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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Well... that works, too. The Archivist follows his boyfriend outside, surprised by the eagerness. Maybe it's so Jon isn't fiddling with a potentially cursed object while he's cleaning up. Jon steps outside, closing the door as he goes, and finds himself completely naked.

"Good Lord!" The cold is bracing, and his immediate instinct to run back inside wars with his embarrassment about forgetting about the clothes and knowing Wolfe and Amelia will be right there to witness his shame.

He stands frozen on the steps of the temple as the cigarettes he'd shoved in his pocket tumble to the ground. The only mercy here is that no one will be able to see the lingerie he'd been wearing.

"Chris!" The name is practically a hiss as Jon struggles with making a choice on what to do. But then- "Get me some bloody clothes. Christ, this is stupid!"

If he'd been a little less flustered, maybe he would have remembered to warn Jon about the clothes and have him avoid a repeat of his and Wolfe's performances earlier. Alas, he's not, and his poor boyfriend is subjected to the early evening cold of the North-Eastern Heartlands. He had told Jon a couple of times that their proximity to the High Ice, barely a few weeks North, made the nights beyond chilly in the Moonsea. Now he had first-hand experience.

He doesn't bother hiding his amusement as he pauses long enough to kiss the top of Jon's head. "Ah, and here I was enjoying the impromptu view. One moment."

He does hurry back inside to fetch one of the oversized sweaters from one of their packs and a pair of Jon's pants with only a spared glance of amusement to the other two, if they look over to him at all.

Then he's back at Jon's side to help him into both. "I'm half convinced this thing doesn't want me to look at it and is causing strife to come up every time I intend to do so." But not for much longer.

As soon as Jon's decent once more, Chris turns his attention to the lighter and starts with a simple Detect Magic spell. His eyes turn silver and look over the web pattern, faint lines of failing magic tracing along it in the same patterns. In fact, they were almost...coiling? Like the curling legs of a dying spider clinging to the lighter.

"Abjuration, but more for itself than you...at least so far as my magic can categorize the powers of the Fears. Divination as well...likely to track you. Your Web's got some Eye in it...but they're both fading. It's all weakened and falling apart."

"You should make one up, though honestly we're not nobility, at least not anymore so we can-" Chris comes trotting back inside and grabs a sweater and some of Jon's pants. They lock eyes in twin bemused expressions, but Wolfe doesn't say anything as Chris goes to make sure Jon isn't too scandalized or frozen. Patience' snoot is visible briefly through the open door but she remains outside with Jon.

"Glad to see I'm not the only forgetful person here today," he laughs a little, turning back to the food. "But anyway. What would we use the symbols for? Maybe if we start adventuring we could be a little band. I suppose we'd need a name, then."

"It's not meant to identify us to others like that," she sighs. Chris' quick entrance and exit to rummage clothes for Jon gives her a moment to breathe through the urge to tell Wolfe to forget it and that it doesn't actually matter. It does matter, if only to her, for reasons she hates having to pull at for fear it'll cause the whole of her to untangle when they can't afford that to happen. There's a chance he'll still wave it off and tell her passingly to do as she pleases, but if he's going to play this off at all he needs to understand why she cares.

"It's for us." Hang the name for their 'adventuring band'. She doesn't care right now. "It's to tie us together. When I was--" Hold it. Hold yourself. Don't pull too hard on this. A long, shaking breath in and then back out.

"The Family in Ragneux has a crest to mark their work and their documents, but do you know what the people in that family do with it? They mark themselves with it to tie themselves to the others, to prove their care for one another. Not all of them do for different reasons, but it's not meant for anyone else outside of the Family either. They show their commitment to those they've chosen. Just as I show my commitment to you and Chris by weaving what we thought was ours together in my designs."

She wipes at her eyes and then the coins start clinking against table as she counts them out. "That's why it matters to me. I want you all to always know that I'm with you and that you're my priority." If she has to do this only for herself because the others act the way Wolfe does, so be it. They can't stop her.

"We have the equivalent of nine gold and seven silver here. It's a good start for our needs."

Jon is covering himself for modesty, such as it may be, and glares into the middle distance as Chris kisses his head and moves inside. The cleric is blessedly quick, though, and soon enough, Jon is ensconced in a warm sweater... if still barefoot. He fetches his cigarettes while Chris does his assessment. The change in his eyes is a little worrying, but he knows what it is, and it's also interesting to watch.

"It's not so much... one has the other in it as it's a spectrum." Jon takes the lighter back to look it over. "The Eye and the Web are close to one another in that sense, though. Whereas the Eye and the Slaughter tend to have less overlap. I suppose it's good it's falling apart, but I... knowing I've had it all this time. It's one of the only things I have left that I actually arrived with in Duplicity." Or that the Duplicity creature created with him? Unclear, but he's choosing to read it his own way.

"I wonder if- I mean, the tape recorders are going to stop, as well, aren't they? You don't have anything like them in Faerun, and they're connected to my world." To the power he's going to lose soon. Again, there's an impulse to confess to Chris about what really happened with Amelia, but Jon holds back on it. He still needs to talk to her so they're on the same page, either bound to both keep the secret, or agreed it would be best to deal with the fallout from Wolfe and Chris sooner rather than later.

"In any case, thank you. For looking at it." Jon uses it to light up one of his cigarettes and takes a long drag, eyes closing and sigh coming out maybe a little more pleasured than it should. But god, he'd needed this. "Are you feeling less... inclined to fly off? Sorry about starting all that. I didn't actually intend to kick a beehive."

Chris feels a press at his leg and looks down to see Patience, a slim aura of magic surrounds her as well, but innate and as strong as anything native to this plane. At least she wasn't fading or losing her abilities like some of them. He spares her a scratch behind the ears once his hands are freed from the lighter with its owner's retrieval.

He looks back up at Jon for his question, and Chris waves a hand dismissively as his eyes return to their normal color. It wasn't your fault. The conversation itself wasn't...it's worth having. I didn't take well to three other people weighing in on how I should or shouldn't handle my own ghosts without talking to me, so much as telling me. Everyone acted like I was ready to walk out this door and contact Bane when all I was talking about was the very last option of a rather long and more probable list. You weren't the one who annoyed me the most...though I'm not sure still how I feel about your little nod to me. You're practical, but I know you feel about Bane how I feel about Elias."

He crosses his arms as Patience settles by the door again. "We're a protective lot, but protectiveness can reach a ridiculous level if not checked now and again."

That's a lot of gold, but Wolfe doesn't give voice to his mixed feelings about that, practicality warring with sentiment. Instead he stops what he's doing and turns to look at Amelia, giving her his full undivided attention.

There's a lot to untangle in her phrasing, separating her from her House and her family symbology, saying what she thought was theirs instead of simply what was. Wolfe reaches over to take her hand, a worried crease between his eyebrows, trying to figure out how to respond. He doesn't disagree, on some level. He can't use the Amell crest any longer, and it's more a symbol of a past life than the present one. Its the same for Chris too, a sense of identity that he has to shed and figure out who he is now. Who they are now.

That thought is was sparks realization dawning to Wolfe about how Amelia is trying to work through things. She no longer has her old self - never did, from a certain point of view - but instead of continuing to wallow she's trying to build that new sense of self with the rest of them integral to it.

Wolfe smiles with gentle pride and squeezes her hand. "I would be honored to take on a new symbol of your design, Love."

It's hard to breathe for a moment when he takes her hand. She's so certain he's going to talk past her about this in ways he has before and it makes her brow unconsciously furrow. And then he smiles and acknowledges her meaning by giving her the creative freedom to make something for them, and she's completely unmanned by it. Her lips part, breaths soft between them, and her eyes widen as she tries to find something to say to properly thank him for trusting her with this.

Nothing comes to mind. In one of those rare moments where all thoughts flee, all she can do is stare up at him and nod. He's trusting her with this and showing his care by accepting this without pushing back or interrogating her about her feelings.

Dreams does she love this man. Someday, when things are more settled and they're all written into the Weave, she's going to properly show him how much.

Slowly, she nods again then gives his hand a return squeeze. Words still aren't there, but she manages to press her lips together and smile back at him, expression full of warmth and gratitude. She hopes it's enough to convey even a fraction of how much she appreciates this.

"I will say, I don't... I don't know if I can completely disconnect myself from my family's crest," he admits quietly, hesitating only because he knows she needs this in a way he does understand and doesn't want to undermine.

"Being a Hawke and an Amell is still very much part of my identity, even if I know I technically never set foot on Thedas and even when I thought I had, I wanted to be rid of it. My memories are still my memories, however they came about. I don't want to forget that history that makes me who I am, even while we figure out who we are now in knowing it was... borrowed,"

Wolfe finds the word and lets out a breath, then smiles again. "But who I am now is part you, and part Chris, and part Jon, and I want to keep that foremost. I know you might not feel the same about for former, and that's alright. We each have to figure that patt out for ourselves."

"Maybe... maybe we use the halves of the crest separately, like this." She reaches under her sweater to pull out the pendant Wolfe gifted her. "Not because you're broken but because you've grown so much that you aren't held down like that anymore. Your wings have spread to encompass more, including all of us."

He protects them, holds them through their lowest moments, embraces them with warmth in their joy. What better way to represent that then with each of the hawks guarding their flanks?

The idea puts a more broad smile on his face. "I love that idea. Any for the rest of us?"

He goes back to preparing their meal, but most of his attention is still clearly on Amelia and her designs. "I'm sure there's a pen or something somewhere; you can use my journal to sketch out ideas."

"I don't think I'm quite ready to sketch anything. I need to know what to include first." She chuckles as she puts the coins back in the box and starts to fold all of the clothes into piles based on who they might fit. The trousers she has earmarked for adjusting to fit Wolfe are left on top of a pile for her.

"For all of us... there should be a raven's feather, or maybe even a few of them. We owe our soul threads to the Raven Queen, but we've all revolved around Chris long enough that ravens are part of us." Little Thunder squawks from somewhere above them, indignant at having not been mentioned. Amelia rolls her eyes fondly and calls the bird to her, ruffling her chest feathers as a sign of affection once she's settled on the rogue's shoulder. "And for our favorite raven, of course. Our lives are incomplete without her."

"Of course! Maybe a few paw prints too, for the girls. And, I don't know, moth wings for Poppet?" Mostly he's joking. Mostly.

He tosses a small bit of meat for Little Thunder, who breaks off of being ruffled to catch it midair, then settles right back on Amelia's shoulder to eat it. Thankfully it isn't too juicy.

"Maybe something signifying intelligence for Jon. A book? Anything but eyes," Wolfe snorts in amusement, pleased for Jon that he'll get to figure himself out without the Eye. "What about for you, Love?"

"I'll need an imprint of their paws if I'm to include those." Something she can take easily once they have ink and paper. They'll be difficult to include when they're so large, but they'll be as much of a challenge as figuring out where to put the moth wings. Every member of their family will be represented one way or another, she'll make certain of that.

Wolfe turns the question to her and she quiets, expression becoming more thoughtful and pensive. "I don't know. The herb leaves have defined me in Duplicity and you have them in your skin, but..." But they're not hers. They belong to someone else, someone whose memories she was given but who isn't her. She sighs, lifting a hand to gently stroke Little Thunder's chest once the raven has finished her treat. It gives her a chance to pull herself from thoughts that will lead to a breakdown.

"Something will come to me. I'm not in a hurry when I don't plan to embroider anything we'll wear until we specifically buy clothes for ourselves." It's a deflection and she doesn't try to play it as anything else. Before he can comment, though, she adds, "I'll ask for suggestions when I'm ready. Tonight's not the time for such thoughts. Not for me."

Again she's honest about what she can handle and again Wolfe feels a warm bloom of pride in his chest. He turns and leans over to plant an affectionate kiss on the top of her head.

"We have plenty of time. I'm sure whatever you come up with will be perfect. You're uncannily good at making sure things are just right." Exacting and thorough when she's working with her hands, something he admires as someone whose handiwork always ends at 'good enough'.

"It's a matter of practice, that's all. I wasn't good at this when I started." Or so 'her' memories tell her. Dreams, it's so unnerving to remember sitting with her mother and learning how to do this. Worse, she shared one of the earliest memories she has of that same education with Wolfe when Duplicity's effects told her she had to gift him something of deep sentimental value. What value does it have now when it was created out of nowhere and never belonged to the mother she thought she had and--

She inhales sharply when Little Thunder bites at her ear. "Ow, Thunder please. I'm here, I swear." She laughs, a very tired sound, and pulls out one of the silver pieces to offer to the bird. This is a pleasing offering, and as soon as she has it in her beak she takes wing up to one of her perches higher up in the temple.

"All right, I guess that means we have nine gold and six silver until we can get that one back. We might have to wait until Chris takes down this temple and sets up the next."

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cw: mention of child death, suffocation

cw: mention of child death

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