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

'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.

Amelia's voice breaks through the song that winds around his psyche and Wolfe stops and blinks rapidly, not entirely certain what he'd been doing.

Right. A rinse in the lake. Chris was calling them. He really must be losing his magic if his careful mental fortifications didn't protect him from the song. Or... No. He's always been weak to Chris' song. Even now he misses the peace it brought, freedom from thought instead of the cacophony his mind was before. He's not upset Amelia broke the hold - it's better to be clear-headed about these things - just a little disappointed.

The look she gives him definitely turns his thoughts another way, though. One he shouldn't but also... It's difficult to remember the harm when she's looking at him like that and talking about stripping down. "Hmm, a good point."

He grins and tugs his shirt off over his head, tossing it over to a nearby rock, after which he steps towards her to reach in her belt where he knows she keeps one of her knives just at the small of her back, effectively crowding her as Chris' head pops above the water. "Do you want some help? It's the least I can do to wash your shirt after I stained it, after all."

Stop. Don't do this. Don't--

Her breath catches in her chest and cheeks flush as he steps against her. She barely notices the pull of her knife, so distracted is she by Wolfe. The cool of his skin through her shirt, his breath against her face, the rumble of his voice in his chest...

"Hang the shirt, I'd rather you wash me." She looks up at him through her lashes, then leans closer to ghost her lips across his. Her voice drops to a whisper. "I've missed your hands on me. It's been too long since we were together. Since we made love."

Dreams, this is the worst idea. They haven't talked yet about what they each want and what she's done. But by all the gods on this plane, she misses being intimate with those she loves.

Chris watches as Wolfe steps in close to Amelia and sees how she responds; of course, neither is able to resist the other. Part of him only feels more annoyance. Were they supposed to be taking things slow? Had she told him what she'd done in her grief and selfishness? Was it his place to even harbor that beyond what it meant between himself and Amelia?

How could it be years now that he'd been in relationships and still he felt like he had no idea what he was doing?

Something in him sours, and it feels petulant, but in his siren form, it's harder to bury and let go of his own emotions. His song breaks, and he shoves the catfish's 9-foot body onto the shore nearest him, pushing and beaching a few more of the blackjaws that don't escape as well. A neat little corpse pile he'd deal with. Later.

He wasn't going to strand himself out here while they...did whatever they deemed necessary. Nor was he in a place to even find the idea of potentially being invited to join them appealing.

At the very least, he uses every ounce of willpower in him to smother his own song and bite back on the urge to screech his irritation as he takes to the air in a drizzle of lake water and soars over to the temple door. He'd wanted to give Jon his time, but...well...now he needed to be inside. Still as a siren, but that was fine. The quartz floors of the temple were easy enough to slide along.

The siren song halts Jon’s consideration of a pair of silken panties that he’s fairly certain had been amongst his wardrobe in the city. The Archivist quickly shoved everything away and heads for the front door. The music cuts off, which is mildly concerning, but before he can check outside again, the hand knob… the ‘handle’ twists and there’s Chris in full siren form slithering his way inside.

“What…?” He catches a glimpse of Wolfe and Amelia at the edge of the water before having to step back and out of the way to give Chris room.

“Are you all right?” The others don’t seem alarmed enough for something to have been in the lake or for Amelia to have told them anything troubling about her encounter with Jon, and Chris looks… annoyed? “It’s, uh… it’s clear in here. Poppet and I were very thorough. Ah! And my cat’s name was the Captain.”

He hovers nearby, a little uncertainly before adding. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Apart from the hand and web nonsense. At least there aren’t any actual spiders. Or monsters in the cupboards.”

Wolfe barely has his fingers on Amelia's waistband when there's an unceremonious slap of fish against the ground. The song is entirely gone too, Chris freeing himself from the water in a spray of crystalline droplets and smoothly gliding to the temple door. Even as a siren, Wolfe can tell he's annoyed. He's not always the best at hiding his emotions even as a human, let alone a creature that expresses itself through the very emotional act of song.

That breaks his mood, worried for what could have caused this sudden outburst. Was it something he did? He and Amelia together? Or... what they're about to do? Wolfe knows he's coming off a bit of a hypocrite here, having just told Chris they should all take it slow. This isn't slow.

Setting his mouth, Wolfe kisses Amelia's forehead firmly and steps back, though his hand moves from her waist to her arm in an unwillingness to lose that closeness entirely. "I'm sorry, I know we both want this, but I don't trust myself to be at all normal about it right now, and that isn't fair to you. Its barely been a full day since we escaped. I'd been... I fantasized about so much to get through it, I don't want to have a poor reaction to the real thing."

He also doesn't want to be intimate just for the sake of feeling something good after having such terrible thoughts not long ago at all, but that part he keeps to himself for now.

"It doesn't mean I don't love you, or not desire you, let me be clear. I've wanted little more than to out my mouth all over you since I saw you again. Things are just... hard-" Wrong word. "-difficult to keep straight right now."

Fish hit the shore, Chris flies overhead, and all at once her heart drops into her stomach. Wolfe is right, they shouldn't do this. She knows that, has known it, yet she pushed.

Dreams, what a fool she is.

"You're right. We should wait, talk first and take things slow." She breathes deeply and moves her hands to his shoulders to steady herself. It takes more strength than she would admit to, and she hopes Jon is distracted enough by the siren to not hear her thoughts screaming about how much she doesn't want to do the hard part anymore. Not again. Not when Wolfe is so close.

Another breath to calm her heartbeat and she nods. "I believe you, and I trust you and your feelings. They're as deep as mine. We'll find our way back to each other. I know it." Neither of them will let it be any other way.

Gently, she rubs his biceps and then steps back. "Let's take care of the fish Chris left us, then rinse off quickly. We can wash our clothes after we have something else ready to wear."

Jon is there talking about bugs and monsters and his earnest mixture of concern and confusion is a breath of fresh air.

A low sound of frustration rumbles in his chest and Chris curls himself and his tails around Jon’s legs so he can shove his face into his partner’s side. His wings curve in around his Archivist.

“I’m fine. They’re annoying. I’m glad you like it. There’s books you haven’t read. You can’t take them out of here, but you can read them until we can afford real copies.”

His voice carries that slight echo of song behind it, betraying him behind his words even as he already gives himself away with his pettish body language.

‘Please be pleased. Make sense. Don’t go. Be honest.’

He frowns. “I should have made ear plugs. I should change back.”

Not that it’s making him less entirely curled around his Jon.

There’s irritation and neediness in the siren that Jon hadn’t entirely been expecting, but he’s spent long enough with Chris to have an idea of how to handle ruffled feathers of both the metaphorical and literal variety. It might help to assuage some of his guilt for lying to his boyfriend, as well.

His fingers dig into Chris’ wet hair, scratching along his scalp and down to the feathers at his back. “You’ve only just changed. Why don’t we get in the water? You need to wash off from the lake… and you need preening.” Whether that’s actually true or not, Jon expects the siren to favor it.

He stops stroking and catches a hand under Chris’ chin to pull his attention upward. “I saw some swim trunks in the wardrobe. Let me grab them and we can get started. Make yourself comfortable in the water, hmm?”

"A good plan," Wolfe says with a smile, though it's a somewhat heavy one. He feels like all he's been since getting to Faerun is heavy. Heavy thoughts, heavy frustrations, and just plain heavy in other ways. Amelia rubs at his biceps before letting go and he can feel how flabby he's gotten. He was winded just from a little light exercise earlier. Mak- Gods, he's almost glad they didn't go through with it; how much of a mood killer would it be were he to have to stop to catch his breath every few minutes?

That unflattering picture of himself in mind, Wolfe turns his attention to the fish. The small eely ones are easy to gut and he makes quick work of them, but the large catfish is something else. He's not sure he's ever seen one that big. It's going to take fifteen minutes or more to make sure he gets all the bones out. Thankfully, Amelia is there to help and between the two of them they get the fish prepared.

"That should be alright for now. Its cold enough it'll keep until we get clean then we'll make something that won't spoil before dinner." He whistles sharply for the girls, telling them to guard the fish from any scavengers. They both boof in assent, Cookie jumping on her hind legs for a moment in her happiness, though that has a lot more to do with the snack of game entrails than anything she's charged with currently.

After a quick rinse so as not to track blood and scales inside, Wolfe holds his hand out to Amelia. "I'm ready for a shower. You?"

It all feels... wrong. Like there's something hanging over them that she lacks the words for. It's too soon to say they won't make it through this, but her gut twists in uncomfortable ways as shadows of times leading to their hardest conversations come to mind.

Choose to believe them. She has to trust that if something is wrong, Wolfe would say so, if only to ask her to wait to talk about it until he was ready. There's no reason to think things have gone wrong or that her pushes toward sex - not even intimacy, for fuck's sake - are too much. He would tell her. They would all tell her if she was too much.

Or would they? Their siren broke the moment she and Wolfe were sharing in a frustrated and petulant manner. That means something.

She's quiet as they take care of the fish and clean up enough to go inside, and her smile is barely there when she takes his hand. "After I clean our clothes, yes. I need to do something useful with my hands before I'm ready to try and relax." And she feels like she owes Chris an apology for whatever it is she did that caused him to storm his way into the temple. Dreams, how many times is she going to owe him apologies for shit she's promised not to do within days or hours of making those promises?

When is he going to tell her it's too much?

"Let's see what our cleric has for us today. I'm certain it's exactly what we'll need." It's a deflection that's terribly offered and easy to read, and she doesn't care. She just needs a chance to clear her head, then she can deal with all of the bullshit she's done to these people who keep choosing her when they shouldn't.

The hand in his hair is almost immediately calming in a way he knows is very thoroughly learned after years of having his hair pet both just casually to have a calm night in, and while during pet play sessions. He doesn't fight it regardless. He leans into the touch and the tilt of his chin with only a brief snag from himself that maybe he shouldn't be indulging in this, it was silly to want, they hadn't even discussed if this was going to be part of their normal or fell too far into kink for Jon's comfort-

Those were Chris' concerns, not Chris-the-Siren's concerns. He nods. "In the wardrobe." There was a vast array of clothing needs in there, all for inside, but they'd do, even if their color scheming was largely monochromatic.

When he's been given leave to go, he drags himself over to the vastly diminished springs, now comfortably big for two people, maybe three, but four would be a tight fit...but plenty large enough for a single coiling siren. The water is hot to breathe, so he keeps his face and neck out of the water, but otherwise relaxes in, his wings lying out like huge carpets of feathers on either side on the rocky surrounding while he waits to melt further under Jon's attention.

He should feel bad for wanting it...but he'll try to muster those feelings later. Right now, the siren wanted preening and attention and to fill the temple with the subtle thrum of affection and contentment around the grateful kisses he peppers along what he can reach of his Archivist when he returns.

Jon picks up the dregs of some of those thoughts, the fear and uncertainty. They're concerns he's had, as well, if he should be indulging any of this sort of thing, if it strays too close to... But then pet play had never been about sex for him, just comfort. It's that thought that has him nodding to himself. This is probably a broader discussion they ought to have, but it's one that can wait. There's nothing inherently... peculiar about taking care of someone you love. He'll just avoid calling Chris his handsome bird. Out loud, at the very least.

He's quick about things once Chris lets him go, what with his clothes getting wet from the siren's clinging. Jon offers his boyfriend an encouraging smile before slipping into the changing room. His own clothes are discarded in a small pile on the floor and he tugs on the trunks before ordering Poppet not to eat his things before heading back out. They're simple black trunks with no adornment, and everything is a bit cold as Jon pads over to the springs on the bare marble.

"Here we are. Clever of you to leave your wings out for me." He kneels next to the water and reaches for the cleric, bending down further to kiss him, if he'll come up enough to allow it. "At least we know your matron's fine with sirens. I expect you'd have been tossed back out if she weren't." Small favors, but it's one potential difficulty off their plates.

"I'm going to get in behind you." He'd tease about behaving, but he's trying not to turn this into that. Entirely. "You'll look nicer than the rest of us by half when we're finished. I'm sure the zombies will be impressed tomorrow."

For a rogue, Amelia is remarkably bad at hiding her emotions. Which is probably not a fair assessment to make when they've all been going Through It for years now, let alone less than a full day after escaping from where they did. Whatever the reason, Wolfe is glad for it even if he's too tired to deal with his own issues, let alone someone else's. But it isn't a choice. He will, for her, for them, because his exhaustion is so much less important than their knowing that he's here for them, even if he has to say they'll handle things in time. Sometimes its most important just to listen.

"Come here," he asks gently in a way that is a question but not much of one. He takes her hand lightly, brushing rough fingertips against her wrist. "What's in your head? I believe you when you say we'll find our way to each other again, but I only want that to hold for the ultimate physical intimacies. The other things, the parts that make up the us of us, there's never a too soon for. Talk to me, Love. However you're feeling, I can confidently doubt you're alone in it."

If she pushes him away, then fine, he will leave it for now, but its important to him that she knows he will always listen.

She tries not to shudder at the touch to her wrist, knowing full well that Wolfe isn't going to do anything to hold her or to hurt her. With how scrambled and spiraling her thoughts are, it's easy to know but not believe things that are obvious truths. She pulls that hand to her chest, keeping it between them as she presses her forehead to his collarbone.

"I am in some of it." In what she did to herself, allowed to be done to her in that awful, aphro-fueled headspace she'd been in after the SLUT Center. She should have told Chris. She should have been honest with the one person out of all the others who would've understood why she refused to do that stupid challenge and asked for his help in taking care of the cravings that came after. So many people would have been there for her, people she's now lost forever and who likely don't even know they're never getting out of that dreamsforsaken city even if they take the 'deal' to leave. All of her friends, her Yennefer, Caleb, Krem...

She doesn't even realize she's crying again until she feels the cool of her tears against the fist she has curled between them. Fuck. No. It's not Wolfe's fault. It's not.

Please, dreams, don't let him think that.

"I can't." I have to hold back. I can't put that on him. Not yet. "It's... so much, Wolfe. It's too much after just getting you back. I was so reckless and stupid and I know I hurt so many people. I hurt Chris so much." He shouldn't forgive me. I shouldn't even be here after all of it. "I just... I-I--"

Her shoulders begin to tremble and her jaw aches as she both tries to hold back and to tell him to let it go. Somehow, neither of it comes out and instead she sobs loudly against him. Again and again he's the one to hold her through this and he deserves better. She should be better than this.

"I'm sorry." Always sorry. Always failing where she says she's trying. One day, he's going to see she's not worth it. "I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry."

He leans up for the kiss, of course, and grabs another to whatever part of Jon he can reach out and snatch for the purpose before his partner gets into the water. He shifts his tails first out of the way and then back so he can curl them around his boyfriend once he's settled in the water.

The comment about the matron causes him to pause momentarily. "I hadn't even thought of that. I suppose it adds to the 'uniqueness' if she has a siren worshiper. Most likely worship the sea-related forces, not death."

He rests his face on his folded arms and scratches mindlessly at the stones while his right wing helpfully stretches out for Jon's inspection.

"We've never tried this as a siren before...not beyond what you did to keep me sane the first time this happened." It's an observation, one he's not sure has a point, but it's an attempt to venture into a topic that isn't the one that bothered him so much outside.

"I'm sorry if I sing about your clever hands."

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CW: compulsion, DC 19 wisdom save to resist

13 :x

Nat 20!!

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Nat 1 Deception roll (lolol)

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