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."

♥

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Usually Wolfe is generally aware of what the people around him are generally feeling. Jon is indignant and paranoid, as usual, and Chris is embarrassed, though Wolfe is not entirely sure if its because he jumped to sex so quickly as a means to earn money or because it's one of the few things he's ever done to make coin. Chris has told Wolfe before of what he feels are gaps in his broader education. He was brought up to rule and there are a great many skills that go into that, but holding down a mundane job is not one of them.

Amelia surprises him when she kisses him, prompting his own flush to cross his face in a mirror of Chris'. He's not embarrassed, but the declaration of her being his, just his, even if he always knew that, sends a tremor through his heart and he has to duck his head to poorly hide his bashful smile, though he does mumur "I love you, too."

He doesn't follow her to Chris, nor does he interrupt Jon's paranoia-fueled sleuthing exploration into what he imagines is a perfectly safe temple. Its Chris' magic that brought it into being and Wolfe is entirely certain nothing would have gotten into that spell work to harm them, motifs notwithstanding. It happens when thoughts stray during a long casting, but Wolfe has a solid feeling that the Matron won't allow them to be harmed in a place dedicated to her. Not unless they bring it on themselves.

That's an odd feeling, knowing a god really exists and truely offers protection and peace. After the Maker only dubiously existing with His flock committing atrocities in His name and the elven gods being revealed as ancient mages playing at divinity, Wolfe didn't think he'd believe in any sort of higher power. But then here comes Chris with a practical certainty of the devine and now Wolfe is a believer of some kind.

Easier to do when you have solid proof, he thinks, glancing at the temple. He doesn't know how Anders would feel about his newfound faith, and he supposes he'll never know.

Jon is starting down on his paranoia path and Chris almost tries to intervene to curtail it when Amelia comes to him and brushes his arm. He turns to her and shakes his head.

“You haven’t, I’m just…it’s what I know to do and can easily get involved in. We have many needs and little means, if Gideon cannot or will not make a loan to us to get started, a fair thing when we’ll be asking so much already, then I’m simply trying to think of what I can do to help quickly and effectively. I didn’t…mean any harm by it. I didn’t think much of offering in the first place.”

Which might be its own problem, but he hadn’t thought of that.

He leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead, tone even, honest. “I’m alright, I promise.”

What Jon finds is similar to how the temple was the night before. The entry way opens to a wide and tall structure. Three doors now line the right side. One leads to a few bookcases stocked with more than one copy of the same book and some chairs to read them in.

The next two appear to be meditation or resting rooms with lavish couches and rugs, though the middle room sports a ceiling and wall of windows to the outside and the other room hosts a large wardrobe.

The center of the temple still holds the pillow pit and tables and chairs at the back, now with a clothesline and clothes washing station in the back right corner.

The left side hosts two shower stalls, a simple kitchen with wood-fire stove and chimney, and a curling stairwell that led to a seating area once more under a splash of windows.

Jon’s investigation is far more thorough than it probably needs to be. While he finds web motifs throughout the temple, he can’t spot any actual spiders or cobwebs. Poppet returns to him and shakes her head periodically when he sends her up in each room to check the ceiling and higher spots that he can’t see over.

The wardrobe is his last stop for searching, and all he can think of are horror films where the monster is hiding in there. It takes him several seconds to work up the nerve to open it. Blessedly, nothing pops out to snatch him, but he starts going through all the clothes, just to be certain. He does toss one woolly scarf onto the ground, and Poppet moves on it immediately with a delighted mew.

He may be here… some time. But if there are any spiders in these new clothes, Jon intends to catch them.

"I didn't either. It is a good way to make money, and an option to keep in mind if we don't find other methods of work." She may keep it in the back of her mind as an option to choose only after all others have been exhausted, but that doesn't make Chris wrong to think of it first. It's what he's used to, of course he's going to bring it up right away. Amelia smiles and and gives the cleric a gentle nudge in the arm with hers.

"Between all four of us, all our wits and charms and skills, we'll figure something out. Jon may not be used to this kind of world and Wolfe may not be able to speak the language for a while to help smooth ruffled feathers, but you and I? We've both trained to negotiate and find ways to get people to hand over coin they may not otherwise have wanted to part with. We'll take care of it, together, even if it's just you and I for a time." Nothing and no one is going to stop either of them from caring for the group as a whole, and that means they'll be fine.

But that's enough on the subject. Amelia's eyes turn toward the temple as she knocks her head towards it and raises her voice to let the mage back into the conversation. "So, what new things can we expect today? I'm certain you remembered laundry and a kitchen, but what luxuries did you decide we needed? The temple yesterday was very comfortable." Dreams, that bedding alone was everything she could've wanted when it was time to pass out.

"Showers again I hope, though I'll rinse off in the lake before I sully the place." He finishes carving out the unimportant bits of the animal in front of him, much to the girls' delight. He is absolutely splattered with blood, but it doesn't appear to bother him overmuch. "And clothes. I need to wash this badly."

Sitting back on his launches, Wolfe pauses for a moment to wipe his face with one side of his arm that he hopes is clean enough. He should probably say something else but he doesn't really have much else to say, for once. He's tired in a way he's only been a few times in his life and this time he hadn't fought any overwhelming battles or survived being held captive in a pit.

Or maybe he has. He's been a prisoner for years and it had only gotten worse over time despite the shining bright spots that were his friends - his chosen family. His whole life has been a flow of fighting and running, scrabbling for everything he could call his own and then losing it all.

But that's not true, is it? He's only from Duplicity. He's five years old - maybe younger - but with all the baggage of a man who had been through multiple flavors of hell. The wave of anger at the thought bubbles up like nausea. Why does he have the fallout of someone else's traumas? Of Adalwolfe Hawke the first's tragedies? He could have been anyone, why does he have to be him?

Because who else would I be? His own voice reasons to him in his head. He may be molded from someone else but that doesn't make his life any less important or any less his. If anything, it makes him more free. Only after so long with responsibilities and worries and something big and unmovable to fight against, he feels free in a way that's oppressive. Its easier just to focus on preparing this meal and then rinsing off, and then laundry, and putting one foot in front of the other.

Wolfe goes back to what he was doing, as if he hadn't just wanted to lay face down in the dirt and decay there. At least he succeeded on keeping it all inside. He thinks.

Good. He doesn't want to worry them over what's probably just a stage of grief or him finally letting go of some things or... something.

Amelia’s words are a comfort and he offers her a small smile and another kiss, this time to the back of her hand that he takes with a squeeze.

He looks to Wolfe for his guesses before Chris answers and he’s on the brink of mentioning that, yes, there are clothes, but they could only be worn within the walls of the temple or face them vanishing off one’s body, when some flicker on Wolfe’s expression catches his eye. It’s a tensing at the corner of his eyes and Chris’ smile falters.

He brings Amelia over to the other side of their boyfriend as he leans over their mage’s shoulder to kiss his temple.

“There’s something in your pretty head, love. Anything you want to share?” A brief pause. “And…please don’t go in the lake until I can make sure there’s nothing living in it that will be attracted by the blood…”

Whatever passes over Wolfe's face, Amelia misses it. Chris kisses her hand and leads them over to their partner and she's not certain what the cleric thinks is on the man's mind. She's always going to support a play to open up the man, though, so she leans over to kiss the top of Wolfe's head.

"Feeding yourself to monstrous creatures is strictly forbidden. No one in this family of ours will allow it, but I will be especially cross with you." A light tease to bolster their love before he speaks.

"I have no plans to feed myself to anything, thank you," Wolfe glowers theatrically, teasing at the very implication. "And besides, I'm trying to conserve my magic so there will be no ill effects before we face whatever task Mystra sets before us. Going off and facing things that could swallow me whole would definitely require some magic."

Exhaling softly, Wolfe stands and leans over to kiss each of them at their temples, careful not to touch them with his bloody hands. "Chris, maybe you should check sooner rather than later? I'm about finished and I want to get all this gore off of me."

He gives Chris a meaningful look; they both know what he needs to tell her privately, and there's a part of Wolfe that both wants to get it over with and is clawing at his own insides not to. Better to ignore himself in this case or Amelia will suffer for it, but Andrast- Gods-... Flames he would rather die than make her cry again.

But he hates that that's still easier than admitting he's struggling with the desire to even exist at the moment. It will pass, though. He came back from it after the Nightmare, he can do so again. Or... for the first time. Whichever it is. He's alright. He will be alright. For them, if no one else.

Chris catches the look and he watches Wolfe’s expression a long moment before nodding.

“Of course. If Jon comes back afore I do, ask him to take my things into the temple, hmm? I need to wash what little we have.”

So said, he kisses Wolfe on the lips to fortify him and brushes his fingers through some of Amelia’s hair. He’s quick to strip and doesn’t bother with modesty as he takes everything off and leaves it in a pile to spare from the shift from skin to feather and scale.

The siren offers a single, piercing note. One of love. Adoration. Loyalty. All eternal for those he’s attached himself to. Those who are his. Then slips into the murky lake water with barely a splash.

Wolfe sends Chris off on a pragmatic mission, but from the look the pair exchange she knows there's a reason she's not being sent off as well. She touches Chris' arm briefly as the cleric passes and then turns to the mage. He doesn't want to cover her in blood and gore, and she doesn't care; she takes both of his hands in hers without a thought to give him a bit more of the physical connection he always craves to bolster him.

"What is it, love? What's on your mind?" Her frown is sympathetic but concerned. "I'm here for you, whatever it is. If there's anything I can do to help, you only have to name it."

"That's the thing, its not going to be something you can help with if it happens," he says, taking a fortifying breath and glad for her hands in his. He squeezes them gently.

"Have I told you what happens to Thedas' makes if they're severed from their magic?"

'If it happens'...? Her brow furrows in confusion and it doesn't unknot when he asks his question. "No. You told me it was all but impossible for you to sleep because you couldn't dream properly in the Fade when the city took your magic from you, but I know that's different because it's temporary."

Dreams, it's hard to breathe already. This is going to be hard to hear. She holds tighter to him to help them both.

"Its called 'Tranquility', which is both the best and worst description of what it is. In Thedas, the Chantry uses it to neuter mages who are too violent or out of control, though they abuse the Rite to varying degrees in different Circles. By placing a brand of lyrium on the mage, they effectively cut off his ability to pull energies from the Fade, but it also takes away the essence of who he is. Not his memories, but his passions. A Tranquil mage is much more like an animated doll than a person."

Wolfe swallows and closes his eyes. "It's one of the things I fear most, but its something I may have to face if my well of magic runs out before we complete what Mystra tasks us with. I took that potion knowing full well its a possibility - a likely one - and I trust you and Chris and Jon if he's able to pull me from it again."

In Thedas there is no cure, but here there is if Mystra replaces his connection to the Fade with one to the Weave. He's hanging all his hope on that one fact, even knowing that his connection currently might not even be to the real Fade, just some temporary but powerful illusion of Duplicity's god, but whatever the case he has no reason to believe it would act differently.

"I will still remember you in that state. I will remember I love you, that you are important to me, but I won't... feel it. I won't feel anything beyond basic physical sensations with no emotion attached to them." He holds her hands more tightly to keep any tremble from them. "I should have told you before, I just didn't... know how, in the moment. Not with how on edge you already were."

She's quiet for a long moment, eyes glassing over with tears and lower lip trembling like her hands in his. This isn't guaranteed to happen and dreams know she'll fight it with everything she is - just as Chris and Jon will, she's certain - but that doesn't make it less terrifying. Her Wolfe, her passionate and loving and boisterous mage wouldn't be himself anymore if this happened. He would still be Adalwolfe Hawke, but he wouldn't be Wolfe. He would be theirs at a distance. Worse than a ghost for his physical presence but lack of emotion.

"I... I understand why you said nothing." It didn't matter in Duplicity and she's hardly been the pillar of strength and support she's wanted to be since they stepped through the Gate to get here. Knowing sooner wouldn't have made a difference.

Knowing sooner would have flared useless anger that doesn't have a place here. Not now. Not when there's a chance they can avoid this.

Tears start to roll down her cheeks despite all her efforts to stop them. She refuses to let go of him to wipe them away. "I don't... I don't know what to think of this except to hope it never happens and be scared of the possibility. But I promise you, I vow to you--" She tugs his hands closer to her chest and lifts herself to the balls of her feet to press her forehead to his.

"I won't rest until we find a cure if it happens. I love you, Adalwolfe Hawke, and I'm not letting this take you. Any price, any bargain required, I'll do it. The others at my side if I can, but I will pay any price necessary to bring us back together again. I can't be happy here if we're not free to live and love as we always dreamed of while trapped in the city, and I'll do whatever it takes to have us both whole and together."

He doesn't argue this time, doesn't tell her not to fight or to try and go about it logically or anything of the sort. On this, he can't, he just takes simple comfort in her desperate need to see him through when he won't be able to himself.

"Thank you," he says quietly, pressing his lips to her forehead much harder than his grip would imply. "Maybe we'll get lucky. I don't intend to use magic if I can help it until I can learn the magic of this world. I'll do everything I can to stave it off, I promise you."

He will, hence why he'd carved up the animals by had and allowed Jon to start the fire. Why he hadn't just magically cleaned his boots. He hates having to go back to hiding what he could use so freely before, but if its the difference between that and Tranquility, he'll do everything the mundane way from now on.

But that's just staving off the inevitable, isn't it? Its a leak, Topher had said. His magic is going to leave him by drops anyway, whether he used it or not. He's just borrowing time, and he knows in the pit of his stomach it wont be enough. Something is going to happen. Zombies will get in his periphery and he'll have to defend Jon tomorrow or another danger will arise and his magic will be the difference between life and death. That feels so likely it almost makes him despair in knowing he wouldn't make any other choice than to defend them. Tranquility, however terrifying, may well be reversible here, and even if it wasn't it's preferable to the deaths of any of his loved ones.

He could never stand by if they're in real trouble.

"I'm sorry, Amelia. I-I know its hard to hear, and I want to comfort you, but I'm-" struggling. Worried I won't be able to protect you all. Hate that I'm angry for being who I am on top of all this - or because of it. "- covered in blood and guts."

He finishes lamely, unable to get the words past where they stick in his throat. He has no right to put whats on his mind on her too after bringing all that up. She's devastated enough.

"... I'm so sorry..." Please don't cry...

'Stop.'
'Enough.'
'You don't owe me an apology.'

All things she could say and yet none of them pass her lips. Let him feel how he's going to feel. Let him wish things weren't the way they are. Let him feel gutted that things are this difficult when neither of them want that to be true. She can take it. He's here again, he's hers again. For the first time in weeks, she can breathe again.

She can do anything.

Her hands shift along his arms so she can wrap hers around him as much as she can. Even if he doesn't feel strong enough to hold her, she can hold him. Her fingers dig into his shirt, leave more blood everywhere, and she doesn't care. Later, she can clean his shirt to make up for it. She stays lifted on her feet to keep her face pressed to his as much as she can. Anything she can do to press herself closer to him, she does, all so he can feel her resolve and her strength that comes along with her tears.

"I would have you however you are. Covered in blood, covered in snot while wrapped in a blanket, dripping wet after falling over a waterfall - all of it. I want all of it, and all of you." It's why she'll fight. It's why she'll never stop fighting. He's worth it. Their love is worth it. The family they're building with Chris and Jon is worth it. All of it is, always.

Hang whatever she is or isn't, who she is or might be. So long as she can have these arms and the loving heart that comes with them, she has home in this plane where her family now lives. It's all that matters to her anymore.

He laughs but its not a mirthful sound. Its helpless, desperate, and even a little relieved as he finally caves and holds her tightly. In some small way he had been sure that this was what would break them. To get here and still, still not be done. Not be out of danger of losing themselves in ways worse than the mundane threats that plague them. That his telling her this would be the last straw and she'd tell him she couldn't take it. That it's too much.

It is too much, but she holds him anyway, she pledges to fight for him like Chris did only hours ago. He can't help the choked and muffled sob that escapes him into her shoulder. How did he manage to find two people who so unconditionally love him? Who would give him a new life and new reasons to live it with every breath? Who don't only wait for him to help solve their problems but help him with his in turn.

He doesn't cry. His eyes are free of tears as he buries his face against her, hunched so she doesn't have to lift herself up so far onto her toes, but he has to take a very long moment to collect himself.

Wolfe doesn't need to cry; Amelia has plenty of tears for the both of them. Tears for how much this terrifies her and how much it frightens him. Tears for how this is yet another thing keeping them from the life they want to have. Tears for how she's grateful to have his arms around her again when only two days ago she didn't know when this would happen. Tears for the grief that still clings to her even though they're together once more. Tears for anger, relief, and pain. Tears because words simply won't come. All but the three most important words.

"I love you," she tells him, over and over, as she cries and clings and kisses every inch of skin that she can reach. "I love you," because she's desperately wished since that horrible morning that she could tell him again. She needs to say it and she wants him to hear it, as often and as many times as she can until she's breathless.

It's messy and it doesn't move them forward, but it's true and it's theirs and that's more than they've had for far too long.

Eventually she quiets and moves one hand to his face when he draws back enough to meet her eyes again. The small upturn of her lips could be called a watery smile, but whatever it is, it's all for him and it comes with a soft kiss that she pours everything she's been trying to cling to while he was gone into it. Her love, her longing, her joy, her need to be together. All of it and more, even if it means kissing him several times until he can feel it all.

Every item of clothing has been meticulously pawed over, including some lingerie that had made Jon blush before reasoning that is for Amelia, not for him. He’s still on alert as he opens the door to the temple, but it’s diminished enough that he’s left Poppet to shred the scarf and snack on it while he steps out.

“All right. I think it’s-”

Chris is nowhere to be seen, the fire still isn’t lit, and Amelia and Wolfe are both bloody and snogging.

Jon closes the door as quietly as he can and retreats. Clearly he should… keep looking for spiders.

I love you, too, he says without speaking. He says it with how much of it is in that kiss, how his hands are tight on her waist, how his attention is entirely on her and nothing else, including Jon's brief cameo.

He says it perhaps with a little more fervor and want than is strictly necessary but its under layers of gratitude and softness, weariness and grief. He's full to bursting with so many emotions today that he's having trouble processing them all. They vie in him like a cacophony, voices all crying out for attention in his own mind when he's just one man.

"I'm so tired," he mumbles into her shirt, not sleepy but weary to his bones. He doesn't want to think about any of this now. He just wants to exist with those he loves and have nothing to threaten them, physical or existential. Instead, they have to fight zombie hordes tomorrow and then beseech both Gideon for help and Mystra for favor. He's going to lose his ability to speak to and understand everyone until they all learn Common, all while slowly turning Tranquil and praying it doesn't happen before he's connected to magic again. Or if it does, that his family will be able to put him right.

He wouldn't be surprised if Gideon outright refused to believe them. Its a ridiculous series of problems. Anyone would be tired.

He sighs, heavy but settling, and finally lifts his head. "Sorry, I got blood on you..."

There's a fire in her when Wolfe kisses her like that, holds her like he used to. Something she hasn't felt in so long. It feels... good, but she knows she can't have it. Not now. Not yet. Not like this.

Maybe never. Maybe... maybe...

She shakes her head, clearing it enough to focus on her partner again. "I'm tired too." She has been since the city stole him away from the home they were sharing. It's lingered every day as she struggled to breathe and find her feet enough to help Chris, something she never managed in spite of how much she wanted to. Now she has different reasons to be tired, but... "With you here again, I can manage." Slowly, with one foot in front of the other, she can do it.

With a few obvious misses along the way, such as her scream in the woods and completely missing Jon's peek out from the temple.

Her hand stays on his cheek as he stands taller, a wry smile on her face. "We've been covered in blood together before and will be again. You have nothing to apologize for, especially for things like this." Her smile warms as she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, getting a little blood on her lips.

"Thank you for telling me about Tranquility. I hope it doesn't get that far, but I'll be here if it does. I promise." No matter what happens, she'll be here for him.

Edited (typo) 2025-10-28 04:33 (UTC)

The lake is of course nowhere near as deep as the Moonsea or Duplicity’s ocean, but it was sizable enough on its own. It sank deep into the ground, the place the river fed it a vibrant rush of life and greenery that Chris lingers to marvel at.

Because he can. Because nothing is imminently awaiting his attention and he can spare a moment to just marvel at the life in the lake he’d never gone to even though it had always been so close by. How many other things there must be out there that he had spent 20-some odd years never knowing.

He dives deep and does a perimeter of the lake. There were predators in here, certainly. Even some larger ones like giant catfish he ran into, but nothing as big as him and nothing too monstrous beyond a small cluster of blood bloaters on the far side of the lake.

It’s tempting, while he’s down here…to just let go a little. Let the siren do as it would while he turned ‘Chris’ off. Down here in the peace of the water, it was almost too easy to forget how much there was to do. He might not be king as he’d thought, but that didn’t mean he was without responsibility or cause. He was not without people who needed him.

He lets himself float in the center of the lake and close his eyes and just listen to the life and currents around him. Some fish were curious of him, more kept a healthy distance, and others simply ignored him, content as they were with their simple fish lives.

He breathed deep. He lets the peace wrap around him.
Just as he feels the urges starting to grow louder in his blood, he pushes the feeling back down to focus once more.

A luring song spills out into the lake and around it: a simple call of ‘come to me, be safe with me’ as he hunts for blackjaws to add to their rations.

It’s a song that turns to a more serious push to those with wills to resist.

“Join in the water. Find peace in the water. Cleanse.”

Edited 2025-10-28 04:53 (UTC)

"Thank you, Love," he says quietly, kissing a clean space on her palm, and standing quietly with her just a few moments more to try and quiet the rolling thoughts and worries, instead trying to focus on just her. On how loved he feels in this moment.

There's a sense of calm that washes over him after a moment, too. An ethereal sort of blanket that blessedly dampens the multitude of constantly swirling thoughts; things to remember to do, to keep in mind, fears of what might come to pass and plans for things that will. All of it becomes just a low hum behind the siren song as it floats to his ears from the lake.

He knows its Chris and not some other creature. Even as a siren, Wolfe recognizes that song his heart has learned to harmonize with like he recognizes his own name. It's always been a sort of feeling around Chris, the Siren has just made it tangible.

What he doesn't realize in hearing that song is how readily he starts to move towards it. His eyes glaze over a little, peaceful recognition smoothing out his features as he turns towards the lake. His hands slide from around Amelia, one tracing down her arm to loosely hook his fingers in hers even as he takes his steps to the water, seemingly uncaring of the dirt and whatever else that sticks to his bare feet on the way.

It feels nice to be called like this. Like its an answer to his selfish desire to be removed from responsibility. He doesn't have to worry about everything. He just has move to the water and let his siren pull him down and away. No more thinking, no more fear, just a gentle current and a song of safety...

The sudden drift of a melody calling to them isn't surprising to Amelia when she watched Chris dive into the lake in his siren form. She can feel the way the melody speaks to her in a way that doesn't require words, but resists the call. They need to wash off and settle before continuing to cook or go into the temple for their own explorations, but there's no need to rush. A moment longer with Wolfe to be certain he's all right, then they can--

Her thoughts are disrupted when Wolfe gently tugs at her hand, encouraging her toward the water with him. Amelia blinks a few times and looks up at him, concerned when she notices the distant look to his face. A heed of the call to come, perhaps? It matters little. She needs him clearheaded before they get in.

"Wolfe." She keeps her voice steady and calm as she gives his hand a return tug. If she can manage it, she'll try to guide him to one of the large rocks by the shore. "Love, let's at least get undressed before we get in. I don't want to ruin my boots or lose any of my knives. You could even--" She bites her tongue suddenly, keeping herself from asking him to undress her.

Stop. Not now. Too soon. Focus on what's happening, not that stupid thread of wanting that's still living under her skin.

Another tug as she takes a breath, this one coming with a dig of her heels into the earth. "I need to take my things off, then we can see what our siren wants from us, all right?" She tries for a teasing smile. "It'll keep your shirt from destroyed that much longer if you take it off now." She can bribe him into getting naked and that's fine, right?

Chris sings, largely unaware of the extra pull he's put in the song. As much as this was a moment of peace, it was also a chance to try his siren's abilities on his own plane. This form has always been modeled on stories of old of the creatures who sank sailors and drowned young fools, but actually knowing if he was as he was meant to be here and not just some Duplicity-created thing was...good. It was another sign he was himself, no matter how he was made.

The blackjaws and one catfish circle closer, and it's simple work to coax the eel-like green fish close to the shore in a writhing mass of flailing bodies that are simple to catch or beach. The catfish he kills more personally, a swipe of talons across its underbelly that will feed other things here before Chris claims the rest for their needs. It would serve them a long while once prepared and dried. He's quietly grateful for the years of fish preparing and cooking he'd been doing for his own desires in Duplicity; it would make a good addition to their survival skills, better than diplomacy and the sex he wasn't supposed to look to anymore.

A note of annoyance stretches through his song, but doesn't break the melody or the power woven in it; he didn't intend to stop that until he knew they'd collected enough fish. To that end, his golden head pokes up from the water a few feet from the writhing fish mass to watch the results.

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dirty 20 deception check.

25 Insight!

11 insight riiiip lol

cw: suicidal ideation. He's okay though, really x.x.

/doubt

such doubt

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CW: compulsion, DC 19 wisdom save to resist

13 :x

Nat 20!!

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