#idk just a small thing because i thought about yasha doing beau's hair

[beauregardlionett]

healing hands

Healing magic only did so much, especially when the wounds were deep.

There was a distinct...she wouldn’t say touch, but something to each caster’s magic. Like most of the arcane and divine, it took time to attune to the intricacies of the individual, to find those subtle and unique cues in the weave. By now, Beau could pin point how stretched Jester’s magic was by how intense the zing was through her veins. She knew Caduceus needed to rest by how deeply the warm curl of his magic traveled through her muscles. And if she didn’t sense it in the moment, she knew by how much she ached afterward.

A fair amount of healing meant sore muscles - like she had done a vigorous workout the day before. The best healing Beau got meant any lingering trace of stiffness was long gone by the time she finished her morning stretches.

This time though, a full day later, she sat up in her bed and winced. Her shoulder was tighter than it had been in a while. The joint stubbornly refused to move through her full range of motion without some kind of protest.

Beau raised her arm again, forcing herself to breathe as she did. Despite her best attempts, something pulled and protested and she dropped her arm again with a strangled curse. She couldn’t even put her fucking hair up. It seemed a miracle Beau got dressed this morning. But now she sat on the edge of her bed, frustrated at her inability to do this one simple task.

If she couldn’t even put her own hair up, what was she going to do if the group encountered hostiles in their travels? Without full mobility and use of her arm, Beau might as well be dead weight. The group would have to compensate and carry her weight, and what if they decided she wasn’t worth the effort? They had come a long way since Trostenwald, sure; but how far were they willing to go? Beau understood little about healing magic other than how it felt, but she figured it did little for old injuries. This one had been healed over with minimal magic and a night’s rest. Would magic even matter?

A knock on her door.

“Beau? Are you up?”

Yasha.

Beau debated staying silent, but that would likely only incite further concern and she couldn’t have that.

“Yeah,” she called back. “Just getting ready.”

“Okay,” Yasha said through the door. “Everyone is heading to breakfast. Do you mind if I come in?”

There was no reason to say no. Beau had stated that she was getting ready, so her unfinished appearance would not be unusual. Even if she pretended to be half dressed, the entire group had literally seen every one of them naked and soaking in a hot tub. Modesty did not exist between them.

“Yeah,” Beau answered without too much pause. “Come on in!”

She could not see the door to her tower bedroom from the edge of her bed, but she heard it open, then shut. The soft pad of Yasha’s boots against her floor followed, growing louder as she got closer. Beau tried for a normal expression and knew she fell painfully short when Yasha stopped in front of her and cocked an eyebrow.

“You look tense,” Yasha said without preamble. “Are you okay?”

Useless.

Beau bit her lip and tried for a grin, knowing before the expression even finished setting that she convinced no one. She held her limbs like she was in pain, like she might bolt with one wrong move. (Both of which were true.)

But what was she going to say? That she got hurt and was therefore useless to their day’s plans? That when they put the tower away after breakfast, Beau feared being left behind? They hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet. It felt far too early to confess such massive insecurities.

Her silence must have been more telling than she meant it to be, because Yasha knelt in front of her and placed her big, warm hands on Beau’s knees. Her mismatched eyes were twin pools of gentle concern. One thumb rubbed back and forth over the uneven ridge of Beau’s kneecap. Every line of Yasha’s posture denoted attentiveness to Beau’s condition, a willing participant in her struggle. It was something Beau still struggled to comprehend.

Sometimes she wished she knew how to lie to Yasha.

Except she didn’t.

The thought alone left a foul taste in Beau’s mouth. Yasha had only ever been honest with Beau, and she did the same in return.

They had come a long way since Trostenwald.

Beau deflated with a heavy exhale, fingers picking at a hangnail.

“My shoulder hurts,” she muttered. Something aged and defensive curled with an unpleasant roil beneath Beau’s sternum. “I don’t think it healed all the way after that fight the other day. I can’t even raise my arm to do my hair.”

Yasha’s eyes tracked to Beau’s shoulder, something shuttering over her expression for a moment as if she remembered the nasty wound that had sat there. Her fingers tightened for a moment over Beau’s knees before Yasha smoothed over her ragged edges with a steady breath.

“You’re scared.” Not a question.

Beau nodded, finding her voice failing her.

“Would you like my help?”

This was why Beau could never lie to Yasha. Even after months and months of travel and trial together - there was never any assumption. She always asked, and she always took the word ‘no’ without question. Yasha was obvious in her desire to be close to Beau, but she still remembered to leave room for permission. She also held Beau’s fears with all the care she afforded her flowers, and promptly banished them with ease.

“Please?”

Yasha’s smile unfurled the way a summer storm came on. First, a shadow. Then, a slow, steady trickle of what was to come before it completely unleashed - full and inescapable.

She stood from in front of Beau and climbed up onto the bed behind her. There was a moment of shuffling, of rumpled sheets against shifting legs before Yasha’s fingers were in her hair. Her fingers combed through Beau’s tangles, working to unwind knots as tension unspooled from Beau’s shoulders. Her blunt nails against Beau’s scalp felt like permission to cease existing for however long Yasha would let her.

Beau became so lost in the repetitive, soothing sensation of Yasha’s fingers in her hair that she failed to process when Yasha finished. Her hair was neat and spun up into a braided bun, secured with her hair ribbon like always. Beau only realized Yasha’s hands had worked down her neck and over to her shoulder when a flare of pain pulled Beau sharply back into focus.

“Sorry,” Yasha murmured, her fingers lightening their pressure. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“Done what?” Beau managed as the pain faded to a dull throbbing.

“This,” Yasha repeated, applying less pressure than before. “We did not have many healers in my tribe, so we all learned the basics. If it hurts too much, I can stop.”

“No,” Beau said, perhaps a little too quick. “No, it’s okay. It just took me by surprise.”

“Are you sure?”

Beau twisted enough to find Yasha’s eyes over her shoulder.

“I’m sure.”

With Beau’s permission, Yasha continued her work, tentative at first. Her fingers worked with more expertise than Beau realized she had, applying pressure to knots and spots of tension. She held her fingers in certain places, adding more weight in slow increments behind the press, rubbing to soothe the spot when it finally released. It ached, of course, but by the time Yasha had given attention to all of Beau’s shoulder, she was a limp, loose puddle of content.

Yasha cupped her hands over Beau’s shoulder, moving it in careful circles, testing the mobility. Her hands grew warmer, glowing in Beau’s peripheral.

Of course. How could she have forgotten?

Where Jester’s sang like an electric zest, a sugar rush, and Caduceus curled like sunshine and a warm drink, there was also Yasha’s healing magic. Yasha, who was not a healer by trade. Who raged quietly in battle and personified a storm. Her magic spread like the buzz of static electricity over Beau’s skin, but sunk into her muscles and her veins with the gentle heat of summer rain.

She was so caught in the familiar fever of Yasha’s balm that she offered no resistance when Yasha lifted Beau’s arm all the way above her head.

“That seems better,” Yasha said, voice soft.

Oh.

Beau blinked and looked up at Yasha and her arm.

“Much,” Beau agreed, voice hoarse. “Thanks.”

Yasha grinned, clearly pleased with herself. As she shuffled off the bed, Beau tried not to mourn the loss of her warm hands. But then Yasha stooped to press a quick kiss to Beau’s forehead as she grabbed her hand, tugging Beau to her feet.

“Breakfast?”

There were a million other things Beau would rather do than eat breakfast right now - every one of them involving Yasha’s hands staying on her. Perhaps they could explore all that later, when Beau’s brain remembered how to form a full sentence and Yasha wasn’t looking at her like that.

“Sure,” Beau croaked. “I could eat.”

She didn’t let go of Yasha’s hand for most of the morning.

[peach-the-owl]

with valentine's day coming, think Jester, Beau and Yasha help child reader with their valentine?

Ahh, Valentine's Day, a day of gettting free chocolates from people… oh and love too I guess 😆

I took the basics of the ask, but also changed it around a bit… So I’m not sure how this’ll turn out, Valentine’s Day has always been a little different for me. This is gonna be interesting… Sorry if this ends up turning out badly 😖

Sweet Valentine

Child of the Nein (Jester, Beau, Yasha & Child!Reader)

Jester

"Hey, mama?" You say, making your way over to Jester with an important question in mind. Jester looks over at you, still getting used to the idea that you now refer to her sometimes as mama. She kneels down to match your height.

"What can I do for you?" She asks with a smile and boops your nose getting a giggle out of you.

"Ummm… what do you think would be fun to do with a valentine?" You ask, while swinging your arms from side to side. Jester taps on her chin in thought for a moment.

"Well, getting sweets would be a nice start, oh and looking at their favourite shops or maybe get them a gift they really like…" she starts rambling off different ideas, it eventually turned to really weird stuff that sounded like it was more from a storybook. "… and then he’d take you in his arms and carries you across a field and it’s so romantic. Oh Oskar~." Jester stares off in her little daydream.

"Oskar? That's the character from the book you say I’m too little to read yet, right?" You ask, having gotten lost along the way, this breaks Jester out of her daydream and she gives a faint blush while scratching the back of her neck apologetically.

"That’s right, so maybe don’t do all that, but giving someone treats or little gifts to show you care is always good. Who is your valentine anyways?" Jester gives you a curious look.

"That’s my little secret, but I don’t even know if they can or want to be." You fiddle with your fingers a little.

"Awww," Jester places her hands on your cheeks and lifts your head up so you can look at her. "Whoever you ask is going to be very luck, and as long as you have lots of fun that’s what really matters." You smile at her and nod in understanding. "I have to go now, my valentine promised a walk around town. You have fun and don’t get lost." Jester parts ways with you with a smile and a wave.

After a moment or two you got everything together that you needed and bow your head in prayer hoping this works, the sense of a second presents makes you open your eyes and you look over at the cloaked figure that now stood in the room with you.

"What can I do for you?" The Traveler asks simply.

"Will you be my valentine?" You ask excitedly holding up your handmade card to him. He goes stiff for a moment but slowly, carefully takes the card from your hands noticing the small mistake of it saying Happy Valentime rather then Valentine. He stays silent and just stares from you to the card.

"I- that’s not really how this works?" He says slowly, trying to think through each of his words. Your smile drops a little.

"Oh…" You sigh. "I get it, you already have a lot of people who adore you and probably are really busy, I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend some time with you like Jester has." You turn to leave.

"Wait." You pause and look back at him. "I didn’t say no." Once again he speaks slowly, working out each word individually as if to convince himself of something. You don’t really notice as your eyes light up again in excitment.

"Really! So you will?!" You bounce on your feet in anticipation. He balls his hand into a fist and brings it close to his lips in an unsure gesture, again you being too excited to really take notice of it.

"On two conditions." He finally says. You stop bouncing in place and stare at him. "Firstly, you cannot tell another soul about this." He places a finger to his lips with a quiet shushing sound you repeat the action with an eager nod in agreement, while trying to hold in a giggle. "Secondly," he pauses a moment and you see a devious smirk cross his features. "I go, if there’s promise of delightful mischief." Again you give an eager nod. "Perfect, now I need you to close your eyes for a moment." You quickly slap your hands over your face to cover your eyes, there’s a faint whooshing sound and when you remove your hands you see a man with wild red hair and bright green eyes in place of the Traveler.

"Whoa!" You stare in amazement. "You look really cool Traveler." He gives a small chuckle.

"We can’t have you calling me that outside, remember this is just between you and me. So for today and today only you may refer to me as Artagan." You give a small happy squeal and practically drag the man along with you.

The day went by very well, the two of you pulling various pranks on different couples in the streets, the added fact that you had your deity helping you cause chaos wherever you went was a delightful bonus. It wasn’t like you were causing major harm, some of your pranks even managed to bring a few couples closer together. Eventually you had to return to the inn you were staying at, having to sneak around as to not get caught by any anger couples or towns guard.

"That was so much fun! Did you see the look on that one couples face when they discovered their chocolate was spicy?" You laugh at the memory.

"Or the fellow who thought our fake wall was real." Artagan recalled. "Ah, best fun I’ve had in a while."

"I’m glad you agreed to be my valentine, this was great." You give him a large smile, he hums in responce.

"Well, I should take my leave, there’s a lot I have to do." He says a bit apprehensively, and in just a blink of an eye he’s gone before you can give a quick farewell. A moment later Jester enters the room.

"Sooo… did you have a good day?" She asks you. You smile and nod explaining some of the things you did, making sure not to reveal too much like you'd promised. "That sounds like a fun day to me, I’m sure the Traveler would be proud."

If only she knew.

Beau

You march into the tavern and sit down at one of the tables in a small huff, Beau taking quick notice takes a seat next to you.

"What’s wrong?" She gives you a curious side look.

"Is it normal for someone to be mean to the person they like?" You ask. Beau stares at you then gives a sigh.

"I want to say no, but there are people out there who are like that. But that doesn’t mean that they should."

"Ok, I wasn’t sure, because I ran into someone I know from my hometown and they were being a total jerk to me." You look away from her sheepishly.

"Alright tell me what happened." She says, a bit of a protective tone in her voice. You begin your tale…

While everyone else was busy doing their own thing or spending time with their valentine you took a walk around the town, you actually knew the area decently enough because it wasn’t too far from where you used to live, a day and a half's journey if everything went smoothly.

"Hey! I know you!" You hear an awfully familiar voice shout in your direction making your eye twich but for some reason you feel frozen in place. The kid was about your age, maybe a year older at most. Their snarky, judgemental gaze used to make you feel like you were powerless against them and while deep down you knew you weren’t anymore that stare made you revert back to thinking you were. They give you a smirk. "I knew I recognized a nerd when I saw one. You remember me!?"

"Hi… Layn (tried to make it gender neutral, idk)." You greet through gritted teeth.

"Man it’s been a while since I saw your gross face, and it looks even worse now." They laugh pointing at the smudges of dirt you had yet to clean off.

"Yeah it has been a while hasn’t it. I’m not the same kid you think you can just push around anymore." You huff crossing your arms. They give you a teasing look and start to aggressively jab at you, you use your reflexes to block most of them all while telling them to stop, they don’t. You get fed up to the point that you grab their arm and throw them over your shoulder slamming them to the ground and give them a hard look. They stare up at you in shock.

"Why did you do that?" They seemed genuinely upset and curious.

"Because you wouldn’t stop, I told you I’m not the same kid you can just tease anymore!" You fume.

"How else was I supposed to get your attention." You stare at them confused. They carefully pick themselves off the ground. "You always had your face in a book or something when our parents met with each other, I didn’t know how else to get your attention."

"You could’ve tried talking to me." You say matter-of-factly.

"And risk the cooties? No way!" You just stare at them. "Anyways, since no one else will be asking you… I was wondering if you’d like to be my valentine?" They give you and expectant look…

"So what did you do?" Beau raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

"You remember what you once told me about dealing with jerks?" Beau nods, she'd used another word to describe it but you weren’t sure if you could say it aloud yourself.

"Yeah, I told you if they absolutely deserve it, to sock 'em in the face… wait." She turns to face you fully, you give an embarrassed smile along with a light blush.

"I think I broke their nose." You say, scratching the back of your neck. Beau snorts a bit, trying not to burst into laughter, her fist banging against the table. It takes her a bit to finally calm herself down and clears her throat.

"So first you throw them, then you actually punch them. It’s probably good their parents weren’t around to see that."

"Its just that they’ve always been so rude to me, before I knew you I never knew what to do or how to defend myself. Now they suddenly say they like me and expect me to forgive everything they’ve done just like that?! Not happening! I don’t care if they like me, they should’ve treated me nicer then." You rant a bit, getting yourself worked up again. Beau places a hand on your shoulder making you look at her.

"You know what? You’re absolutely correct. People shouldn’t treat you like shiii– poorly if they like you, that’s basically abuse. Now while I’m not sure if punching them will solve the problem entirely, though I’m sure it would’ve been hilarious to see, I think you still made the right choice. I’m proud of you." She gives you a smile and you return one of your own.

Yasha

You sit deep in thought about what to do today, you weren’t sure how you were going to find someone to love and spend the whole day with so you decided to ask Yasha, she might know the answer.

"How do I find love?" You get straight to the point once you see her, Yasha nearly chokes on her drink at your question.

"What?" She looks at you shocked.

"You know a valentine or something, how do I find one of those?" She blinks a bit then give a small chuckle.

"That uhhh, isn’t really how it works."

"Then how does it work?" Yasha goes quiet, now having to figure out how she can explain this to you.

"Ummm… well it’s not just about… hmm… a valentine is someone you want to show you really care about and appreciate them, it doesn’t just have to be about holding hands or kisses." Yasha explains as best she can (I feel that).

"Oh! Okay, I think I get it." You nod. Yasha gives you a smile and pats your head before heading off elsewhere, probably with her own valentine, who knows. You once again go deep into thought trying to figure out who you wanted to show your appreciation to, an idea comes to mind and you begin your search. You stand in front of a door and give a soft knock.

"You can come in." You hear their muffled voice through the door. You open and shuffle through the door suddenly feeling a bit nervous and embarrassed.

"Hey Caduceus, I was, uhhh, wondering if you’d like to be my, ummm… my valentine today?" He looks at you, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Yasha told me that valentines could be people who we appreciate a lot and I, umm, I really appreciate everything you do for us. So I, uhh, I thought maybe you’d like to be my valentine and we could do something nice?" Each word you spoke made your face turn more and more red out of embarrassment. Caduceus just gives you a calm smile and a small chuckle.

"I see no harm in that, it sounds nice. What did you have in mind?" You stare at him a moment, slightly surprised he agreed.

"Oh! Well I saw this little shop that sells tea and biscuits, if you like that is… sorry I’m not very good at this." You scratch at your head and look away a little sheepishly.

"There’s no need to be sorry, I think that's a good idea." You give him a small smile and the two of you head out to the little shop. You did your best to make this a nice little day, but for you everything never really seemed to work out properly, Caduceus having to purchase the treats from the shop as you didn’t really have any money of your own. The streets were a little crowded today too, making you come to realize you may have slight claustrophobia as the large number of people made you very uncomfortable and nervous.

"I’m sorry, I can’t do this! I’ve ruined everything!" You run off crying back to the inn and hole yourself up in your assigned room. There’s a soft knocking at the door after a while. You don’t say anything, you already knew it was Caduceus who was knocking so you try to squeeze yourself into a ball and disappear. The door creaks open after a minute of you staying silent, the bed dipping a little from the new weight on it. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there with you in a calm silence. Eventually you uncurl yourself from a ball and look up at him, he gives you a kind smile. "I’m really sorry, I wanted to let you have a nice day to show my appreciation for you, but instead I ruined it and you still did everything." You pout.

"I don’t think you ruined anything, I enjoyed myself actually. The very idea that you wanted to do something nice I think is appreciation enough for me." You wipe your eyes and look back at him again, a small smile starting to form.

"Is it really?" You ask curiously, he gives you a nod in responce. "Ok… well since we still have a bag of treats, can we share them here? I don’t really want to go outside right now."

"Sure thing." He pulls out the purchased sweets and the two of you happily share them. Come the evening Yasha finally comes back from wherever she had disappeared to.

"Did you have a good day?" She asks. You nod and retell her the events of your day, she smiles as you finish your story. "I’m glad it worked out for you in the end."

"Me too. So how was your day?" It was your turn to ask and listen as Yasha tells you about what she did.

Bonus: (Bad pickup lines I made up for each kid)

Jester: I'd be your partner in crime any time Valentine

Nott: I can’t give you my heart Valentine… because you already stole it

Caleb: Let’s dance together Valentine, better then any colour ever could

Caduceus: I'd make a thousand flower crowns for you or with you Valentine

Fjord: I’ll be your knight whenever you need me Valentine

Beau: If anyone treats you badly Valentine, just tell me where to hit them

Yasha: If I could, I’d fly with you to a beautiful field, but they wouldn’t be as beautiful as you Valentine

Molly: Let me serenade you with any song you like Valentine, anytime, anywhere

Again I’m very sorry if this was bad 😣

[unicyclehippo]

for a prompt like. jes goes to bed early and beau figures she’s just talking to the traveler, when she goes up she hears her talking to marion about beau and she’s just like oh. in my head it was sending but more content if they’re in nicodranas.,, idk u decide! idk how to sign this off so.,, may your microwave work for the foreseeable future :) okaybye!

they’ve been in town for a couple days and it’s great, it’s really great. nott is veth again and she’s all but disappeared with yeza and luc, spending all her time with them on the beach and in their rooms, hearing all the stories luc has about everything he has seen—twice. jester is likewise absorbed in spending time with her mum and so it’s just beau, caleb, fjord, yasha and cad. which is actually most of them but it feels odd, missing their loudest members. they spent the day—last of the three they set aside for a small vacation before orly is set to take them east to the volcano—at the beach, mostly, and then in a bookstore for a faintly smiling caleb, even though they all smell of seaweed and salt and they’re leaving sand behind them wherever they go. when he’s content and the books hidden in fjord’s bag of holding, they lose themselves in the warren of winding streets and find the diviest of bars to drink in until the whole world is warm and slightly blurred and they fling arms over shoulders and walk in a stumbling lockstep back to the chateau, not nearly drunk enough to forget the way back, not drunk at all. just—content.

jester meets them at the bottom of the steps, her hair in a new style that makes beau blink and then wink each eye in case that’ll help her focus.

‘you - changed your hair,’ she blurts.

caleb, whose shoulders her arm hangs around, staggers when she lurches forward a step.

jester lifts her hand to the short ends, runs it through the shorter curls. it’s been cut into a sweet bob, one that frames her heart-shaped face and—

‘is it bad?’ she asks, nose crinkling with worry.

beau blinks stupidly at her. ‘no,’ she says.

jester waits. then, ‘oh. okay.’

‘looks good, jessie,’ fjord calls. he looks suspiciously put together and beau wonders if it’s a paladin thing or if he’d been smart to let her win their drinking contest. she’s still thinking about it, and grinning because it had been a good, fun night, when he asks gently, ‘ready for tomorrow morning?’

‘oh. well, yes and no. i’m excited to go to traveller con of course but,’ she catches her bottom lip between her teeth. shrugs delicately. ‘i always miss my mama.’

there’s a round of nods.

beau stares at jester’s curls. her fingers burn to touch them, to feel if the curls are actually heavy or if it’s just the way they fall, if they’re as soft as they look.

‘we should—get to sleep,’ caleb says, and the words slur the slightest bit with alcohol and a weighted accent. ‘jester, the hairdresser must be a transmutation wizard. they have changed you,’ he says, and then laughs a quick laugh, which he quickly contains. but his eyes are happy and that has everyone laughing too.

‘that’s a terrible joke,’ jester tells him. ‘go to bed, all of you. and caleb—teleportation circle for tomorrow’s spells.’

‘ja, ja, i will remember.’ he taps the side of his long nose. ‘i remember.’

he and fjord and caduceus begin to climb the steps to their room. yasha makes excuses oddly fast to follow, and beau catches her eyes as she slides behind jester. yasha shoots her a look beau can’t decipher and the woman must realise that because she sighs, smiles, and continues on up the steps.

‘did you have fun tonight, beau?’

‘i missed you.’ jester eyes widen slightly. beau hurries to explain. ‘not that it’s not cool that you spent it with your mum, of course you should do that, we all know you miss her heaps which is - wow - really nice, actually? and she loves you so, duh. it’s just,’ beau shrugs, and she thinks maybe she’s a little more drunk than she originally thought because the slow clumsiness of it is catching up, makes her feel a little awkward in her own feet. ‘it’s different without you an’ nott. veth. i guess it’s not as fun for you ‘cause you don’t drink but there were card games you woulda liked. and it’s—we were just hanging out, y’know? ‘s’not the same without you. nicer when you’re there.’ she smiles then, and when jester just stares at her, she smiles wider, trying to push all the sincerity as she can into it. jester loves nicodranas and her mum, beau knows, and she’s not afraid that jester will stay behind, certainly not so close to traveller con, but beau thinks it’s not a bad time to remind jester that actually they all really, really adore her and she was missed.

the re-doubled smile must work because jester blinks a few times and then returns the smile.

‘beau,’ she says teasingly, ‘you’re so sweet when you’re drunk.’

‘i’m not that drunk.’

‘you’re pretty drunk,’ jester tells her with faux solemnity. ‘want me to take you to bed? i mean, to bed! like, to your bed to sleep.’

beau grins. ‘you’re blushing.’

jester scowls. ‘no.’

‘mhm.’ she steps closer. taps jester’s cheek. she’s gentle about it, pushes all her attention to it so she doesn’t drunkenly jab her hard. it has the effect she intended—soft, not painful—and one she didn’t, in that she feels with perfect clarity how soft jester’s cheek is, the warmth of her flush. she lets her finger drop. wavers a little where she stands only a few inches from jester. ‘um. i can make it,’ she tells jester. ‘you came down for cookies, right?’

jester frowns. ‘how did you—‘

‘not as drunk as i look,’ beau tells her cheerfully. ‘we definitely caught you out, you were trying to be sneaky ‘bout it. it’s after dinner and you’re better about sweets when you’re with your mum. an’ you were talking about ‘em this morning.’ jester stares up at her, shakes her head slowly. she looks confused, and really pretty, and beau is filled with sudden warmth at the idea of knowing someone as well as she knows jester. ‘have fun, drink some good milk. you would’ve hated the bar, the milk was bad.’

‘you had some?’

beau shrugs. ‘i ordered one for you, forgot you weren’t there. we all drank some.’ she pulls a face. then kisses jester’s cheek, presses her own flushed cheek to jester’s, who holds very still.

then, beau carries herself happily up the stairs and to jester’s room, collapsing boneless to the bed.

//

her head feels like it’s been filled with angry bees when she wakes. that might be the dream she’d had. her mouth tastes like she licked a dirty boot, too. disgusting.

if she holds herself very still, though, she can ignore all of that and maybe, maybe, fall back to sleep.

just as she thinks about it, beau knows it’s not gonna happen. her neck cricks and her bladder screams from the pressure and so with a groan she rolls to the side and carefully stands. her headache pounds a little more forcefully but it’s far from the worst she’s ever had. a little water and she’ll be grand.

speaking of water.

beau adjusts her pants back into place, wipes wet hands absently on her shirt as she leaves the washroom, steps out into the hall. it’s early still and the chateau is still. quiet. faint music and conversation lifts up to jester’s level from the one below and beau follows it like she’s caught.

by the time she has come down the stairs, she knows it’s marion’s room, and knows the voices are hers and jester’s. she thinks about turning away but the sun has started to lift and she knows jester hasn’t started to pack. how she had managed to scatter her things literally everywhere across the room beau can’t begin to understand. she’ll peek in, remind jester about it, head down for an early run on the beach maybe. and breakfast. the chateau does a damn good breakfast.

‘—don’t know what to do about it.’ jester, beau’s mind supplies. distressed.

‘what do you want to do about it?’ marion. decidedly not at all distressed. amused?

‘i don’t know,’ jester wails. ‘why can’t this be easy?’

‘the worthwhile things in life rarely are, little sapphire.’

beau grins. jester will hate being told that. her grin widens when she hears jester grumble a reluctant agreement; in her mind’s eye she can see her clearly, nose crinkled, grumpy face on, strewn over one of her mother’s fainting couches maybe.

‘can’t you just tell me what to do?’ jester wheedles. ‘you know everything!’

‘about sex, perhaps. about love? not as much as i would like.’ the room is quiet for a moment, and beau thinks her suddenly racing heart will give her away. love? they’re talking about love? ‘matters of the heart always seem simple from the outside. when you’re the one tangled in it, it seems impossible, doesn’t it?’

jester makes a pitiful sound of agreement.

beau nearly does too.

‘well, what do you think then? even if you’re on the outside?’

‘i think... that you could do far worse.’

‘mama.’

‘what do you want me to say, jester?’

‘the truth!’

‘the truth?’ marion asks in an arch tone, and oh beau is less familiar with her but jester is not so removed from her mother that she can’t imagine it. the cool look, the raised brows, the pursed lips as the expression coalesces into one simple question—are you sure?

‘please, mama.’

‘very well. i don’t think you would have come to me all in a flutter if you weren’t feeling something. and you obviously hold her in high regard, or you wouldn’t have spent all of the last two days talking about her.’

‘i didnt—not all,’ jester denies, weakly.

‘you spoke of her a lot, my darling,’ marion tells her gently. a moment passes, then, ‘i think you enjoy her attention. i think you care for her very much. and i think you know how she cares for you. didn’t you tell me you thought she was going to kiss you?’

‘you should have seen the way she smiled,’ jester whispers. ‘beau was—‘

the mention of her name breaks the spell beau was held by, frozen in place listening to the conversation play out. guilt mingles hot with hope and fear, churning in her gut, but she manages to step back softly, and again until she reaches the stairs. she takes the next flight quietly before all but sprinting down the rest, flying out the door.

a run. a run along the beach. she’ll forget all about this and when she comes back to breakfast, she’ll be ready. she won’t encroach on jester, she won’t upset her with what she had hoped had been subtle. she’ll be better about it.

the sand crunches beneath her boots, the tide washing it harder underfoot than the soft white dunes, and beau runs.

[unicyclehippo]

idk if this is the kind of prompt you were looking for but maybe a take on beau never joins the m9 and the first time they meet her is when she's an expositor and how they react to her saving them from something

maybe not what u wanted , but all i could think about

//

The time they were given, left to wait in the antechamber of the castle, was enough to catch their breath but not nearly long enough to recover or start that process, so it is still bruised and bloodied that they follow the Marshal into the throne room.

The chamber is grand. Far beyond anything their patchwork party has ever seen before. It is comparable in size, in grandeur to the Bright Queen’s throne room, except that where her space had been a clear, clean, shattered prism of crystal and a pure but cold light, here is all severe grey stone, heavy and firm, and stained glass. The pretty colours do nothing to mellow the space; if anything, all the windows do is highlight how dizzyingly tall the ceiling of the chamber is as they stretch higher and higher.

Their boots tap against stone. Echo in the vast space around them. The Nein walk across, through, the scored lines of light that burn from those windows across the floor.

Ahead of them rides a great set of stairs that honestly, at this point, just feels like torture. They’re beat to shit. They’re tired. They don’t want to do this. If they’re gonna be killed, the King could at least have the decency to not make them climb a hundred steps first.

The Marshal nods them forward, expression brooking no disagreement.

‘I wish—I had died,’ Fjord groans, quietly. He’s panting as he climbs. ‘Honestly, if I have to—oh god—climb another step, I’m gonna throw myself—ha—down them.’

Jester grips his hand hard. Struggles for a smile, but with each step she’s losing her breath and it has less to do with exertion and far more to do with the fear squeezing her heart as the heads and shoulders and cool faces of the Council start to show above the platform.

A man with shoulder length hair and a long, thin goatee, both streaked with grey sits upon his throne, wooden and backed with an immensely tall and ornately carved back. The man looks to once have been fit and strong but now, in perhaps his early sixties, the muscle he had built has gone soft. There is nothing soft in the way he stares at them, cuts suspicious stares down over each of them in turn—lingering on Fjord, on Jester and Molly, on Nott. He is the King, and Jester thinks she would have known that even without the circlet that rests upon his head.

The names and faces of the remainder of the Council blur, all of them imposing, none of them welcoming. Jester searches their number for something, anythjng to focus on, as Caduceus begins to talk and panics, and as Fjord takes over, smooth and calm. No sign of the panic Jester knows he must be feeling.

It is when the Martinet steps forward that Jester sees her.

Seated behind the Martinet is a young human woman, not much older than Jester if at all, with dark skin and dark hair, which she wears pulled back into a handsome top knot and the sides shaved. Fine robes cover her clothes; they are similar to what the Martinet wears, but far less adorned. Which is not to say that she doesn’t shine at all—there is a small mantle of office draped across her shoulders, plain in comparison but still weighty, and gold glints in several places on her ears. Her face is handsome, though more stern than Jester would expect to see on someone so young, and unmarred save for a scar that cuts deep into her brow, dividing it into uneven parts.

She must feel Jester’s attention on her because suddenly blue eyes are fixed on her in turn and Jester can do nothing but stand still, stuck in place not because of this stupid terrifying audience with the King of the Empire, but by the powerful force of this stranger’s attention. She looks over Jester as though she can see into her, as though Jester were an open book and she a speed reader—and then her eyes skip up to meet Jester’s again, seemingly for no particular reason, and she smiles.

It’s not much. A flicker of a smile. A smudge of a smile. It isn’t kind, it isn’t sweet, but it is somehow very reassuring.

The smile is gone as quickly as it came and then they are answering a lot of very scary questions like How does the Bright Queen know about you? Why would she care about you? (and Jester does not like the tone of that question, like they’re stupid, or small, or worthless, and How did you know about the cult if you are not a part of it?

Jester’s attention drifts back to the girl. She’s taking notes in a quick hand, has been the whole time—but now her hand is still and poised above the page and she is looking at Yasha of all people with keen interest. What can she see? If she is the Martinet’s assistant, does that mean she’s magical? What does she know about Yasha, about all of them, just by looking?

‘I scried on them,’ Jester blurts. Feels the world spin around her. ‘Mister King? This is a very tall platform, um,’

‘You scried on them?’ the Martinet prompts, before the Kings darkening expression boils over into a storm.

‘Yes. We found a thingy—‘

‘A...thingy.’

Jester swallows hard. ‘A device. That was being used to open portals.’ She tries to remember what Allura and Caleb had told them. ‘They were planting them everywhere to open rifts to the Hells—‘

‘Abyss,’ Fjord coughs.

‘Abyss,’ Jester corrects, voice pitching higher as her heart rattled with nerves. ‘It’s like termites!’

‘Termites,’ the Martinet repeats.

Jester wonders if he has ever had to worry about anything like that, anything as ordinary and mundane and troublesome as termites.

‘Yah. They eat wood? They’re little and white and look a bit like ants,’

‘I know what termites are. I am not in need of a lesson on beetles at this time.’

‘Technically, technically, they’re insects,’

‘Maybe ixnay on the ugbay essonlay,’ Fjord hisses.

‘She’s right.’ The voice comes from behind the Martinet. He turns, brows raised, to the girl taking notes. Her voice is nice, Jester notes. Kinda brash and rough, but warm. She sounds like a real person, like the people they’ve spoken to all over the continent. Not like these polished martinets and kings.

‘Pardon?’

‘Termites. They’re insects, not beetles.’

The Martinet sighs. ‘Yes, very good, thank you Beauregard.’ He turns back to Jester. ‘So, to clarify, you found this device that opened portals to the Abyss in the manner of...a termite?’

Jester thinks about it for a moment. ‘No.’

‘There were many devices,’ Nott interjects. Realises—remembers—too late that she is a goblin. But the King and Martinet are watching her now, so she continues. ‘We found—three? Of them. And there were more we heard about but didn’t see.’

‘With each one that opens, they...undermine the integrity of the planes,’ Jester says, trying to repeat what Allura and Caleb had said.

Up there on the platform, Allura nods encouragingly.

The girl—Beauregard—looks with interest toward the Arcanist, and back at the Nein once more. There’s a thoughtful crease between her brows and she seems to be taking notes in earnest now, though no one is speaking.

‘You said you scried on these people. Would you be able to describe them, beyond the ones you slew?’

Jester licks her lips. Glances across to Fjord who shrugs helplessly. Cad looks like he’s still mid panic attack but she knows his thoughts on it—honestly. Caleb meets her eyes cautiously, careful not to stray sideways to the white haired jaundiced man upon the platform. He nods the smallest amount.

‘I can—we can name one of them. An empire agent who is part of the cult.’

‘Then do so,’ the King commands.

Jester nods to him a few times, fast, jewellery jangling it seems far too loud in her ears. She stills. Feels her attention dragged back to the Martinet and, behind him, the note-taker.

‘Vence Nutheylas.’

Things devolve quickly from there—accusations are thrown at the Nein, at Allura, hinted at the Martinet, Ikithon is a fucking creep, the King makes puppets of the Nein to solve the problem of this war for him. And as they are escorted down and out from the castle and into the light rain of the Shimmer Ward, they pass by a shaded corridor and Jester glimpses the tail of a red cloak. The Martinet, walking briskly down It and away, shadowed by his assistant. Jester can barely hear them, the words echoing down the corridor.

His deep voice is troubled. ‘—and Vence,’ he hisses, groans. ‘And I gave him an amulet. What a fool I am!’

The girl doesn’t disagree. ‘I warned you about him.’

‘I can’t dismiss someone so talented just because you say he’s slimy,’ the Martinet chides, exhausted. Clearly, they have had that discussion before. ‘And these...Mighty Nein? What do you make of them?’

The girl glances back over her shoulder before they turn the corner. Eyes lock once more with Jester’s, who now realises she has slowed to a stop, right in the middle of the corridor.

‘I don’t know,’ she says, thoughtful. Gentle. Not in a soft way, but delicate. Like a hand brushing dirt from a relic, interested in what lays beneath. ‘But I’ll be very interested to find out.’

//

Kamaruth Cottage is lovely. Warm and comfortable.

Something about it rubs Jester the wrong way. Maybe the way it aims for rustic but is far too pristine, too comfortable to really be rustic. Like it’s just pretending. A giant mimic, waiting to gobble them up.

She draws that idly in her notebook as they wait for dinner. A cottage, thatched eyebrows, a giant slobbering tongue as the red carpet leading to the front desk. A dozen window eyes staring.

Maybe it’s the way the theyre given seven rooms. Expected to split up. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Molly hasn’t let go of Yasha yet, doesn’t let go of her arm even when Fjord trades five hundred gold for a heavy tome he passes to her. They talk some, eat some. Nott drinks. Cad nearly falls asleep in his salad. Eventually, they make their way up to Caleb’s room to talk. To gauge their footing, and what he wants to do next.

For ten full minutes, Caleb passes over the room, taking time to examine it ceiling to floor for any manner of device or trap or something that should not be there. Behind him paces Caduceus, eyes gleaming with the familiar sheen of detect magic. They both turn up nothing.

Caleb sits and scratches at his arms and worries.

‘So,’ Fjord starts them off. ‘Big day, huh. I guess... Welcome back, Yasha.’ Fjord waves a hand toward her, or them, Molly still stuck to her side. Held tight in a hug.

‘Thank you. And... I’m sorry.’

‘I’ll take that apology,’ an unfamiliar voice says—harsh, and harshly amused—from behind them, from the window. Spinnjng, the Nein find that standing there, leaning back with her elbows braced against the sill, aggravatingly nonchalant, is the girl from the throne room. She looks a different without the robe. Smaller, thinner, and all in black and darker blues and greys, but it is unmistakably her.

In their room. Unheard. Unseen.

In the next second, Fjord has crossed the room, conjuring his blade and grasping the long hilt in both hands, pointed to her throat. Yasha has drawn the Judge. A burning of copper fills the room as Molly draws his blade across the skin of his forearm, scimitar lighting with white flame. Nott pulls her crossbow, the wire click, click, clicking as she wrenches it into the ready position.

Caleb just stares.

And Jester, she raises her hands, not sure exactly what she’s going to do when she’s exhausted like this. But if worst comes to worst, she has a hand axe.

‘Planning on killing the Martinet’s auxiliary, are we? Fun times in the Kamaruth Cottage. Didn’t know it was such a fun scene—’

Fjord presses his sword closer until it touches the skin of her throat. Still she just grins, unphased.

‘I don’t know what you think you overheard, but we have no plans on killing anyone,’

‘Maybe Trent,’ Molly hissés behind them all in Infernal.

‘Who doesn’t want to kill Trent?’ the girl answers in common. Ignoring Molly’s shock, she continues, very slowly, very patiently, very patronisingly, ‘The Martinet’s auxiliary is me. In case you didn’t know.’

‘Important position, is it? You’ll be missed, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Not really. To both. Just...letting you know because, and I’m gonna be honest—you seem well out of your fucking depth here.’

‘I don’t like this one,’ Molly decrees, opening in Common, since it seems she can understand his preferred language of disparagement. ‘Not one bit.’

‘I’m heartbroken,’ the girl sneers.

‘What you are is the one at sword point—and I know wizards. We’ve had time to rest now—we could take you.’ Jester winces at Fjord’s tone. Protective, he has gone harsh, gone with a face of stone to cover his shock, to cover their slip in letting her join them unnoticed.

‘This must be real hard for you but I’m gonna need you to use your head. For think-ing.’ She breaks the word apart like it might be too big for him, unfamiliar. ‘Even if you did beat me,’ she says, words drenched in disbelief, ‘there’s a whole city to get out of after that, all riled up after that attack. Whether I’m well-liked or not,’

‘Not.’

‘Missed or not,’ she amends with a shrug, ‘there’d be some real powerful people after your head if you killed me. So. Be smart about this and put. The sword. Away.’

For maybe the first time in his life, Fjord snarls, baring tooth and tusk.

She grins. ‘Is that a no?’

‘It’s a give me one good reason why we should trust you.’

It’s just a gut feeling but Jester doesn’t think that she will.

She watches as the girl tilts her head back almost lazily, before bringing it forward to crack into Fjord’s nose, his forehead. Fjord gets out a stuttering choke and as he stands there stunned, she ducks the sword and slips behind him, punches up the ladder of his spine. Fjord wheezes, breath punched out of him, and staggers around to face her.

By this point, Nott is screaming bloody murder, Caleb’s hand is wreathed in flame, Yasha has the Judge raised in both hands, Molly has both swords lit up, and the girl, Beauregard, is just standing there with her arm around a stunned Fjord and grinning.

‘As much as I’d honestly be stoked to go toe to toe with all of you—‘specially you, sweetheart,’ she says, throwing a wink and a kiss to Jester. Her eyes slide over to Yasha and her smile, somewhat salacious, turns harsh. ‘And you, Orphanmaker,’

Her eyes go black with blood as Molly barks something in guttural Infernal. Unlike so many that they’ve fought, she doesn’t panic. She settles back into a defensive posture, letting Fjord step away and out of reach; head cocked to listen to them, she waits out the sudden blindness, blinks the film of blood away.

Her eyes find Molly. Looks at the bleeding scars, the glowing blades, his harsh, panting breath. The way he stands in front of Yasha.

‘Now that is very interesting,’

‘Forgive us,’ Caleb says, finally says, his hand still wreathed in flames, blue eyes fixed on their guest, ‘but perhaps you will stop cataloguing us for just a moment, bitte, and tell us who you are. Because I do not think for one moment that you are the Martinet’s auxiliary.’

‘What do you think I am?’

‘A monk,’ Caleb says flatly.

‘I see I’ve found the brains of the operation. Bren, was it?’

‘It’s Caleb,’ Nott shrieks. She’s been holding her crossbow the entire time and now swings it up to let loose. A bolt pings from her crossbow, and the monk catches it, hisses when the tip scratches her arm. She looks from it to Nott. Waggles the bolt at her with a scowl.

‘Next time, I throw it back,’ she warns. Tucks It into the soft sash of her belt. ‘I’m keeping this.’

‘It’s Caleb,’ Nott says again.

She glances up from Nott to the man she is protecting—no other way to describe the way she stands in front of him, small body straining to cover as much of him as possible—and she nods.

‘Okay. Caleb, then. Good to know, I’ll make a note of that.’

‘I’m certain that you will,’ Caleb says with a hint of laughter to his tone. Resigned laughter, tired, but laughter none the less. ‘You know our names—you probably know far more than that, if I am to understand what it is the Cobalt Soul does.’

Beauregard nods, shrugs.

They stand in silence for a short while. Until she looks about, brows raised like, And? What?

‘He’s asking what your fucking name is,’ Fjord grits out from his place next to Caduceus.

‘You’re not still mad, are you?’

‘I think you broke my nose.’

‘I definitely did,’

‘Beauregard,’ Jesterer blurts. ‘That’s what the Martinet called you.’

Beauregard looks surprised, then pleased, then annoyed. ‘Yeah, he does. But you lot shouldn’t. It’s just Beau.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Beauregard is a stupid fucking name and if you use it, I’ll punch your face in.’

‘...Got a last name?’

‘Do you?’ Fjord looks away first.

‘Why does the Martinet call you that if you hate it so much?’

Beau smiles. It’s a bit macabre with the stream of dried blood like a tear track down her cheeks. ‘Poor Ludinus. He really hasn’t much luck in the assistant department. His annex is a fucking cultist, and his auxiliary is a spy. Once again—because you seem a bit slow—I am the auxiliary.’

‘You’re a spy.’

‘Hey, not so slow after all. Good job. I’ll find you a sticker or something, a little pin that says well done.’

‘Fuck. Off.’

‘I do not understand,’

‘Pretty simple, Caleb my man, I’m the auxiliary and I’m a spy-‘

‘Ja, that I understand. What I don’t understand is why you are telling us this.’

Beau’s eyes slide across to Yasha again. ‘Let’s just day that I’m not the only one who noticed you’re out of your depth. Some people really dig that kind of thing. Vulnerability. Innocence. Guilt. Whatever they can manipulate.’ Caleb’s cheek twitches. ‘I’d like to say the Archives is above all that shit.’ She doesn’t elaborate. Just says, ‘The High Curstor pulled my from Ludinus watch, re-assigned me to you lot. I’m supposed to help you with this whole relic thing.’

‘And why would we agree to that?’

‘Couple reasons. One, you’re out of your depth,’

‘Yes, we got that one,’ Fjord grumbles

‘Two, I have access to the entirety of the Soul’s archive of research. Three, I’m a monk, I’m badass, I have like a billion abs.’

‘How is that a bargaining chip?’

‘How is it not?’ She hikes her shirt up to show them off.

Jester blinks. Comes around from behind the bed to examine them up close. And maybe to add an extra level of defense between Beau and Yasha.

‘Whoa,’

‘No! No whoa, Jester,’

‘I mean, you have to admit, Fjord, that’s really impressive. You should be very proud,’ Jester tells her, nodding.

‘Thank you, thank you, I am.’

‘There is no doubt in my mind you would be a helpful ally,’ Caleb says. ‘I only have a question as to what you, or your Archive, gets out of this arrangement. Forgive me, but I have not known people here to do things out of the kindness of their heart.’

Beau lets her shirt and her smile drop. ‘You’re not wrong. The Soul gets two things outta this—one, we love to fuck with the Assembly. The more dirt we can get on them, the better we feel—and everything I’ve heard about this relic and Ikithon—‘ There’s no way she misses Caleb’s flinch. ‘—smacks of some real fucked up shit. The Soul is all about weeding that out, putting a stop to corruption and all that.’

‘What a fine job it has done so far,’ Caleb murmurs, barely more than a whisper.

‘You said you get two things. What is the second?’ That, of all people, is Yasha.

Beau meets her multi-coloured eyes squarely. ‘The Cobalt Soul gets you.’