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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She could disagree with him about what she should be focusing on, but she doesn't want to have that fight. It's easier to breathe after throwing her knives for over an hour and their talk earlier, but she's still so on edge that she could run into the waning light and not be back for hours. Avoiding any temptation for that is best.

"Yes please. I need to see them on you before I start." She hurries to finish her soup as he pulls on his newly acquired pants, rinsing her bowl and her hands before putting the needle and one bobbin of thread on the table next to her knives. She's going to need one of those to cut fabric.

"Move around a little once they're on. Nothing too strenuous, mind, but enough that I can see how they move with you."

Wolfe almost tells her 'yes, Mistress,' with his tongue firmly in his cheek, but decides that's probably not a good idea if they're not going to even be talking about this until after the Shadowfell tomorrow. And honestly, he very much wants to talk first. With both of them. And probably not do anything with one or the other of them individually first, but that bears more discussion too. So with a mock-salute in lieu of snarky banter, Wolfe promptly divests himself of the loose trousers from the wardrobe and slips into the hand-me-downs.

They're too loose in the waist, he's relieved to find, but the cut is at least forgiving enough that that's probably all that needs taken in. They're too short as well, of course, but thats to be expected and they're at least still long enough to tuck into the tops of his boots.

With a grin, Wolfe does a little shimmy to satisfy her requirement to move around in them. "How's this?"

Edited (autocorrect needs to stop correcting words that are already words) 2025-11-19 05:29 (UTC)

“Ah, of course.” He says it gently instead of pointing out that, aside from Jon’s documentaries, rarely had Chris seen a reliable movie. Nor one that likely focused on the finer points of washing.

“For more delicate things, you simply rub your fingers over the fabric in the suds. Try to avoid running the fabric against itself unless you know it’s hardy enough to take it or unless it’s got stains to remove.”

He fetches Amelia’s shirt from the murky depths and its faded bloodstains from yesterday.

“See, this needs a bit more work, but it’s not too delicate a fabric, so I’ll need to run it over the agitators here a few more times.”

He demonstrates by pressing the fabric of one of the worst spots along the smoothed ridges of the washboard.

“Once we have real soap, I’ll show you the proper ratios, your washing machines were useful but used so much soap fir arguably so little dirt.”

He looks over to Jon with his lopsided smile. “But I’m sure you know all that. Just reminding myself after so long.”

Not that it was true, but it had been some time since he’d actually washed his own or anyone else’s clothes like this. Maybe a decade.

The idea of having to touch clothes that have unmentionable substances on them instead of just spraying them down with a stain remover and tossing them in the wash is painful. "People like to keep their things clean, and it's not just dirt anyone was worrying about in Duplicity. Get a black light, and I'm sure the whole place would have glowed brighter than an irradiated swamp." God only knows the what fluids they came in contact with daily just from existing out in the world. It's a wonder Jon hadn't become a complete hypochondriac, washing himself after every excursion from the house.

"Are there... sanitation facilities in most cities? I know you said you had plumbing in Deismyr, but-but most people know about washing their hands as much as their clothes. Right?" If not, soap might be another exorbitant expense.

Even as he talks, Jon continues to watch Chris closely.

Short and loose in the waist isn't terrible considering the trousers fit everywhere else without being too tight or so loose that they're falling off him everywhere. They'll do for the few days that they're needed, though if they fall apart for one reason or another before they're done in Bastila she won't put any blame on Wolfe. And she'll take the money for a new pair out of anything she earns while they're in town.

Chuckling softly, she puts her hands on his hips to still him. "Perfect. Now hold still while I measure or these will be uncomfortable when the time comes." She pinches the fabric at the waist on one side and then the other, judging with her fingers how much to take them in on either side. It's enough fabric that she has a brief idea to make this easier for them both in the long run.

"Hold a moment longer, please." She rushes to the table and back, retrieving the needle, thread, and one knife. Two quick cuts gets her enough thread to throw a few loose stitches down the side of his each leg starting at the waist of the trousers to let her judge if she's taken in too much or too little fabric. It only takes her a minute or two and the stitches aren't meant to hold, but they're plenty for her to judge and for the most important test.

"Try a little movement now. A few steps and that little shimmy of yours again." Her smile barely contains her smirk as she looks up at him. "To test the pants, not for me. Tell me how they feel now, if they're too lose or too tight, and then I can take them and get started on the full alteration."

"Are you sure it's not for you?" Wolfe teases, wagging his hips again in a slower but more exaggerated fashion as he paces to and fro.

"Feels good to me. Not like they're slipping off anymore," he decrees, resisting the urge to say something about her slipping them off of him. Its not hard when hes half distracted by the weight of his own body. Even the little dances he's done feel awkward, and while the pants are still not tight in the least, with the waist where it should be it still feels to him like there's not as much room. Its a stupid thing but it makes him antsy to go exercise with Jon.

"Should I take them off now so you can work on them?"

Edited 2025-11-20 05:42 (UTC)

At that, Chris rolls his eyes. "Yes, Jon, we know to wash our hands and behind our ears even. There's bathhouses aplenty, as not all places have indoor plumbing, but all will have soap for washing up. We do know about diseases and the like, you know. When we get to Ilnivur, you can find the most recent edition of our medical sciences so you can compare."

He lets Amelia's bloodstained shirt drop back into the water to soak longer and retrieves one of the pieces that didn't need as much attention to demonstrate wringing the soapy water from it before taking it over to the rinsing station, where he pours clean water slowly over the shirt, then dunks it into a bowl of more clean water, wrings it out, and clips it up on the clothesline to dry.

"I admit, it's a lot more time-consuming. I might try and come up with something like a washing machine when we're in the temple, but if we're staying in a regular place, we'll need to remember the basics. Paying for someone else to do it won't be a luxury we can afford for a bit."

"I didn't ask to pay anyone." Jon pulls back a little, self-conscious of his own ignorance on so many fronts. He's going to end up asking a local a question that will make him look like a complete idiot.

"Thank you for letting me watch." The gratitude is softer, some of the bite going out of him as he looks to see Amelia flirting with Wolfe and finds himself reminded of the fact that he's feeling guilty. Guilty, inadequate, likely as not to mess up some of the most basic chores.

"Wolfe wanted me for something. I... I'll wash some of my own things when I come back in. Or finish up anything." And hope he doesn't somehow destroy what clothes they have remaining.

"If it were for me, I'd not have asked you to put any pants back on." Just to make that point very clear. Keeping her hands busy is appreciated, but she doesn't need it so much that she wouldn't have asked him to wait to try the new trousers on until after they'd had a different kind of fun. They're waiting, though, and so all this effort with pants on and pants off is entirely for Wolfe's benefit.

She leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Now, off with these so I can make alterations while I sit quietly beside Chris and see if he's ready to talk. You and Jon have practice and exercise to get to." There's no telling what the cleric will be up for when she sits close, but she needs to ask. She owes him several apologies and she will give them in whatever time he allows. Everything can wait until he's ready to deal with her shit again.

Her rejoined earns an indelicate laugh from him. That's she can go toe to toe with him verbally has always been delightful and he has to remind himself again that they're waiting for a reason.

With a grin in appreciation of her wit, he strips off the pants, putting his own back on with minimal reluctance, but not with much eagerness either. Its similar to this morning (Matron, was that just this morning?) with Topher. He was aware he didn't have any bottoms on, it just didn't matter. He feels like that should matter.

"Good luck, Love. He'll come around. Just don't be too down on yourself; he hears that as misdirection, trying to make him feel sorry for you instead of angry, even if that's not what you're doing. He knows, but it makes him angry anyway," Probably a little more than he should say, but they've been floundering about this for so long he has to say something. Chris certainly wont say anything directly.

With a kiss to her temple and a squeeze to her shoulder, Wolfe goes off to retrieve Jon from whatever soothing of their Archivist's frazzled ego he's attempting over laundry.

“I didn’t mean-” he starts to correct the assumption that Chris had meant Jon wanted to pay someone when Chris had largely meant himself and what he’d been used to even before Duplicity. It doesn’t make it fully out of his mouth and Jon continues anyway and Chris turns his attention back to his task.

Depending on how long his boys took, he’d likely be done before they came back in. There wasn’t that much to clean yet. He doesn’t say that either.

Chris nods and offers a small smile. “Have fun. Genuinely. Amelia and I can manage not to kill each other for a little while.”

It’s largely a joke, but he does need to talk to her. Three times over, really.

When Jon heads off to join Wolfe, Chris takes a deep, fortifying breath and continues his work. If Amelia doesn’t come over on her own, he’ll call her over…but he did want to get this finished up, regardless of all that needed saying.

Edited 2025-11-22 05:07 (UTC)

Jon grimaces when he's told to 'have fun.' Anything related to exercise is likely to be the antithesis of that, but he trudges to the door and outside along with Hawke after pulling his boots on.

"I'm not especially in the mood for sparring if that's what you want me to help you with," he tells his friend as soon as they're outside. Amelia's boyfriend. Would he be so genial if he knew what the Archivist had done a few hours ago? If he knew how close Jon had come to feeding on Amelia. Even if he can tell himself it was an accident, it's not one so easily forgiveable as most.

Jon swallows that down as he wraps his arms around himself again, as much for the cold as for his need for some sort of pre-emptive defense against any prying Wolfe might do.

"You sounded like you were enjoying yourself with Amelia."

"Jon, I would never ask you to spar for my exercize," he wouldn't break much of a sweat.

Wolfe himself doesn't venture past the threshold for fear of losing all his clothes again. Instead he leans against the frame and hooks his thumbs in the waist of his pants. "We talked about our - my - situation. It settled some things for both of us and honestly I feel a lot better than I have since we arrived. A lot more stable, anyway."

Deciding he's made Jon feel silly enough to get at least a little vindictive, which is going to help the little exercise he has in mind or so he thinks, Wolfe motions to his friend with his chin. "And... why are you outside?"

"I-" Wolfe is still inside, looking at him like he's the one acting oddly. The Archivist's embarrassment flares again. "You said something about practice!"

Jon stomps back inside. "Just tell me where we're going so we can give them privacy." He gestures sharply over to Chris and Amelia. He has his guesses as to why he's been invited to do this, after all. Clearly it's to give the cleric and the rogue a chance to talk.

Even if he really needs to talk to Amelia, as well.

"Then head to the library and we'll close the door. I'm only going to do push ups; I'm sorry I lead you astray." He at least has the decency to not laugh, even if the affectionate amusement is there in his tone.

He follows Jon on into the other room and shuts the door behind him, ignoring his instinct to check and see if Amelia and Chris are alright. He'd be able to hear if they had a row, he's sure, even witb the door closed.

"So the idea I had I got from one of those stupid school things we had to do on Duplicity, but it actually worked. And its not sex, don't worry," he adds, seeing Jon getting ready to protest.

"We make a list of useful words and their meanings, then rip up the paper into strips. One of us will draw a paper and say the meaning and the other has to say what word that is. If they're wrong, its worth a set of push ups or sit ups, as you prefer." He figures he's going to get far more wrong than Jon will, which will be both a boost to Jon's ego and to Wolfe's physique. "And if one of us gets three wrong in a row, we can have a penalty. Say I miss three, then on that third one I have to do the push-ups one handed or with you sitting on my back or something."

Mention of the PUSSY Academy has Jon's hackles rising immediately. He remembers Wolfe being a troublemaker in his class and making the man write lines. If it's something like that, he-

"I thought this was exercise for you." The Archivist wrinkles his nose at the prospect of doing push-ups or sit-ups. It sounds like a sneaky way of trying to get him to exercise, too.

He knows he could probably do well, but... What if he messes up? Some of his confidence is more fragile than usual at the moment.

Drat, he'd hoped Jon would be on board a little more equally, but this is fine.

"I figured I would probably be the only one getting anything wrong if this afternoon was any indication, but I can be the only one answering if you prefer," he shrugs, gesturing for Jon to follow him. "I have to help make the list though or there's no way I'll know anything on it."

He squints at the mage, not at all trusting this. Jon understands wanting to get him away from the others so that they can talk, but he and Wolfe have been studying for a good several hours. "Not that I don't appreciate an avid student, but what exactly is this? If you want to exercise and study, we can just do that. Is the exercise a punishment for you, really?"

His eyes trace over Wolfe's muscular arms before returning to his face, expression wholly skeptical. "Or are you trying to distract me from something beyond Chris and Amelia? I wasn't going to try to listen in. I'm not that nosy." Mainly because he thinks he'll get what he needs to from Chris if there's anything to tell.

And he's been hearing Amelia's self-flagellation most of the day.

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