1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of ... (#6)

Pardys Isles

"Owen! How have you not mentioned this before now?"

The half-elf's brother sidesteps out the door, the smooth, silent motion suggesting either timidity (reinforced by his overall unremarkable appearance on the smaller side of average for a human male) or lethality (reinforced by the outright ridiculous quantity of weapons he's wearing openly).

Maybe all the weaponry is intentional, to mask how nondescript he is beneath it?

He scans them and their surroundings before answering, "I have, but in hindsight, I should have been clearer about breadth of context."

She sighs. "Find out what it is, to keep me off it, will you? Feels too good. I'll go fix Trouble's nets for them."

Weevil frowns. "You hate repairing nets."

"Yep. That's the point. Negative associations and all that." The half-goblin's gaze lingers on the half-elf's brother even as she turns to leave. "Sorry for the tease."

"Sst." He flicks her chin, gives her a quick peck of a kiss. "Apology for taking care of yourself? You know better."

She smiles wistfully. "Break my arm later?"

He winces. "Please don't joke about that. Point noted, but not funny."

Ask, Wight pushes herself. You have to start making things your business unless you want to be forced into having Salles as your business. "You've broken her arm?"

"Oh, Owen cracks bones all the time in bed." It's said pleasantly, a throwaway line as the woman leaves.

Owen watches her go, not protesting her claim, despite the cant to his expression that might be ruefulness.

Weevil's expression curls up with revulsion and fear. "Oh let's not talk about what you two get up to. I still have nightmares of that time you two 'forgot' to lock your door."

Owen sighs. "That was an accident, Weevil."

"If you say so. Blood all over the accursed room--how do you two even clean that? It's not as if either of you has water magic."

"Weevil, did you have cheese puffs?"

Why does he ask-- Oh, that was what Gob blamed for her own intoxication, wasn't it?

"Did I have cheese puffs? Of course I had cheese puffs! I love cheese and puffy bread, gooey with cheese..."

"Why don't you go help Gobarul? Make sure she doesn't topple over the railing? I'll take your post."

Weevil scowls but goes, muttering in a language Wight doesn't know--making her realize they've all been speaking seafarthen.

"Looking for someone or something?" Owen asks.

It takes her a moment to realize he's asking her. "I'm told you can help me find Jarvim."

The cool, steady look Owen gives her is evidence of the 'warrior' part of the warrior monk he is.

"I thought Knights of Light were celibate." Yet this one has a lover, one who has a husband--or is he the husband? How can he be, as a Knight of Light?

"A common misconception." He glances at her again, and his brisk tone softens. "We're expressly forbidden intimate relations without express consent of all other parties. Captains who don't double-check lose their positions when caught. That's how Taran ended up my captain--my previous one only checked on my wife once."

He pauses. "There are other limits, but those have more variability in interpretation and application. And spouses tend to prefer having you around for more than a few weeks every few years."

Wight stares. She's had to spend months apart from her lord, before, and she always hates it. Spending years apart, for that to be normal...sounds horrific. "You had the cheese puffs, I take it."

"Of course. But that's irrelevant--I'm immune to intoxicants unless I actively suppress my magic. There's no rule that we can't tell outsiders this."

Wight hesitates, truly not wanting to ask--it's not her business!--but this opportunity to practice asking is too useful to pass up. "Your sister doesn't know, though."

That wasn't a question. She sighs at herself.

"My sister is comfortable not knowing. Knowing would cause her discomfort. There's no need to tell her until she asks."

"She knows about the pain play, then?" A question! Good!

Oh holy Creator, why did I just ask that? Why couldn't she have asked something useful, like why they have a guard here?

"Pain...play?" Owen repeats slowly, the tone very much someone encountering an unfamiliar term. "I don't see how my intimate preferences are anyone's business but my captain's, my wife's, and perhaps my medic's."

"You're right. I apologize."

Owen frowns at her, with a shift in his aura that says he's perceiving through his magic, too. "Why are you seeking Jarvim?"

Wight eyes him back, but there's no indicator of a threat, and it's not as if she would be able to stop him from harming her if it was. "I'm told that royal magic Jarvim was all happy about leaving him has, for whatever reason, decided to bother me."

Once he stops laughing, Owen directs her inside, with instructions for safely bypassing the sparring and combat practice and crevice deep enough to kill a person who fell in.

Wight stares at him on that last one.

He shrugs. "My sister collapsed a building on some of the zombies. There were side effects."

Wight tightens her fist on the rough rock she grips, knowing enough about volcanoes and islands to be very concerned about that, but she goes.