when she's struggling to get her sobbing under control. She can't even find words for Wolfe when he asks her without asking to eat something. All she can do at this point is lift her head enough to nod and force herself to eat some of the bread in front of her. Whatever it or anything else on the table tastes like, it all goes down with the same disinterest and determination to just do what she has to.

Try. She just has to try for them. It's all she's good for anyway.

She just needs enough strength to get through this and to the next day. Just one round of culling in the Shadowfell and then they can save, truly save, Wolfe and Jon from losing their abilities for good.

Chris squints at his 'well-behaved' boyfriend. "Not telling me is making me more suspicious that something happened that you're keeping from me." He says it plain, an invitation to take the worst-case scenarios out of his mind...but at the end of the day, what could he do about it? Everything that had happened to them was past...and none of it should happen again.

The thought shouldn't make him anxious, like he'd gotten used to the threat of sexual assault and losing his senses and control. He hadn't liked it, of course, but...maybe, in a way, he'd gotten used to knowing what to expect, at least.

That thought ruins what little appetite he had, and he resolves to eat more later. The bread would have to do for now. To Amelia, at least, he spares a touch to her shoulder and then one to Wolfe's.

"I suppose now's a good time to mention I did Commune with the Raven Queen last night and she said we're not just fragments of our originals' souls, at least. Proof in the fact she was able to tie your souls here. She also said there was a way to work you all into the weave, but it's a yes or no line of questions, so I'm still not sure exactly how. I'll ask again later today."

Jon shrugs at Chris' suspicion at first. Can't talk. Mouth is full of... texture. Texture and a lack of flavor. But he does sense the small spike of fear from the cleric and knows he should be less cagey. It takes some effort to actually swallow everything down, and he fetches some of the bitter tea to make it easier. At least that has taste, and he's always preferred it a bit less sweet.

"Honestly, I was, uh... I was going to try to surprise you with it, that's all. Get to Faerun, impress you with some sort of knife trick so you wouldn't need to worry about me dying... immediately, anyway." He'd gone to Amelia for the same lessons, of course, but he'd known Chris likely wouldn't have approved of a vampire from his own world, even if he seems to have had more of his personhood intact than the other vampires Chris has met in his adventures. "I paid him for the lessons, though. That's really all. He wasn't terrible or anything, and he didn't try to drink my blood."

As for the rest of it... "Iliniver... does it have a temple to Mystra? We could ask a cleric there for help, couldn't we?" Instead of making the Raven Queen their 'middle man.'

"Quite the gift considering you'd been so resistant to learning to defend yourself before," Wolfe says between bites, genuinely finding it a sweet and practical gesture. Its hard to concentrate on that with Amelia still sniffling around her meal in his lap, though. He gently runs his fingers through her hair as they talk.

"We're not pieces... That's good," or at least it isn't bad. He wouldn't want the version of himself that still exists in Thedas to go the rest of his life with something missing. He may have only discovered that feeling in earnest as it was removed, but looking back it wasn't a pleasant thing to subconsciously be searching for a missing piece of yourself.

"Chris, do you think asking Mystra directly is the way to go? You know your Gods' alliances and attitudes better than we do, of course, but I also don't want to request too much of her when we already know we'll likely owe Mystra something as well," a price he's more than willing to pay, so long as it doesn't separate him from his family in any permanent way, physically or emotionally.

She's in the way. She has nothing to add here. She should go throw knives or wash clothes or something that isn't distracting and draining them all with her presence.

The unkind thoughts sit in the front of her mind and refuse to leave. Chris already knew about the dagger lessons from Jon. They all know they have to go to Mystra and ask for something she may very well deny them. They're not fragments but are they copies? of those whose memories they have and now have their own soul threads to prove it. What is she adding here that's worthwhile when all the commentary is happening without her? What does she matter?

Patience, still used to Amelia's morose moods, sits down at the rogue's side and puts her face in the woman's lap and whines. A distraction and a call for attention. A reason to get moving by subtly asking to go outside for a walk. She and Cookie can only pace and splash about in their pool for so long before they get bored.

"We'll pay what we have to." Her voice is soft and rough from the abuse her throat has taken since getting to the temple. She looks down at Patience and then around the table, ending with Wolfe. "I should take them outside for a bit. They haven't had the chance to stretch their legs yet today and they need it." And she needs to do something other than sit here and stew in dark thoughts that require more food and water than she's physically capable of putting in right now.

Jon’s answer sees him a little more sheepish for his reaction.

“Ah…that’s sweet; I’m sure you’ll be quite impressive. I’m glad he was able to help, honing those skills will be useful still.” For a number of reasons, but the burst of energy action and direction gave him is waning knowing it won’t matter until tomorrow.

Instead, there’s questions about Mystra and for all Chris has felt since arriving here that he needs to lead their way with his local knowledge, in this…he knows very little. Even what general knowledge of the gods doesn’t come in handy here. It puts a weight in his stomach.

“Honestly? I’m not sure, I don’t know how Mystra meets petitioners. I believe there’s a temple to her, as well as to Azuth, her emissary and partner. Someone in town will know more,” he nods to Jon, “clerics and scholars.”

But Amelia stands to remove herself from the conversation and something sour twists in him. Didn’t she care about this? What they would need to do involved her as much as the rest of them, but her silence feels like volumes and his ability to be charitable is as turbulent as his patience.

He should have more grace for her, if he can find any. If he can find any of his emotions for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Yeah, sure. Take Thunder with you, she needs to hunt.”

He whistles to the raven who looks up from her preening with a craggy response.

“We probably all could use the fresh air sometime this morning, I want to recast the temple sooner over later.”

Edited 2025-10-19 04:01 (UTC)

Once more, there’s Amelia’s fears and thoughts pinging in the back of Jon’s mind, and for all kind words from both Wolfe and Chris, he can’t help his attention turning back to the rogue. Wolfe can be kind and supportive lover, Chris can be the friend she needs… mostly. So, what can he be to her? Someone who doesn’t mince words? An ally for now, but friendship is still a ways off, even if they’re both set on protecting each other.

“Let’s all head out so you can change what you’d like,” Jon suggests. “We have the day to discuss our next moves. And we may need to forestall plans beyond getting to the city and finding an appropriate cleric or scholar to start. I’d like to have a word with you in private, as well, Amelia. If that’s all right?” Hopefully without more crying, but he might need to weather those. At least with their relationship as it is, she might be more inclined to hide her tears.

While his attention is mainly on Amelia, he does glance briefly at Wolfe to ensure he has permission to engage with her one-on-one.

Wolfe recognizes that move from Patience. Cookie is much more of a normal carefree animal but Patience, with her joint mabari and spirit dog pedigree, is much more in tune not just with her people's moods but what to do about them. Wolfe had never seen her decide to take Amelia for a walk to clear her head before, but she'd done it to him enough times. Something twists inside in knowing it was something she found necessary while he was gone, but there's comfort there too. Amelia had help and support.

Chris on the other hand...

He has Jon, but he also has his pride and his own idiosyncrasies that Wolfe is sure Jon hadn't challenged. Their Archivist can see a lot but he isn't a mind reader in the literal sense. He can't always tell when their mutual boyfriend is laser focused on getting in his own way because he's overwhelmed but keeps a white-knuckled grip on a situation regardless. Or maybe he can and just deals with it differently, maybe even doesn't think it's a problem. But even with that nothing exchanged between them, Wolfe can tell Chris will be digging his nails in his palms before long.

So when Jon looks at him for confirmation that what he's doing is alright, Wolfe just nods, standing up from the table as well. "I think a day to regroup is the best idea anyone has had all morning. Don't stray too far, but if you find any game maybe see if you can take it down? Conjured food is well and good but a stew would be more fortifying before facing a mess of zombies tomorrow."

Amelia always does better with a task, and with how Jon isn't exactly practiced at sneaking about in the woods, Wolfe expects that will take them some time as well as distracting Amelia enough to find her center again. Maybe.

He crosses to her and gives a kiss, gently wiping the traces of tears from her face. "I love you. All of you, just as you are. Keep that in mind while you're stealing my dogs for a walk." With that wry comment and a cheeky smile, he let's them head out first, all the animals but Poppet in tow, before turning to Chris again.

"So. A kitchen this time? And a stocked closet?" Clearly not what he's going to press on, but its a place to start.

Chris' sudden answer is... expected, somewhat. She's fucked up. Of course she's fucked up. When doesn't she fuck up with him in moments where they both need to keep their heads?

Wrong wrong wrong wrong but what this time? What does she need to grovel for forgiveness about? What does she need to do better?

She manages a soft 'I love you' for Wolfe before pulling away and getting on her shoes and a handful of her knives, motioning for Jon to do the same. As soon as they're both ready, she doesn't hesitate to step out the door and into the chill morning air. The dogs rush out ahead of her, bounding and barking with excitement for the space. They don't go far before returning to her side, though it's obvious from how they keep panting and running circles around the pair of humans that they really want to be set loose.

"Now that we're away from the others, what is it you wanted to say?" She spares Jon a glance as she wipes at her face and encourages Little Thunder to take wing and begin looking down on them from above for possible game to hunt.

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cw: mild PTSD

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deception: dirty 20

well she didn't roll a 1 but lolol nope

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