#jeryk motplowe

[sezja]

Housewarming

"It could be a good deal worse," Esmena says cheerily, opening the shutters, letting out almost ten years' worth of stale air. Thaffe looks around the small house, with a good deal more trepidation than excitement - his parents' house, almost untouched since the fever had claimed them years ago.

His house, now.

This had always been the plan, he reminds himself, feeling strange in his own skin as he helps Jeryk's mother clean: he had always intended to move out as soon as he'd seen sixteen summers, was working a steady job (as steady as any in Twine these days, at any rate), and could stand on his own two feet. His parents had left him the house on their deathbeds - the only thing halfway safe left to leave him. Most of their belongings had been burned, in case they still carried whatever illness had swept through Twine.

Maybe that's what's got him feeling strange. The house doesn't look the way it does in all his memories of the place: the furniture's gone, repurposed elsewhere in town; the little decorative touches - framed sketches, little knickknacks - his mother had favored are long since gone. Weathered away by the passage of time or sold for enough coin to keep food on the table, Thaffe supposes; there's little room for sentimentality with all the life bleeding out of the dying mining town.

Which is part, of course, of why he has to move out of Esmena and Ardin's home. He's got a year's worth of work in the mines under his belt now; he can put food on his own table.

...Though it's thanks to them he even has a table to put any food on.

"Thanks again for the furniture, Ma," he says, for what must be the third time.

Esmena steps back from the last of the windows, dusting off her hands - a bit prematurely, Thaffe thinks; there's still ten years' worth of dust built up everywhere - and smiling. "Oh no, love, thank you; Ardin wants a new workshop, and with how few visitors we're seeing..."

The furniture, of course, comes from one of the unused rooms at their family's inn; since the Stoneworks' departure, Twine no longer plays host to visiting engineers and officials from far-away Kholusia. The occasional stray traveler or historian interested in the nearby ruins isn't enough to require every room in the inn to be kept well-furnished.

And it'll make less waste for them when the time comes to leave it all behind, Thaffe thinks, with the familiar twist in his gut.

He shoves it aside, listening instead for Jeryk - he and Ardin, his father, are doing some repair work around the exterior of the house, patching up the scars of a decade of neglect. Sure enough, with the windows open, Thaffe can hear his best friend chattering away, with the occasional half-interested hum from his father in response.

"That's enough smiling, you," Esmena teasingly scolds, holding out her much-used broom. "The dust has dust in here; let's see to it before we start trying to haul in linens."

He accepts it with a grin. "That's life in a desert for you."

"Where I'm from," she says, setting to the task of cleaning off the countertops, windowpanes, and walls, "there would be mold, and we'd be tearing up the floorboards to be rid of it. The air's altogether too dry here, but I suppose it's good for something, hm?"

Thaffe bends himself to the task of sweeping, gathering up dust and cobwebs, trying to listen with half an ear for just what in the world Jeryk's going on about. From the sound of things, he's explaining the history of trolleys in Nabaath - with some creative liberties most charitably described as speculation - to his long-suffering father, who knows the history at least as well as any man born and raised in Twine.

Esmena sings quietly to herself as she works, just as she always does when she's doing chores - be it her own or the locals' laundry - and Thaffe listens with half an ear to her, as well.

It's going to be very quiet, living on his own.

You may as well get used to it.

He grits his teeth, shoves the thought aside, and focuses on sweeping. There's a lot of work to be done, after all.

They work through the morning, cleaning away a decade's worth of abandonment; once Esmena is satisfied that the inside of the house is clean, she summons Ardin - and Jeryk - inside to perform a few small repairs. A creaky shutter here, a broken cupboard there. They begin hauling in the furniture: not much, but the stuff of a small life. Table, chair, dresser. A new bed. Little by little, the little two-room house begins to resemble a livable home.

"Linens," Esmena sighs, exhausted, wiping an arm across her brow and brushing her sweat-drenched blonde hair out of her face. "After lunch. Wash up, boys!"

Back home, then - back to their home, anyhow. Thaffe's few meager possessions are already packed for the trip next door: the room he's shared with Jeryk for years already looks emptier.

"I don't suppose I'll know what to do with all the extra space," Jeryk says, joining him in the doorway. There's something strained beneath his friend's usual cheer, like something caught in his throat - and he won't quite meet Thaffe's gaze, even more than usual.

"Make it a workshop," Thaffe suggests, with more levity than he feels. "Like your dad's doing with the free inn room. You're taking on more of his jobs, after all; like as not you'll need somewhere to work."

Jeryk makes an noncommittal sound, brushing past him into the room and sitting heavily on the bed - their beds, long since pushed together, yielding to his younger friend's tendency to climb into his bed with him to spend the night chatting. Jeryk's bed now, Thaffe supposes, now that he's getting one of the - substantially larger - beds from the inn. Thaffe tries not to think about what it'll be like to sleep alone for the first time since he was a child, choosing instead to sit next to Jeryk on the bed.

Like they have a thousand times. Like they might never again.

They've not talked about it, not really, not exactly. It's always been the plan. Thaffe's talked about it since they were small - moving into his parents' old place, once he was old enough.

It's just that the actual day of it came up a lot faster than he thought.

"This is ridiculous," he hears himself say, rubbing his stinging eyes; no tears have fallen yet, thank the gods. "I'm moving next door. We'll see each other every day. Ma insists I visit for dinner at least once a week or she'll hound me-"

"Like she'll hound us if we don't hurry to lunch," Jeryk cuts in, with a wobbly smile. His eyes look too bright. "You know how she gets!"

So they wash up and hasten their way back for lunch; Thaffe thinks he's made a decent recovery of it, but Esmena's green eyes linger on him a touch too long - a little too worried, a little too knowing. And Jeryk's quiet. Jeryk's never quiet.

But she doesn't pry.

After lunch, linens. Esmena sets Ardin and Jeryk to the task of hanging curtains - curtains she'd stitched herself, no less - while she helps Thaffe put the sheets on his new bed. They're old, but not quite threadbare... and they smell like home, the scent of the soaps Esmena uses in the laundry waft from the fabric as they work. It smells like a thousand hot afternoons spent helping Esmena and Jeryk scrub laundry and hang it up to dry.

His throat feels tight.

They'll be right next door, he scolds himself.

But a quieter voice wonders, For how much longer?

Jeryk's still quiet as he helps hang the curtains; quiet and pensive. Thaffe wonders what's going through his mind - if he recognizes that his parents will have to move away soon. The inn's not making enough money; they both know Esmena and Ardin have been skipping meals so their boys might eat. Even with Thaffe scraping in his own meager income, things are tight. Soon, they'll have to do as so many other families have done, and...

Well. Just as well he's going to be getting used to living alone, right?

"This is what you want, isn't it, love?"

Esmena's voice startles him out of his woolgathering. "Yes," he replies, too quickly. "Yes, of course."

She glances up from putting his clothes in the new dresser, gauging his expression with maternal skepticism. "If you're sure. You're always welcome back home - you know that, of course? Jeryk's going to be lost without you."

I'm going to be lost without him. "He'll do alright," he says, glancing toward the other room, where Jeryk balances carefully on a chair, hanging the last of the curtains. He's learned a great deal from his father all these years - no matter where Jeryk and Ardin wind up, they'll find work. There's always a need for steady hands and a knack for fixing what's broken.

It's not the work Jeryk wants to be doing, but the days of Twine's trolleys are long over.

"He'll be fine," he says, a bit more firmly. "Like I told him: I'll still see him every day."

She nods, closing a drawer. "I worry you're only doing this for us, Thaffe - that you're leaving the nest a bit too early."

He feels his face heat. "I'm old enough to support myself, Ma. I don't want-"

"You were born in this very room, did you know? I was one of the first people who got to hold you." There are tears glittering in Esmena's eyes, and she turns away to conceal them, smoothing out the bedsheets - but not so quickly that Thaffe didn't see them. "And then your poor mother... we swore, she and I, that if anything happened to one of us, the other would always, always look after our children."

"I'm not a child-"

She turns again, composed, and reaches up a hand to touch his cheek. It occurs to him, again, how strange it is to look down on her - just as it has every day since his growth spurt, years ago. "You'll always be a little bit my child," she says, quietly. "And it's always going to be a little bit my responsibility to look after you. You're not a burden, Thaffe."

He feels six years old again, sobbing into her skirts as his parents are buried. She'd rested a hand on the back of his head, offering soft, quiet words of comfort, telling him how much his parents had loved him; how much they were going to love him now: that he was family, that he was wanted, that he was safe.

And if it were all as simple as that-

He takes a deep breath. Swallows. "It's really just time I had my own place, Ma. My parents wanted that, too; that's why they left me this place."

She lowers her hand, smiling wistfully. "I suppose they did, didn't they? You'd make your mother proud, shadows rest her soul. Gods know you make me proud."

"That's the last of the curtains!" Jeryk bounces into the room, his mood evidently thoroughly recovered; if he notices the sentimental tension he's interrupting, he gives no sign of it. "What's next?"

Esmena sighs. "Next, we leave, and let Thaffe get settled in," she says, winding an arm around Jeryk's shoulders and steering him back out of the bedroom. "Say good night, love; you'll see Thaffe after he gets home from the mines tomorrow, as always."

Jeryk squirms. "But-"

Thaffe, too, feels a stab of alarm at the idea of being left alone... but that's childish; isn't this what he wanted? This very thing? He can't get used to living alone if he's never properly alone.

So he makes himself smile as he walks Jeryk and Esmena to the door, where Ardin is already waiting.

Esmena tugs him down to kiss his cheek as she bids him goodnight; Ardin shakes his hand and quietly congratulates him on the new house (with an assurance that if any repair work still needs doing, Thaffe's to ask for it without a moment's hesitation), and the two of them slip away, leaving the boys alone. Thaffe doesn't doubt that if Jeryk lingers too long, Esmena will return to usher him out of Thaffe's hair.

Even if it's the last thing Thaffe wants.

"So," he says, awkward.

Jeryk takes a deep breath. Then, "What if..."

Thaffe waits.

Nothing.

"What if?" he prompts... but Jeryk shakes his head.

"Nothing," Jeryk says, smiling. "Nothing, never mind."

Obeying a sudden impulse, Thaffe simply pulls his friend into his arms, giving him the tightest hug he can manage, until Jeryk squeaks in not-quite-protest, getting his own arms around Thaffe in the process. They haven't held onto each other like this since... since a year or more ago, when for a heart-wrenching few minutes, Thaffe had been certain Jeryk had been killed by sin eaters - or worse.

Then, as now, Thaffe had wondered just how in the world he was meant to carry on without Jeryk.

"I'll be right here," he says, reminding himself for what seems like the thousandth time that Jeryk's going to be right next door, at least for the immediate future - he can worry about the eventuality of his family leaving town later. It's going to be hard enough to make it through the night alone.

Jeryk pulls away, blinking hard; teardrops cling to his long eyelashes. "Right," he says, with none of his usual enthusiasm. "Right, of course. Thaffe..."

He puts his hands on Jeryk's shoulders and leans down, resting their foreheads together. "You can visit any time," he says, around the lump in his throat. "Any time, any reason. Alright?" He waits until Jeryk nods, then gives the boy a little shake. "Right. Best you go on home, then, before Ma starts wondering if I mean to keep you."

And with one last see you tomorrow, off Jeryk goes, closing the door reluctantly behind him.

Alone.

Thaffe stands alone for the first time beneath his own roof, in his own home. The old floor creaks under his feet as he drifts from one window to the next, closing the shutters for the night against the blinding Light outside. He lingers for a moment, watching as Esmena, Ardin, and Jeryk walk home; Jeryk's dragging his feet, fiddling with the old scarf he always wears - something he always does when he's anxious, as well he might be now, facing his first night alone in years...

Thaffe closes the shutter, closing out the sight. He sighs, resting his head against the window, wishing his chest didn't ache; wishing... what? That he'd find some miracle ore down in the mines, or something; anything that might sell for enough to keep Jeryk and his family here? That the trolleys might run again, that the Stoneworks might come back?

That somehow, somehow, the inevitable future won't catch up to them?

Jeryk...

He takes a deep breath and hauls himself away from the window, making his way through the darkened house to the bedroom. The bedroom, where the bedsheets still smell like home. Thaffe strips off his clothes for bed, leaving them on the floor - Esmena would scorch his ears for it, but she won't see it - and heaves himself into bed.

There, with no one around to see it, he buries his face in his pillow and lets the first of the tears flow. Homesickness, heartsickness. Loneliness.

The pillow smells like Jeryk; it's from the bed they'd shared for years.

There's comfort in that. Some, anyway.

He tries to sleep. The hours creep by - after a year in the mines, he's already got a decent sense for the passage of time, but it seems to him these hours must be a lifetime each. Bouts of fitful melancholy set in: he sheds more miserable tears, rises to pace around the room. Tries talking to himself. A thin ray of Light slices through the room from a crack in one shutter - need to get that fixed; maybe that's what's keeping him-

A knock at the door.

"Who'd be visiting in the middle of the night," he wonders aloud, grumbling as he manages to tug his trousers back on... though a part of him knows.

Specifically, his heart, which had leapt at the sound of the knock, and it's pounding now.

It's Jeryk, of course.

His friend stands grinning on his doorstep, still dressed for bed - looking, in fact, as though he'd rolled directly out of bed: from his frizzy, tousled blond hair all the way down to his bare feet. If he's slept at all, it doesn't show; his bright green eyes are red-rimmed and weary, though his smile is cheerful as ever.

"Jeryk," Thaffe says, fighting the urge to smile.

"Hello, neighbor!" Jeryk offers a little wave. "I was wondering: are you all settled in yet?"

He feels his lips twitching. "Settled enough to have company over for the night, maybe?"

Jeryk's smile fades, ever-so-slightly. "I'll go right back home if you want, I swear it," he promises. "I just... couldn't-"

"Couldn't sleep."

"-Couldn't sleep," Jeryk finishes, only a little sheepish.

He's never going to get used to living without Jeryk at this rate, Thaffe thinks, but he steps aside anyway, letting Jeryk in. He tells himself it'll be easier if he... weans himself off; lets himself get used to it little by little - that's why he lets Jeryk lead the way through the dark house to Thaffe's new room, as though he lives there. Jeryk doesn't even wait for a further invitation; he just hops right into Thaffe's bed, settling in.

"I think this might be bigger than our bed back home," Jeryk says, already drowsy, as Thaffe strips back down and climbs back into bed.

"By a sliver, maybe." The inn's beds had to be big enough to hold Ronso, after all; they're a more than fair fit for two humes. The bed doesn't seem half so large with Jeryk in it - and the night doesn't feel half so long with Jeryk's voice chattering to him in the quiet.

The ray of Light still slices through the room, enough to illuminate Jeryk's hopeful smile. "Can I come over every night?"

"Do I have any hope of stopping you?" Thaffe teases, rolling over to face his friend. "Who else is going to talk me to sleep about trolleys?"

It makes Jeryk laugh, ending in quiet giggles. "Well, now that you mention it-"

"I suppose I asked for this, didn't I."

"-I've been looking at some of the old manuals from the Stoneworks, and I reckon I can work out how to start mending some of the old tracks, if we can get some decent steel..."

Thaffe closes his eyes, and lets sleep claim him, still smiling.

It's good to be home.

[morocosmos]

#loveintheair Day 1 - Home

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Relationships: Thaffe Morhand/Jeryk Motplowe Warnings: None Prompt List & Event by @mischiefmilly Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

Kicking off with a little surprise gift for @sezja 💜

Thaffe wiped a light sheen of sweat off his brow, gripping the sack over his shoulder a mite tighter as a cool wind blew, ruffling through his hair. He was still growing accustomed to this strange new chill, as were the rest of Amh Araeng’s residents. No one blamed anyone, after having known nothing but unforgiving heat for a hundred years. But truth be told, he thought it suited the night sky, which had been responsible for the change in temperature in the first place; they seemed to go hand in hand, like the fit of a perfectly-sized glove. And he thought the night sky suited Amh Araeng.

The residual heat absorbed by the Flood kept any real cold at bay, and he was glad for the wind as it gently pulled him along the tracks, his steps homeward bound. Jeryk had likely finished his work for the day too, if the pull of Norvrandt-wide tracks and trolleys of never-before-seen proportions hadn’t kept him there this time. If it had, Thaffe would just have to go and remind him how dark it already was. He’d already done so a few times, and a funny little feeling would squeeze his heart whenever he’d see Jeryk’s eyes go all round, mouth forming an ‘O’ as the revelation of night hit him again. 

Today (or tonight, rather) however, Thaffe spotted a bobbing light far ahead; he knew the rhythm of those skipped steps from the way the lantern swung and he smiled. Jerky’s small form soon came into view, illuminated by the warm light.

“Thaffe!” Jeryk’s footsteps became louder and faster as he broke into a light run, hopping up to Thaffe’s side to give him an affectionate peck on his cheek; that warmed Thaffe’s face instantly. Then he was back to chattering away, this time about how he’d possibly figured out a way to safely lay tracks through the Dragging Tail. If successful, it would connect the existing tracks all the way to Mord Souq! Thaffe listened, never quite knowing the full run of what Jeryk was saying but always happy to hear him. He was his lodestone; the skies could turn green and Amh Araeng could be flooded overnight, but Jeryk would always be Jeryk. Home.

“Watch your steps,” Thaffe reminded gently. After a moment's deliberation, he leaned down to return Jeryk’s earlier kiss with one of his own.

[ffxivxd]

Jeryk Motplowe is a 23 year old engineer and close friend to Thaffe Morhand. While dedicating much of his time as a repairman, he occasionally puts his def fingers to use in trimming the bangs of Twine residents.

[gailiag]

A Comprehensive List of Character Ages from Encyclopaedia Eorzea III

Got my copy today and figured I'd compile a list of every character that has an age given in Encyclopaedia Eorzea III! Contains Shadowbringers and Endwalker spoilers. Text version below the cut (warning: it is LONG).

Shadowbringers Characters

Major Characters

Vauthry – 29

Beq Lugg – ~250

Lyna – 33

Feo Ul – "newly blossomed by fae reckoning"

Kai-Shirr Olkoh – 17

Ran'jit – 88

Chai-Nuzz Mewlah – 40

Dulia-Chai Mewlah – 40

Tesleen Stoneplowe – 18

Halric of the Gold House of Aldmere – 9

Seto – at least 140

Runar – 30

Ryne – 17

Gaia – 17

Role Quest Characters

Granson Ketchthane – 28

Lue-Reeq Chalah – 18

Cerigg Morpurse – 25

Taynor Lakplowe – 10

Giott – 22

Cyella Valthane – ~10,000

Crystalline Mean Characters

Katliss Horhand – 39

Facet of Forging

Iola Waldhand – 18

Eismon Valhand – 31

Colana of the Seventh House of Oakbridge – 27

Sue-Rend Maihov – 29

Facet of Crafting

Thiuna – 24

Walden of the Final House of Elmsby – 43

Owell Freehand – 27

Facet of Nourishing

Bethric of the Second house of Pinehome – 36

Facet of Gathering

Qeshi-Rae Kaapoh – 30

Yalana of the Grey House of Ashgrave – 25

Mao-Ladd Moshca – 23

Facet of Fishing

Frithrik – 26

Mervyl Stonehand – 52

Hurielle Stonehand – 22

Lakeland Characters

Callea Skyekirk – 27

Nielden of the First House of Oakbridge – 48

Mauwyl Mudkirk – 23

Tolas Valkirk – 23

Dwarf Quests Characters

Ronitt – 15

Ozogg – 20

Kholusia Characters

Kai-Shirr Olkoh – 17

Tristol Horpurse – 39

Eueliss Hylplowe – 22

Sai-Lewq Jinal – 56

Theva Valfyst – 37

Irvithe Ketchand – 26

Grithil Ketchpurse – 26

Xamott – 50

Korutt – 19

Glagg – 72

Eulmore Characters

Ran'jit – 88

Chai-Nuzz Mewlah – 40

Dulia-Chai Mewlah – 40

The Jongleurs – 18

Mowen Freepurse – 41

The Canary – 17

Hathenbet Ketchkirk – 67

Thoarich Skyeplowe – 73

Anfrigg Morhand – 21

Bosta-Zia Panpah – 19

Amh Araeng Characters

Ghen Gen – 39

Tesleen Stoneplowe – 18

Halric of the Gold House of Aldmere – 9

Thaffe Morhand – 24

Jeryk Motplowe – 23

Jamial Nabaath – 64

Guthjon – 34

Horthur – 53

Kee-Satt Lye – 20

Rhal Ral – 27

Darmal Morfyst – 45

The Fae

Aenc Thon – "as old as the flick of a disappearing tail"

Seto – at least 140

Rak’tika Characters

Runar – 30

Almet – 87

Uimet – 85

Cymet – 83

Lanille – 140

Myalna – 38

Qitari Quest Characters

Valan – 19

Quinfort – 18

Ciuna and Phyna – 48

Qitarl Natl – 14

The Tempest Characters

Tolshs Aath – 63

Paushs Ooan – 18

Grenoldt Freethane – 51

Teushs Ooan – 33

Zumshs Aath – 68

The Empty Characters

Ryne – 17

Gaia – 17

Werlyt Characters

Gaius Baelsar – 56

Valens van Varro – 56

Severa Souther – 23

Valdeaulin Ganathain – 48

Alfonse aan Baelsar – 21

Allie aan Baelsar – 16

Rex aan Baelsar – 18

Ricon aan Baelsar – 17

Milisandia aan Baelsar – 20

Bozja Characters

Bajsaljen Ulgasch – 54

Marsak Apella – 42

Misija Votyasch – 29

Stanik Alubov – 15

Noah van Gabranth – 48

Menenius sas Lanatus – 55

Lyon rem Helsos – near 70

Sadr rem Albeleo – 37

Firmament Characters

Augebert Brasher – 36

Maelie Greystone – 11

Peyraquile Bomptond – 13

Marcelloix Mourelz – 34

Neillemard Hanette – 31

Endwalker Characters

Major Characters

Ahewann bin Alzadaal – 22

Montichaigne Mongrignois – 74

Ameliance Leveilleur – 42

Erenville – 25

Kokkol Dankkol – 43

Wilfsunn Tragbharsyn – 56

Bloewyda Uwilsyngwyn – 54

Matsya – 22

Jullus pyr Norbanus – 21

Role Quest Characters

Shirabaht bin Ardati – 31

Ea-Sura-Supin – 28

Charlet Reed – 19

Minato Urabito – 24

Kisei Urabito – 51

Sharlayan Characters

Montichaigne Mongrignois – 74

Ojika Tsunjika – 21

Dickson Denman – 38

Barnier Clarke – 54

Ameliance Leveilleur – 42

Kytte Kirk – 26

Nenelymo Totolymo – 72

Studium Characters

Rurusha Rusha – 74

Boric Azora – 40

Namono Tayamono – 29

Jude Rose – 19

Jeromere Marette – 20

Debroye – 21

Galveroche Larille – 55

Flaugustert Friont – 73

Hinageshi Wright – 29

Tankin Banjo – 35

T'laqa Tia – 31

Nele Newton – 81

Qih Aliapoh – 26

Labyrinthos Characters

Vtorak Vetasch – "indeterminate age and inconclusive gender"

Erenville – 25

Kokkol Dankkol – 43

Wilfsunn Tragbharsyn – 56

Bloewyda Uwilsyngwyn – 54

Verpaulaine Fouillel – 12

Thavnair Characters

Mehryde bihn Shinan – 40

Ahewann bin Alzadaal – 22

Mehryde bihn Shinan – 40

Matsya – 22

Qerasaf bin Shirashir – 24

Racashir bin Fahleel – 9

Yezahn bin Qulhudi – 27

Sula – 24

Arkasodara Quest Characters

Trna (Arkasodara Quests) – 21

Ogul Khatayin – 18

Kancana – 50

Garlemald Characters

Sicard Spence – 26

Licinia bas Corculum – 18

Jullus pyr Norbanus – 21

Jareck aan Natasch – 43

Vergilia van Corculum – 42

Nerva yae Galvus – 44

Rimelnaud de Thelomaire – 27

Appius eir Callaecus – 30

Galla oen Longus – 33

Volsus bas Malicus – 13

Vipsania dus Malicus – 44

Frontinus fae Malicus – 43

Job-Related Characters

Gunbreaker

Radovan Slobasch – 45

Sophie – 20

Cato nan Mammula – 52

Vitus quo Messalla – 52

Dancer

Ranaa Mihgo – 17

Nashmeira – 37

Reaper

Drusilla Varus – 52

Arnegis Elder – 42

Hermin Hart – 19

Sage

Lalah Jinjahl – 22

Mahaud Stone – 21

Ancel Stone – 26

Guildivain Sailmet – 38

Blue Mage

Latool Ja – 22

Whastrach Ahldwaensyn – 37

Ceadda of the Whalaqee – 14

Zirnberk Fyrgeissyn – 26

Seasonal Event Characters

Valentione’s Day

Lisette de Valentione – "nearing thirty"

Astrid de Valentione – 16

Little Ladies’ Day

Ulala Ula – 16

Narumi Kakeya – 21

Masha Mhakaracca – 19

Aldiytha Thorne – 22

Hatching–Tide

Jihli Aliapoh – 22

Pawlin Morning – 38

Make It Rain Campaign

Nanaphon Sasaphon – 23

Roland Redsteele – 48

Moonfire Faire

Haermaga Bleibornsyn – 39

Beaudefoin Dupaitre – 33

Hildelana Quick – 28

R'fhul Tia – 18

The Rising

Wandering Minstrel – "undisclosed age"

J'bhen Tia – 22

Nhagi'a Jakkkya – 16

All Saints’ Wake

Impresario – "gives his age as 'six hundred and sixty-six'"

Starlight

Amh Garanjy - 27

[sezja]

I think we should just let him build a giant trolley for the giant Talos and see what happens; I trust him with it

[sezja]

Morning

(Note: This story is set before Jeryk started identifying as a boy.)

"Thaffe."

"Mm..."

"Thaffe! C'mon, wake up!"

Reluctantly, Thaffe drags his eyes open. It's early, so early - but not so early Jeryk isn't already wide-awake and impatient, clearly having waited exactly as long as she means to for him to wake of his own accord. She's kneeling on the floor by his bed, arms folded on the edge of the mattress, eyeing him with a fierce intensity in her green eyes.

She's cracked one of the shutters open, and Light spills into the room, as glaringly insistent as she is. It pins a halo on Jeryk's frizzy golden hair... and makes Thaffe consider retreating back under the blankets where it's safe and dark.

Something of the thought must've shown on his face, because Jeryk frowns. With all the wounded betrayal a seven-year-old can muster, she declares, "You said you wanted to come with me this morning!"

He did say that. He remembers saying it last night, while they were whispering conspiratorially under the blankets so Jeryk's parents wouldn't hear - it'd seemed like a grand idea: watching the morning shift miners ride off in the trolley while the rest of the town slept. Jeryk's been doing it for a week now, sneaking out of bed. Thaffe had finally asked what his friend was up to - though maybe he should've guessed all along. And he'd let himself be talked into coming along this morning.

But it'd seemed like a better idea before he realized it'd mean getting out of bed so early.

As he hesitates, though, Jeryk's lower lip quivers.

"Fine, I'm coming," he grumbles, tossing the blanket off and blinking in the Light. Jeryk grins, revealing two proud gaps in her teeth, before bounding eagerly toward the door.

"Come on, come on, we'll be late and we'll miss it!"

Still bleary-eyed, Thaffe follows in his excited friend's wake through the house, letting her chatter about the trolley wash over him. Ardin, Jeryk's father, is already awake as well, working on some small project on the kitchen table - he spares the children an amused glance as they pass through, lifting an eyebrow at Thaffe's presence, but he says nothing to halt them. Thaffe had wondered if Jeryk's parents - his own foster parents - knew what their child was up to every morning.

Evidently, no one's surprised.

Outside, the town feels strange: quieter, emptier than Thaffe's used to. Jeryk continues babbling, leading the way, untroubled - all that matters to her is the trolley, of course. The heart of town is a little busier: weary miners making their way to the trolley, hauling themselves and their tools up the ladder to find a seat. They talk among themselves, too quiet for Thaffe to make out, but he recognizes most of them, even through his drowsy haze.

There's Guthjon, who winks at the two of them as he spots their approach. "Ah, poor Thaffe," he says, leaning down over the trolley's railing. "She's got you wrapped around her finger already!"

"Thaffe wanted to see the trolley today, too," Jeryk says cheerily, ignoring - or not noticing - the tease. "So I brought him along."

"He looks fit to doze off on his feet, poor tyke," another miner says, laughing. "We'll never make a miner out of you, lad!"

He's too sleepy to think of a proper retort, and when he opens his mouth to do so, he only yawns - and the moment is gone. He can't claim he's not half-asleep, not when they're both standing here in their bedclothes anyway. Jeryk might be wide-awake and bushy-tailed, but Thaffe plans to go right back to sleep the moment she decides it's time to go home.

"Right, out of the way, you two! Jeryk, you know the rules." That's Skuli's father, Thaffe realizes with a jolt - surprised, though he's not sure why. Magnus is one of the senior engineers now, now that many of the mystel have begun packing up and leaving Twine behind. There are few engineers present this morning, and he supposes Magnus could just as easily be there to see off his wife, one of the miners heading out for the day. He gently waves them off.

He doesn't have much time to ruminate on it, though, before Jeryk seizes his hand and hauls him up the stairs of the scaffolding above the trolley. "We have to stay out of their way," she informs him, matter-of-factly, taking the stairs two at a time, never mind her short legs (or Thaffe's bleariness). "Otherwise the Talos will step on us!"

Thaffe's not sure that's true.

But he's not sure he wants to find out, either.

Besides, it does give them a good view of the trolley: the miners all sitting together on the car, chatting among themselves as they wait for the last stragglers to make their way over - some of them looking just as tired as Thaffe himself, and with a full day's work ahead of them! Magnus and his wife, Agna, share a quiet conversation while they wait, while Magnus performs a perfunctory check of the rails.

And then the Talos stirs.

It's easy, Thaffe thinks, to grow accustomed to the hulking thing from a distance. Every child in Twine knows to stay well away from the tracks and the Talos, if only because the Stoneworks will have their hides if anything damages the golems. He's mostly seen them from a safe distance, then, returning the trolleys home and setting out with the next batch of miners; he's never seen them quite so close. This one steps out from beneath him, shaking the ground with every step, rattling the scaffolding.

Jeryk beams, clapping in eager excitement.

Thaffe finds he's grinning too, clutching the scaffolding and leaning over to watch the Talos step ponderously into position. Each step makes the earth tremble, like a pulse - the pulse of Twine itself, the heart of the town. The giant takes hold of the trolley as it does each morning, looming over it, ready to set off.

Thaffe realizes he's holding his breath.

With a great sparking of the trolley's wheels, the Talos pushes onward, heaving the miners off to their work for the day. Jeryk bounces to her feet, cheering it on, clapping as if they've just witnessed a performance rather than the same mundane process the miners carry out each morning... but maybe she's right, after all. Maybe there is something special about the trolleys. Thaffe still feels the Talos' footsteps in his bones, long after the golem has vanished into the distance.

"See? See? Isn't it incredible?" Jeryk's eyes are bright; her cheeks flushed. "I told you you'd like it!"

"You did," he admits, ruffling her messy hair. "You did, at that."

"So you'll come tomorrow, too?"

With the excitement fading, he finds he's still sleepy; he wants very much to climb right back into bed and sleep 'til Jeryk's mother comes to wake them properly. The idea of getting up so early again makes him want to yawn again. But the eager glitter in Jeryk's eyes and the memory of the Talos' steps thrumming in his veins are compelling, too.

So what he says is, "Of course I will."

[sezja]

I love him a normal amount.

[sezja]

Same picture.

(Autism Creature by @magentasnail, via this post)

[sezja]

Gone

Everything aches - Thaffe feels like he ought to have gotten used to this by now, after his first week in the mines, but every muscle protests at day's end... and all the more when he wakes up again in the morning, stiff after a night's fitful rest. He trails behind his fellow miners, enduring their jeers and teasing with a weary smile; he's the newest and youngest fellow on the team. A little ribbing's only to be expected.

"You'll get used to it, lad." Guthjon, his mentor, claps a friendly hand on Thaffe's shoulder. "You're young and strong, and fit to grow stronger still."

"I just wish it'd happen faster." Still, Thaffe's grateful for Guthjon's rare compassion and patience; gods know the other Ronso miners won't cut him any slack. They all say he's got no business in the mines - a sentiment he hasn't argued against. It's not work he enjoys... but it's the only work left in Twine, even if it's not much, and Thaffe's done living off the charity of Jeryk's family, who hardly have enough for themselves. He's old enough at fifteen summers to start working for a living, and Guthjon's a good teacher - even if it does make Jeryk's mother fret.

They'll likely have to close up their inn and leave town soon, Thaffe thinks, not for the first time. Just like everyone else. Twine's been dying a slow death since the Stoneworks finally packed up and left - people either giving up and heading for greener pastures, or being forced to do so when they were unable to scrape together the money for basic necessities.

For now, Jeryk's family's scraping along, but barely. His mother takes in laundry; his father handles odd repair jobs - it's not enough, though, and soon...

Thaffe tries to imagine Twine without Jeryk, and can't. It makes his heart twist. All the friends they've said farewell to over the past few years... at least they've always had each other; that's the important thing. Another year or two, and maybe it won't matter anymore; long enough for Jeryk to be old enough to stay behind when his parents leave... but that's praying they stay that long, when things are running dry now. They should move on, Thaffe knows; they deserve a better life than this, and Jeryk too.

There are no trolleys, not even defunct ones, anywhere else in Norvrandt, though, and Jeryk will be miserable - like trying to make a flower bloom in the Empty.

"Don't get so lost in thought you fall off the rails," Guthjon teases, startling Thaffe from his brooding. They walk along the old trolley tracks, a relatively safe route back to Twine - if one doesn't trip over a spar and go tumbling down fo break their neck, anyway. Thaffe shakes his head.

"I wasn't-"

"Hold," Guthjon says, pausing. Frowning. "Something's..."

Something tugs at the edge of Thaffe's hearing. Screaming. A woman's voice, raised in a wordless wailing shriek of grief.

It's then that Thaffe really looks at Twine, near enough now to make out evidence of some struggle - tremendous gouging scrapes on the walls, buildings damaged or collapsing...

And the bodies of sin eaters, slowly dissolving into glowing aether.

While they'd been safe in the mines, Twine had been attacked.

"Wicked white," Guthjon breathes, his voice unsteady. "Come on, Thaffe; they'll need help-"

Thaffe doesn't need encouragement. He runs, all his weariness forgotten; the woman is still screaming, her keening driving a spike of fear deep into his heart. Raw and anguished as it is, he's recognized her voice.

Jeryk's mother.

In town, things are worse. The damage is done; the eaters have moved on, but the carnage is enough to steal Thaffe's breath away. Twine's not safe, exactly - no town cowering at the foot of the Flood could be - but they rarely see more than one or two stray eaters, easily avoided until some hunter drifts through. This, though... there must have been a swarm. Healers are already hard at work; someone must've already gotten word to Mord Souq - they hurry from person to person, tending what wounds can yet be tended... and checking, always, for signs that the aether of their patients has been tainted with Light.

Five bodies lie in the shade beneath the trolley scaffolding, covered by clean sheets. Those the healers couldn't save. Thaffe tries not to wonder who they might be; tries not to look too closely; he hears Guthjon murmur a prayer for the departed. The other miners have all scattered, looking for friends and loved ones among the survivors, trying to tally their losses - Guthjon, with no family left of his own, follows Thaffe, as though he knows the boy will have need of a shoulder to lean on.

He recognizes the wailing woman's voice, as well.

By now she's wept herself hoarse, but her cries still carry far enough to lead Thaffe right to her. She appears unharmed - thank the gods for small favors, Thaffe thinks - for all she's distraught, sitting in the dirt with her arms wrapped tight around herself, pouring out her misery. Esmena Motplowe is a tiny woman, seemingly too delicate for life in rough-and-ready Twine at the best of times, but never before has Thaffe thought she more resembled a heartbroken child: a pain too big for words, too vast for comprehension, and all she can do is scream and cry until it runs its course.

"Thaffe. Guthjon." Esmena's husband, Ardin, raises hollow, reddened eyes to greet them. He sits on the ground beside his inconsolable wife, his arm in a hastily-made cast: the only injury Thaffe sees, another small miracle. But his wife's grief is etched deep on the man's face - he looks as though he's aged ten years since Thaffe saw him just last night.

Fear roots Thaffe to the spot.

Guthjon steps forward, gently patting Esmena's shoulder. "There now, lass, what's happened?" He need not have wasted his breath; the woman doesn't even so much as stop for breath.

No. Gods, no.

Thaffe makes himself stumble forward, kneeling before her. "Ma," he says, as gently as he can, around a throat grown too tight. He draws her hands into his, squeezing. "Ma, where's Jeryk?"

Hiccuping between sobs, she stares through him, her green eyes (So like her son's. Always glittering with some private joy. Always bright with curiosity; with eagerness.) red and raw. "Thaffe," she manages, a whisper... and then a pained groan, as though she's been stabbed through the heart-

Or as though her heart's been torn out.

"We were on the tavern roof," Ardin says, his quiet voice steady. Too steady. Numb. "Jeryk and I. Patching it up. When the eaters came, I... I sent him down first - told him to find his mother, to stay with her..." He drags his good hand down his face, shaking. "When I went to follow him down, I slipped. Fell. Knocked myself senseless, broke my arm." His eyes close. "When I came to, it was over, and Jeryk was gone."

Gone. Gone?

Guthjon lets out a long, slow breath. "Gods. The poor lad. There was no...?"

No body.

Ardin shakes his head, eyes closed. "I looked. Asked everyone. Looked at all the dead, just in case..."

But it would've been easy to recognize one small body among the dead. No body meant a fate far worse than death, and agony every moment of the change. Thaffe watches Esmena's face twist in grief again, and his hands slide away from hers, falling limp. She buries her face in her hands, muffling her cries, but to Thaffe, they sound a thousand malms away - as though he's gazing out at the world from a long, dark tunnel.

Jeryk.

He'd seen his friend just that morning as he left the house - Jeryk still sound asleep where he'd climbed into Thaffe's bed, as usual. They'd stayed up far too late talking about... gods, what had they even talked about? Silly things. Jeryk had gone on about wanting to restore the old trolley cars, as if they knew the first thing about such things, and Thaffe had drowsily humored him - knowing all the while that he had to wake up absurdly early to get to the mine, but not quite being willing to kick Jeryk out...

He'd ruffled Jeryk's tousled blond hair as he left.

He stares at his hands, remembering with strange sharpness the way Jeryk's hair felt against his fingers. The sound of his voice, half-hushed, cracking with all his fourteen-summers' eagerness as he talked about restoring the trolley and tracks. The living warmth of him in the bed at Thaffe's side.

Gone.

Not like this, he thinks, thoughts colliding and tumbling over one another. Not like this. I knew I'd need to lose him soon, but never this, not this, not...

He'll spend the rest of his life peering at every sin eater, wondering. If the gods are merciful, it'll be a short life.

He's dimly aware of Guthjon speaking to him, but the words slide off. The tone is comforting, commiserating. The miner pats his back, speaks once more to the grieving parents, and leaves. There are others he can help. Others who can yet be helped. This... this, Thaffe supposes, only time can heal.

He tries to imagine Twine without Jeryk, and can't.

Closing his eyes, he tortures himself with thoughts of how it must have happened. He'd been safe in the mines, hammering blithely away, complaining about his shoulders and back aching, and all the while...

Jeryk, realizing his father had fallen; wasn't moving. Jeryk would've panicked. Where would his mother have been? The other side of town? It would've seemed like the other side of Norvrandt. Jeryk never thought clearly when he was spooked; he wouldn't have thought to find somewhere to hide. No, faced with danger, Jeryk would've run...

Jeryk would've run.

The idea fills his mind like a diamond unearthed in an old seam. His breath catches. It's an impossible hope; wild and desperate, but if he's right -

He gets to his feet and runs at a dead sprint, heedless of the shouts that follow him.

Thaffe runs along the tracks as fast as his feet will carry him, just as he's told Jeryk not to do a thousand times. He tries not to think about how much open sky there is above him, or how tempting a target one scrawny, terrified teenage hume would've been; hope is all he has left, and he'll need it to carry him to the end. If he's wrong, he fears it might just kill him.

The empty railyard at Mount Biran's abandoned mines, littered with the ruins of long-abandoned trolleys left to bake beneath the Amh Araeng sun and the blistering Light.

Thaffe's not even certain what compelled him to come here, what made him think this might be where Jeryk ran, only... only that this is where they've been spending their days, lately; looking out over the rotting tracks and thinking about what used to be. Jeryk chattering on about the trolleys and their heyday as if he'd lived them, going on and on... Thaffe's not sure he hasn't come to take an interest in trolleys by force, at this rate.

"Jeryk!" His voice echoes over the yard, cracking with desperation. "Jeryk! Where are you!?"

Silence. Stillness.

Doubt gnaws at his gut, making his breathing ragged.

If he's wrong... if he's wrong...

He calls again, eyes darting around as though he might catch any hint of-

There.

He's moving before he even recognizes what he's seen: the slightest twitch of a shadow beneath one of the intact trolleys. It's a small space, narrow... but not too small for one scared boy.

"Jeryk," he says, all but throwing himself to the ground, peering into the shadows.

Relief so strong it leaves him breathless washes over him: there, huddled between the tracks, still trembling with fear and adrenaline both...

"Jeryk," he manages again, choking on emotion. "It's safe now, you can come out. Let's go on home-"

But Jeryk shakes his head, inching further back; in the darkness, his eyes are wide and dark with terror. "No, no-"

He's always so skittish when he's frightened. Thaffe supposes he could wait here until the boy is ready to come out on his own; barring the occasional stray coyote, there's not much to fear here. Were it not for the memory of Esmena weeping herself into hysterics in her grief...

And his own need to be sure he's not looking at some phantom dreamed up by his own grief. That, too.

"Jeryk," he says, a third time. Gentle. He reaches out a hand. "It's me; it's Thaffe. I'd never hurt you. You know I'd never hurt you."

A whimper. A shiver. And something human resurfaces in Jeryk's eyes.

"Thaffe..." The boy drags himself forward, seizing Thaffe's hand, and letting himself be pulled back out into the Light.

Thaffe didn't mean to pull Jeryk into his arms, but he finds he's done it anyway, clinging and weeping like a child. Jeryk clings back, though, burying his face against Thaffe's shoulder, sobbing, blubbering about sin eaters. They sit together in the dirt beside the tracks, too overwrought to stand - Thaffe finds he can't string two thoughts together; only an endless rush of disbelief and gratitude, and the fear that if he lets go, even if only for a moment, Jeryk will simply evaporate: an illusion brought on by grief.

So he holds on, so tight he's certain he must be hurting Jeryk after all.

"Gods," he says, after what feels like hours. Jeryk's parents must be certain he's gone off and gotten himself killed in a fit of grief-fueled madness. The best apology he can make is to restore their son to them. "We... we should get home-"

Jeryk stirs, lifting his head from Thaffe's shoulder for the first time since he'd emerged from under the trolley. His face is smudged with tears and dust; his eyes are red and raw, so like his mother's. "Did... did you see my dad?"

"He's-" Wicked white, I should've said something sooner. "He's fine. Busted his arm, that's all. He's worried sick about you." He leaves out the fact that Jeryk's parents had been convinced he was dead or worse; that'll only distress him further.

Jeryk squirms guiltily in his arms. "I just-"

"I know." He gets back to his feet, pulling Jeryk up along with him. Reluctantly - and feeling foolish for it - he releases the boy, who doesn't vanish on the spot. "Let's get home, shall we?" He ruffles Jeryk's hair, already mussed from scrambling under the trolley, and tries not to think about how certain he'd been that he'd never do so again.

I can't imagine Twine without you.

He tries not to think about it.

Jeryk smiles - a little wobbly at the corners, a little more sniffly than usual, but it'll do. They begin the familiar walk back to Twine, their feet falling steadily on the old tracks, watching for loose boards beneath their feet.

"Hey, Thaffe?"

"Hm?"

Jeryk smiles again, and Thaffe knows what he's in for. "Do you suppose there might be some way to use the trolley to protect Twine from sin eaters?"

Gods, what would I ever even do if I lost you? "Well-"

But Jeryk's already in a world of his own, spinning a tale of trolleys opposing the Light.

Thaffe shakes his head, smiling.

Thank the gods.

[sezja]

No one asked, but my favorite Jeryk picture is "Any time he's smiling"

He was built for smiling and needs to be doing it Always.

[sezja]

Sometimes I think about how Jeryk seems to be the most happy-go-lucky cheerful guy in Twine without a care in the world; super friendly and eager to chat about the history of the town, the trolley, etc.! Just a helpful, upbeat li'l guy here in the middle of nowhere, when everyone else is clearly carrying the weight of the world and then some.

And then how he breaks down and runs away because he literally can't bring himself to speak of Agna's death three years later

That man is carrying grief

[sezja]

I have way too many screencaps that are just him smiling

[sezja]

I really like that post-6.5, Thaffe's evidently adjusted to Jeryk's energy again. He was a little thrown for a good long while there while Jeryk was getting increasingly hyped about trolleys and giant trolleys and trolleys on other worlds etc., but it seems like Thaffe's gotten accustomed to it, at least enough to be carrying on a conversation with Jeryk instead of just kind of being bewildered by it.

...Magnus still can't make heads or tails of it, but he hasn't grown up with. This.

[sezja]

"(sigh) Just when we fixed the lights working on the tracks, the sky had to go and change back. I was hoping we'd have something exciting to show you. Maybe another time..."

I love Jeryk so much

Magnus and Thaffe are Concerned because they've all heard about how the WoD collapsed after defeating the last Lightwarden, and how they're on the brink of death, and Jeryk's like, "Aw man, I wanted to show you something cool :c"

Because!! He mentioned back when the WoD was helping him with maintenance on the tracks how he hoped the lights would be useful if the night returned to Amh Araeng like it had in Lakeland!!

It's Jeryk's way of saying, "I know things suck for you right now, how about this cool thing?" and he's bummed because he doesn't have anything to offer to cheer you up and uuuuuugh my sonnnnnn

[sezja]

Sir. You are so fucking small.

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 13: "You weren't supposed to get hurt" Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Jeryk Motplowe, Bekwyl; background WoLs from @lesenbyan Triggers/Content warnings: n/a

Bekwyl lies in the shade, curled up on his side, unwilling to move for fear the strange red drahn woman might come back and finish the job - that he's even alive at all must've just been an oversight. He's sure she thinks she finished him off; he's just glad she's wrong. That wicked axe of hers! Nothing like the glorified woodcutter's hatchet he's touting around.

He'd lain there waiting for her to take his bloody head off with it. Only when he'd opened his eyes, she was nowhere to be seen.

Thaffe and Jeryk, he thinks, guilty and terrified all at once.

What must've happened to his friends? He didn't hear any screaming. Maybe he'd heard the distant sound of a scuffle, somewhere far off - but that could just as easily be the coyotes scrapping over territory or food. He remembers how swiftly the axe-wielding woman had put him down - not even a sound out of her, like she hadn't even broken a sweat. Like she killed men like him every day.

What chance would Thaffe and Jeryk stand? They weren't even armed. Hells, Thaffe doesn't even have so much as his miner's kit on him. It's supposed to be Bekwyl's job to keep an eye out while they're working; he's supposed to keep the other two out of danger...

He'd been the first to notice the strangers creeping around the railyard, poking around at the old machinery. He'd told Thaffe and Jeryk to hide - and to stay hidden - while he circled around to the storehouses, trying to plan his angle of attack. There were six of them; Bekwyl can't remember ever seeing so many people wandering into the Hills of Amber all at once. Two men, strangely dressed. Three women, even more strangely dressed. And one girl.

And nearly every one of them, armed.

Not merchants. Too intent on the remnants of the trolley yard to be just passing through - and passing through to where?

He'd pondered his odds, knowing full well it was a lost cause; fighting people isn't like fighting the occasional gnome or knocker in the mines - and these people looked experienced, like they knew how to fight, how to kill. Maybe... maybe if he tried to distract them, got them to split up...

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the red woman had appeared. Bekwyl barely had enough time to draw his axe before she was on him like a force of nature, and in two mighty swings that didn't seem like they should be possible from such a small woman, she'd taken him down... and there she left him, presumably for dead. He gingerly feels at the worst of his injuries, prodding gingerly.

His fingers come back clean. No blood.

That doesn't seem possible. Surely she must've...

"There you are!" Bekwyl starts at the unexpected voice, half-anticipating the return of his attacker... but no, it's just Jeryk, looking a bit scuffed, but none the worse for wear. Cheery as ever. He kneels next to Bekwyl. "You're still in one piece, right? Why are you still laying there?"

Godsdamned idiot- "They could still be around! Get back into hiding!"

A quizzical look passes over Jeryk's face. Then he smiles again. "Oh. No, it's alright; it was all just a misunderstanding. They want to use the trolley, not steal parts from it. Thaffe's taking them back to Twine now - maybe they'll bring Magnus around."

"Did you hit your head?!" He tries to sit up, still shaking with nerves. "One of them tried to kill me!"

"Well, we did try to attack them without knowing their intentions, Bekwyl," Jeryk says, as if he's the one who can't fully grasp the situation. "You weren't supposed to get hurt; they just had questions about the trolley, that's all."

Gods, Jeryk. The strangers'd said the magic word - trolley - and suddenly they were the man's best friends.

Bekwyl prods at his aching head again, wondering if maybe she had cracked his skull and drained him of all sense. "What happened with you and Thaffe, then?"

"We fought too," Jeryk says, beaming, with more pride than his obvious defeat warrants. Bekwyl's never so much as seen Jeryk throw a punch. "Of course, if we'd known they were just after information on the trolley-"

"Why do they even-" Bekwyl shakes his aching head. "Never mind. Magnus'll never help them."

Jeryk stands, brushing off his coat. "He could," he says, in all his unquenchably boundless optimism. "You never know. Can you stand?" He offers a hand, and after a moment's stubborn reluctance, Bekwyl takes it, letting his friend haul him back to his feet.

He sways, dizzy - she might not've cracked his skull, but the woman had whacked him over the head with an axe. "Ugh-"

"There you go, you can lean on me," Jeryk says, wrapping one of Bekwyl's arms over his shoulders, supporting him, as they begin the walk back home. It galls Bekwyl not a little to need the support, from little Jeryk of all people - he's supposed to be the one keeping the others from harm - but he's already been fully humbled today; the last thing he needs is to fall off the tracks and finish what the red woman started.

He sighs. "So who are they, anyway?"

"I haven't the foggiest," Jeryk replies, unbothered. "They say they need to reach Nabaath Areng."

"Why?"

"They didn't say, but they do need the trolley to do it!"

"You're hopeless, you know that?"

Jeryk hums a little, smiling. "They're very kind, once you get to know them a little," he says, carefully maneuvering both of them over the gap between the tracks. "I hope Magnus takes a shine to them, as well; we might just see the trolley repaired after all, if he does."

"Is one of them going to pull a hunk of leonine out of their-"

"Who knows? One's a mage. Have you ever met a proper mage before?"

Gods, but his head hurts, and Jeryk's a headache unto himself, no matter how fond Bekwyl is of the odd little bastard. Why couldn't Thaffe have been the one to come looking for him; at least Thaffe might be able to give him a straight answer...

"What happened to you?"

The voice makes him look up. They've reached Twine, just in time to catch Kee-Satt of all people heading out - out to the mines, no doubt, on whatever secret errand had brought the Kholusian mystel all the way out to Twine...

Bekwyl's tongue ties itself in knots. "A... accident at the..." He clears his throat. "Accident at the railyard." He adds, "Good luck out there." Gods know the ronso miners won't spare the mystel half a kind word.

The man narrows suspicious violet eyes at him, and says nothing, stalking off with his head held high.

"'Good luck out there,'" Jeryk teases, grinning. "You should say something, you know."

"Say what? That he looks like a scrawny, shaved ronso? Shush, you." He untangles himself from Jeryk, and stalks home, nursing his wounded head and pride all at once.