#like for instance: the other day i learned they are not true firs and also not pines (but they are in the same family)

[tablevivant]

Travelers tip for living in washington state: you can only say "Douglas fir ... Incredible..." about 3 times in one conversation before people think you're weird.

You can only say "Can someone bring me an autopsy on the dead girl?" once

[justmewoo]

Brother Knows Best Part [1/?] Tony Stark x Brother Male Reader]

This is something I came up with two days ago and it is unedited. But I have a big idea and i'm planning in writing it as a one shot that contains for or five chapters long. So if you like this first chapter let me know and I will be happy to work on part two. I hope you enjoy my crappy writing and let me know if you want me to tag you on the chapters.

WORD COUNT: 4,180 takes place in the middle of infinity war and endgame.

"Take care of your brother for me [M/N] we'll be back in no time." That was the last time I ever saw my Mother and Father alive before they died in a car crash. 

It has now being more than two decades since it happen. I was twenty six years old while my younger brother Tony was twenty one. I'm the oldest of the two but not everyone knows about me.

Ever since the death of my parent's Tony became distant not that we we're ever close to begin with. But he simply didn't want to see me anymore. Which of course, hurt me seeing him act this way towards me. But, it was his choice and there was nothing that could convince or change his mind about the decision he wanted to choose. I had resigned from Stark Industries because Tony wanted to take over the industries and quite friankly I didn't want work there anymore. 

I was able to start out fresh in another country. So what better place than to start out fresh where no one knows about your family name than in Tokyo Japan. I had become a high school teacher for psychical education. The first year was a bit difficult to understand and learn japanese when I had arrived but during the second year living here I was able to pick up every word and enjoyed their culture and festivals very much. With the money that I had saved I was able to rent an apartment in a good neighborhood. Being a foreigner here people where nice and helped me a lot especially when it came to riding the trains. At first it could be confusing at firs till at least you get the hang of them. The staff of the school where I work in have all being helpful and caring since the day I joined them. 

The students I first taught where good kids they where a bit crazy knowing they would be getting a foreigner for a teacher. Even though I couldn't really speak their language it was fun to see them try and speak english. I got along well with them which was amazing since it could be difficult when teaching high school students. But after being here for more than four years i'm able to communicate with them just fine.

I made good friends on here too some of them are from the staff while other's I met out in the streets I also got to meet someone special here. "[F/L] Sensei someone's here to see you in the office." Said a young voice that belong to a student. I had decided to fake my last name because in Japan they had technology that only Stark Industries could only create.

"Thanks, Yuki i'll go right away. Alright everyone take a break while I come back." I yelled as I took off running to the main office inside the school. I speed walk down the hallway till I finally reached the small faculty room. "[F/L] Sensei there's someone who wants to see you in the principal's office." A staff member said. I bow and said thank you before knocking on the door and hearing a come in. I opened the door to find the principal and my pregnant wife of three months talking before I walked in shutting the door after me. 

"[F/L] Sensei, your wife is here to see you. I'll leave you two to talk." The principal said smiling wide at me before leaving us alone. I walked over and hugged her. 

"Aiko what are you doing here didn't you have your appointment today with the doctor? Is the baby alright." I asked worried as she returned the hug. 

Aiko shook her head smiling up at me. "The baby is fine I have a suprise for you." She said taking out something from inside her bag. It was a white medium bag. "Open it." I took it from her and slowly opened it inside was a blue shirt that had english words written on it with a small picture in the bottom of the bag. The shirt said "Daddy's boy." Written in white. 

I took a look at the picture of the baby and dropped the bag and shirt on the table behind me and crushed Aiko in a big hug. I kissed the top of her head and smiled while looking at the picture of my son. "I still can't believe i'm finally having a family of my own." I whispered to myself looking up at the cieling thinking about how happy my parents would had being if they where still alive. 

After school ended Aiko decided to stay there and wait for me till the last class was done so her and I went walking home together. The school was about two blocks away from where we live. Aiko and I walked down the streets holding hands along with the students who made their way home. I had changed from my track suit before leaving into regular clothing that was just a plain white shirt and some blue jeans. Aiko wore a nice summer white dress with some sandles. "Ne, [M/N] can we go to the convience store for some snacks?" Aiko asked. 

"Of course, anything you want infact i'm craving some rice curry from there." I said smiling at her. Aiko nodded rubbing circles on her small bump with her right hand. As we continued to walk down the street I kept looking back taking a few glances here and there. I had a feeling someone was following us. Unware of my wife's glance she worried but I assured her that everything was fine. A few minutes later we had finally arrived to the small convience store around the corner. Behind a tree I noticed a tall figure hiding. Feeling a bit unsure about this person I let Aiko go inside the store and said to go inside while I went back to the school because I forgot some papers and would be right back. I speed walking away until I saw go inside and walked careful to the man who has being following us. I tricked the guy and climbed on the tree next to it glaring down at him. 

"How did you find me here." I stated more than a question. I crossed my arms not leaving my eyes off him. 

"I just wanted to see how you where doing it's been a long time since I last heard anything about you." 

"There's always a reason why you suddenly show up so cut the crap Fury. What the hell are you doing here?" I said angrily. 

"First come down from there I see, you still remember all that training you did when you where younger. Alright you caught me but first come down from that tree people will think i'm crazy if they see me talking to myself." He said. 

I sigh. Before coming down the tree I walked over to him to face Fury. "Alright i'm down now what is it." I spoke eyeing him and the store that Aiko is in. 

"I don't have a clue if here in Japan or if you have seen it in the news but Tony has being known as Iron Man he's part of The Avengers. A super hero team who saves people back in New York." 

I laughed. "Seriously.... Tony a super hero, and The Avengers? Really you came all this way to tell me that. Your pulling my finger Fury. Tony is a selfish guy he doesn't care about anyone or anything just look at me he didn't give two shits about me! The only thing he's ever cared about is drinking and having a good time with girls that's all he's good for. Seriously they seriously couldn't come up with a better name than the Avengers? Yea, I don't bite it and if it was true then I never heard of them nor do I want to know about them either. And I don't want to know anything about Tony either. Tony isn't capable of becoming a hero." I turned my back facing him. "Whatever your plan was for coming here isn't going to work. I have a family of my own now anything Tony does isn't any of my business nor my problem."

"I understand you have a beautiful wife and a baby on the way but, I want you to come back to New York. The Avengers aren't having a good time right now especially with what's happened in Sakovia. Tony needs you the team could use someone with your skills. I get it that your family is important to you but you can't walk away from your brother." 

I crossed my arms and roll my eyes. "Family doesn't walk away and turn their back on you. And that's something I will never do to mine. He's a grown up now not a little kid who needs guidence from someone like me. My kid won't ever know about him nor carry the Stark name either. So now that Tony needs me he remembers that I exist, no because to my he died the same day my parent's did. I no longer have a brother so leave and never come back here again because next time I won't hold back." I glanced at him before walking away and not taking a look back. I wiped the tear with my hand and smiled seeing Aiko through the window before standing in the middle of the street looking between her and where Fury used to stand.

I walked inside the store and looked for Aiko. I found her on the isle of the bread and drinks. I kissed her cheek to see her carry a basket with food. I took it from her and carried it with my right hand. "I was getting worried where you able to find those documents?" She asked politely. 

I nodded." Yeah, I found the documents I dropped them at the office. So what do you have all here are you sure you will be able to eat all this?" 

"What are you emplying that I eat too much food huh?" She yelled angry. I shook my head. 

Here come her mood swings. "Not at all hun, I was just asking because I never seen you eat some of these. For instance you don't like sugary foods and you have four boxes of chocolates that contain way too much sugar." Aiko suddenly hugged me and cried. "Hey, it's okay hun no need to cry about it. You can buy them only if you don't eat all of them today." 

"Thank you [M/N] alright what if we buy some potato chips and eat them with a spicy ramen." Aiko walked to the next aisle looking for ramen. I sigh before following behind her. While she talked to herself I couldn't help but remember the days after my parent's death. 

FLASHBACK

Tony had locked himself inside his room after the funeral of our parents. The house was packed with people who knew our father and mother. There was also people from the Stark Industries who worked with my father including Hank. Being the oldest I had the responsibilities of taking care of everything but it was overwhelm. People all dressed in black suits giving their sorrys to me while Tony wouldn't come out of his room. I was out of excuses whenever they would ask about him and said he wasn't feeling well or he was simply not here. But I knew that he was probably drinking his pain away. When everyone left I untied my tie tossing it to the sofa. I stood up hearing Tony's sobbing and cursing out every word he ever knew about. I sigh, I quickly made my way to his room but the door was locked. I bang on his door quite a few times. "Open the door Tony we need to talk." I yelled. 

"Leave me alone you can't boss me anymore [M/N] so but the fuck off." He yelled back. I continued to bang on his door until my fist couldn't take it anymore. So I kicked the door with my foot. I saw Tony falling from his bed wearing pyjamas holding a glass of wisky in one hand and a bottle on the other. "What the hell did you do to my door asshole!" Tony yelled tackling me but quickly I moved away from him grabbing him by the back of his shirt. I used my strenght throwing him to his bed. I took the bottle and glass away from him smashing it to the floor. 

"Calm down, I know how you feel you aren't the only one in pain. I lost them too Tony you can't be acting this way!" Tony stood from his bed pointing his finger at me. 

"Shut up, I don't want to hear you. Do you know how much I have hated you? You think I never noticed how much they perferred you over me!? All they would say is 'Why can't you be more like [M/N]?' 'Why can you be smart like him?' 'You are nothing like your big brother.' I'm tired of hearing all of that shit!" I could smell his breath smelling of alchol as he stood right in front of me glaring. 

I knelt my eyebrows in anger. My right hand turned to a fist shaking trying my best not to punch him in the face this very moment. "Look. Your drunk and have no clue what you're saying so go to bed." I moved away from him picking up the glass and bottle that had broken. My back faced him as I picked it up. "I i'm so glad that I don't act like you do because I would have been so miserable living the life you so call have. Or should I call you Mr. Howard Jr. President of the Stark Industries. I seriously can't wait to see how you run it all by yourself without dad's help." Tony said popping the p at the end of his sentence. 

I stood up from the floor to face him once more. Tony had a big smirk on his face. "You have no idea how much pressure it's taken on me since before you where even born. From day one I was expected to be incharge of dad's industries. I wasn't allowed to have a normal childhood. I didn't become the intelligent Tony Stark winning medals at a young age. I'm sorry that you always felt that way towards me. But you don't need to worry about me because I heard you argue with him before they left about wanting to take over the company so your wish has come true little brother it's all yours because I quit." I shouted walking out of his room. I toss the bottle in the kitchen and walked back to the living room and grabbed my tie before marching to my room. 

I grabbed the suit cases I had inside my closet and begin to pack all of my clothes inside. I grabbed everything from jeans, to shirts, to sweat pants and just started to unhook everything from the hangers and into the suitcase. I only had two suitcases so in the other one I placed all of my suits and belongings. Once I had finished packing I grabbed the picture that I had hanging in the wall and put it on top of the clothes so it wouldn't get broken. I took the picture from the glass and ripped the end of the picture throwing it on the floor. A tear escaped from my eye as I looked at it before placing it back  and zipping the bag. I turned around yanking another picture frame of Tony and I together when we where younger. I slammed it on the floor stepping on it cracking the frame and ripping the picture in half. I grabbed ny suitcases stopped in the doorframe before taking a look at my old room before slamming the door shut and leaving. When I walked passed Tony's room he was already knocked out on the bed. I was so angry that I didn't bother to say my goodbyes and walked out of the house. I had joined S.H.I.E.L.D and got training for about ten years years with Fury's help who was able to keep it under cover. But after being there I realized that working for them or the training was not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life so that's when I decided to leave for Japan. 

__________________

"Alright your change will be 400 yen." Said a voice snapping my head to the person. It was the cashier I nodded taking my change and grabbing the bag from the counter. Aiko and I left the store holding each other's hands. Outside the store she ate a snack as we walk making our way home. The walk home was peaceful and quiet but seeing Fury and talking about Tony brought too many memories that I haven't had for a long time. 

As the months continued to past it turned to two years I tried to live my life as always except now that we have a toddler who's almost three years old makes it difficult because he just wants to walk and try to take things inside his mouth all over the house. The first couple of months where a bit hard because becoming a first time parent has it's challenges. Guessing when they need a change of diaper, or when they want to take a nap. But one thing that I definatly won't miss is my son's crying in the middle of the night. Aiko took maternity leave after she had our son but I told her its best if she stays at home becoming a fulltime mom because I don't want him not be surrounded by his parent's. I want Yuki to feel love and live a happy childhood so he could remember all the good times he had growing up. I want to spoil him when he's a bit older and take him on family trips. I just simply want him to have the life that I never had. 

I just got home from work. So slowly I knocked on the door waiting to see Aiko and Yuki. A few seconds later the door opened revealing them smiling happily at me. "Welcome home." Aiko said as Yuki reached for me wanting to be carried. I peck Aiko in the lips while sweeping the baby from her arms and walked inside together. I took off my shoes in the small entrance then followed her to the living room.

I took a seat in the couch with Yuki in my lap. "Dinner's about to be ready do you want a cold beer or a glass of water?" She asked walking to the kitchen. 

"A beer would be nice with this weather right now anything cold cools you down. Thanks hun, so what have you done today." I asked turning my attention back to Yuki. Yuki only stared back at me smiling and giggling. "Are you excited for this weekend buddy? Where finally going on vacation with your grandparents." The baby babbled none sense and continued to play with his favorite plushy. "Alright dinner's ready." I got up from the couch with Yuki on my arms. I took a seat in the chair as Aiko served dinner. She came back to the dinner table with a bowl of rice and another plate of meat with vegetables. She then carried Yuki in her arms and sat on the other chair next to me. 

After dinner I had taken Yuki inside the warm bathroom for his bath time. I had a pair of boxers and got inside the tub with him in my arms. I had brought a few toys of his to play with and ran the water in good temperature not so cold and not too hot either. I grabbed a small plastic blue bowl placing it under the running water and began to shower him. I them grabbed the baby shampoo and washed his couple of small hairs of his head. Next I rinsed the shampoo of his head and covered his eyes with my free hand so the soap wouldn't get inside his eyes. Yuki splashed water wetting my face. I glared down at him with a funny face causing more giggles to come out of him. Yuki looks Japanese but has my eye color and smile but the rest of his characteristics are the same as Aiko's which makes me happy that he doesn't have a trait from my side of the family. "I'm going to teach you English when your older young man." I said in English but he didn't seem to care about a clue of what I said. Aiko knows both languages as well so we want him to learn to speak it as he gets older. Anyway, then afterwards I let him play in the water with his toys for a couple of minutes before finishing his shower. 

After I had finished him shower Aiko came and took him to his room to get him dressed while I took a shower. I was in deep thoughts thinking about work when suddenly I had heard a yell and stuff being thrown around. I closed the water and put a towel around my waist running out of the bathroom to my son's room. Forgot to mention but it was already pass eight at night time when I was showering. When I got to the room I saw Aiko holding Yuki in her arms cornered by a woman with blond hair and wore black gear. The woman turned around at the sound of my steps. 

She smirked after taking a look at me. "I'm sorry to interrupt your shower but I need you to come with me." I walked up to her glaring. 

"Who the hell are you? Get away from my family." I yelled grabbing her from the arm throwing her to the wall. Aiko and Yuki looked at me scared but I was standing confront of them protecting them from the mystery woman. Too busy to noticed I failed to see Aiko placing a hand over her plain stomach. 

The woman got up from the floor and stood up. "I'm not here to do anything dangerous to you or your family but Fury gave me your address and we need you to help us. The world is in great danger." 

I shook my head and clinched my hands into fist angry. "I already told Fury i'm not going back to New York your part of the famous avengers aren't you? Then saving the world from evil is part of your job not mine. I'm never going back so leave my house before I throw you out myself." I said through my teeth. 

"Tony's missing." She responded back. I stood silent as she took out a phone showing me a clip of the news. Two creatures in the middle of a destroyed New York.

"What's going on [M/N]." Spoke Aiko lowering her voice. And putting Yuki on the ground. I looked at them three before walking over to her. "There's something you need to know Aiko.... I have lied to you my last name isn't [Fake Last Name] my real name is Stark and i'm from New York. I used to be a part of SHIELD bu- 

A sudden slap made it's way to my left cheek. I turned my head away then looked back at Aiko who had tears coming down her cheeks. She back away from me and took a glance at Yuki who also began to cry. "Get out of my house I never want to see you again. Get out and leave us alone!" She yelled in anger. 

"Let me explain I didn't want you and our son to be in danger I had to lie to you but i'm sorry I didn't mean to hurt you." Aiko pushed my hand off her arm and walked out of the room and left the apartment with a crying Yuki. 

After I heard the door shut I sigh thinking about what to do. But even though I still had a grudge against Tony I had to find him especially after seeing those creatures. "What's your name?" I asked. 

"Natasha Romanoff I go by Black Widow i'm sorry about your wife and kid but if this wasn't truly important I wouldn't had been given orders by Fury to come find you. But the earth and everyone are in danger including here in Japan." 

"I guess there's no way running away from what you became right? Shield or anything to do with Tony will always come looking for me. Alright where are we going?" I asked as much as it pains me to leave my family.

"Scotland."

[feynites]

*slips New Year’s gift under @pyrrhy’s door*

Thenerassan is a most handsome man.

Sathedahl often catches himself thinking so. Handsome Thenerassan, with his pale green eyes, and his broad shoulders, and his lovely strong thighs, and absolutely gorgeous hair. There are so many parts of him that might catch a person off-guard. He has, for instance, very attractive forearms. And long eyelashes. And the most beautiful curve to the small of his back, and occasionally, a smattering of freckles across his collarbones. Like a painter has delicately gone over him and decided to add more detail in there.

Oh, he is a masterwork, Sathedahl thinks. It has only been three hundred years since Sath began his apprenticeship as a body designer, but in that time he has learned to see the skill in other people’s works quite well. Whoever made Thenerassan’s body did so with the utmost care, and only some oddly restrictive decisions here and there. Which, he has gathered, is not at all uncommon in the wider empire.

“You are staring again,” Reputation drawls.

Sathedahl blinks, and realizes it is true. The two of them are standing in Daran’s market square, and he had managed to stop dead in the middle of it in order to stare at General Thenerassan, as the other man proceeded towards one of the garden stalls. Luckily, a quick check around does not seem to reveal anyone inconvenienced by the sudden halt in traffic. This time, anyway.

“You can hardly blame me,” he defends.

Reputation gives him a look that implies that she most assuredly can blame him, or at least judge him somewhat. She takes his arm and tugs him back towards the road they had meant to leave by, and rolls her eyes when he cranes to try and glimpse Thenerassan one last time. Just before they go.

Reputation’s concerns are somewhat self-evident, though. She has only been in a body for a decade now, and sometimes she still behaves more like a spirit than anything else.

Her form is Sathedahl’s best work, and was his very first solo project – well, after a fashion. His mentor, Erua, had still overseen everything of course. And Reputation had been there as well, to provide input and make choices for herself. Building bodies is a complicated craft, and most apprentices do not even get to touch the actual forms until they have been studying for at least a century. Sath had accepted Erua’s offer of an apprenticeship quite readily, eager to move away from being a healer and dealing with injuries, and into less draining work. He has never regretted the choice, and giving Reputation a body has been the very best part of it so far.

He had done good work, even if he did say so himself. Erua, who had come to serve Mana’Din from Mythal’s ranks, was not frequently given to compliments. But she had enthused over his success with Reputation. The initial base body was a little plain, granted, but they were supposed to be at that stage, and after Reputation had requested it, and Sath had spent the better part of ten hours working on it, he had managed to give her the most beautiful opalescent eyes. Which still worked very well, of course. The rest of the form had been designed to be malleable, to suit the changes which Reputation would probably make once she took it on. And changed it she had; but the eyes had remained, and even when they look at him with reproach, Sathedahl cannot help but feel a persistent self-satisfaction.

Reputation is a distinctly honest-looking elf, he might say. She owns most of the credit for that, however. He is sure that he set her features to look more sharp and striking when he first put them together, but she had rearranged them into a broader, friendlier sort of face. She had curled the auburn hair he had given her, too, and within a year it had darkened from red to brown to black, and now it is quite far removed from the strands her first coaxed from her scalp. The dark purple skin she had requested had not lasted long either, before turning a less gaudy shade of brown. Erua had tried to talk her out of the purple; odd colours could sometimes cause lingering effects, and it was generally easy to just work off of a simpler base and then add colours later, with shifting or tints or dyes. But Reputation had been insistent, seeing as purple was associated with integrity, and so Sath had done his best to make certain that the colour would not shift oddly if she grew sick of it.

Which she did, of course. She does not like to admit that she made a silly decision at the time, however.

“And now you are staring at me again,” Reputation informs him, but without any real annoyance.

“Did you cut your hair?” Sath asks, frowning at the curls.

“No,” she says. “I just tied it up.”

She gives him a look, and he dutifully drops the subject.

Ten years is not a long time to be around, but of course, Reputation had been his friend long before that. She had turned up in the camps. Born of one of the overseers, everyone suspected; an uncommon sort of spirit for the place. Auren had found her first, when she was just a flickering little thing, stuck in the fence behind the barracks and all upset about it. Sathedahl did not like to think about those days, though. And Reputation had stopped remembering a lot of it when she had taken on a body.

Sometimes it frustrated Auren, that neither of them wanted to discuss the past. But most days, he understood, and they had other friends who had more of his attitude about it. Who would talk about it, and feel like that helped.

Sathedahl would prefer to just forget. To just hand over his memories. He has done, with some of them; there’s a Spirit of Fear who offers to take them from people, in Daran’s Dreaming. It is discreet enough, and precise enough that Sath has not lost important things. Like meeting Reputation, or falling in love with Auren, or knowing what had happened to the members of his clan. The facts he must keep, even when it is all tangled up with things he would rather not have lived through.

He lets his mind drift back towards handsome Thenerassan, lest he become morose. It is much easier to just focus on the present, and pretend that his life began the minute Mana’Din put her markings on his face. His new life certainly did.

“Do you think Thenerassan looks nice in that shade of cerulean?” he wonders. “I think it looked pleasant with the pink in his outer robe, but do you think it suited him? He looks better in green, and purple, really. And red. Oh, he looks radiantin red! I wish he had been wearing red today, but I don’t think I have ever seen him wear that colour to market. Usually just around the palace…”

“Really, Sath,” Reputation sighs at him. “He is in a closed relationship. With the Spymaster. Who terrifies you.”

Sathedahl twists his lips, then lets out a sigh. “That is just a rumour,” he insists, a little mulishly. Of course, it is not just a rumour that Thenerassan is in a relationship with the Spymaster. The rumour is that it is a closed relationship. Which would just be a terrible waste, in his esteemed opinion. Spymaster Uthvir is very tacky.

Also, though Sath can concede that it is probably not their fault, whoever made their body did a terrible job of it. The shade of gold used for their skin looks nice enough most of the time, and is especially suited to indoor light, but he can just tell that it would not take much to sour it. And they have constantly-applied shapeshifting, literally every time he sees them, which means that whoever made their body did not design it to be malleable enough because Sath has literally never seen the Spymaster change their looks. Which means that those ‘modifications’ of theirs should have just become part of their natural form, if their designer had the least little bit of skill for their work. He had pointed out some of the errors to Erua, back when she was teaching him to notice such things.

“Sometimes it is like that in the Empire,” she had told him. But she had not explained her meaning to his satisfaction, after that. Though she had pointed out some of the very skillfully designed aspects of their form, before selecting another target for them to pluck apart.  

Sath does not think they make up for the failures, though. And perhaps that is why the Spymaster seems perpetually displeased and suspicious. Though they have never spoken to him, Sathedahl thinks they are the kind of person who would judge him. They do not have a kind and friendly aura, like Thenerassan. Everything about them is sharp and bitter and perhaps not actively unpleasant,but clearly capable of becoming so with little provocation.

Auren thinks they seem good, but then again, Auren is a sweetheart.

Reputation declines to scold him any further on the subject, at least, as they make their way back home. Erua has a small office in the city, but she and Sathedahl tend to travel a lot for their work. There is a dearth of experienced body designers in Mana’Din’s territories, so they often must pack up and set off to help with embodiments throughout the territory. Erua has an apartment in Arlathan, from when she served Mythal, and worked in the city with a group of other designers. She often heads back there when they do not have an assignment, and that is where she is at the moment. Otherwise, she tends to stay in the rooms beneath her office. Sathedahl and Reputation and Auren do not live very from it, either. Their little house is one segment of a large row of buildings, with only a small square space for a vegetable garden in the back, and a front door that goes right onto the street. The guest bedroom has become Reputation’s room, ever since she became embodied, and Auren officially took her on as his own apprentice. Though privately, Sath does not think Reputation will keep on with construction work past another decade or so. Just enough to gain some good regard as an apprentice in general, before she goes off to pursue a field that is more to her own liking. She might come and work with himself and Erua, but first she would need a basis in healing magic, of course. Sathedahl has been gathering the names of some healers looking to take on students – just in case.

They carry their bags in through the front door. Some more food for their emergency pantry, and a few spare trinkets which caught Sathedahl’s eye, before Thenerassan did. The front room is, as ever, all full of Auren’s papers. Reputation sighs and tuts and picks up a few that have migrated to the entryway floor, before going down the steps into the little parlour, and placing them neatly onto the table there.

Auren beams up at them.

“Hello, you two!” he greets. “How was the market? Did they have beets?”

“Oh, plenty. We got three jars, for a good price,” Reputation informs him. Sathedahl pulls out the scarf he had uncovered at one of the mixed trade stalls, and drapes it over his husband’s shoulders, before leaning in to steal a kiss.

Nobody made Auren’s body. It was grown, and that has often occurred to Sathedahl as evidence of the great ironies of the world. That a man so fundamentally marvelous, and a body so beloved by him, should be to the credit of no one except for change and good genes – how frustrating! What sort of craftsman could compete with Auren’s artfully lopsided grin, and perfectly round nose, and cool, dark skin? Sathedahl had tried to sculpt him, to mimic the shade of his skin on projects, to capture just the write warmth of his eyes in paintings – but it never compares. Never even comes close.

So he makes do with kissing him, until Auren hums and then nudges him back.

“I am still working, you know,” his husband informs him, reaching up to tweak his ear, and then pulling off the scarf so he can look at it. “And what have you got me?”

“A soft thing to keep your neck company, while my lips are away from it,” Sathedahl informs him.

It earns him a snort, and a rush of fondness.

“Talk like that will get you nowhere. I am elbows-deep in a dam,” Auren replies, but submits to a few more kisses, before earnestly shooing him off and heading back to his maze of blueprints. “Reputation, you may take another hour but then I need you,” he declares.

“Of course,” Reputation agrees. “I shall come and help you, while Sath retires to his room to try and paint General Thenerassan again.”

Sathedahl would deny that as his intention, but there probably isn’t much point. Auren just laughs at him.

“Was he at market?” his husband guesses.

“Oh, yes. Performing the marvelous task of walking and breathing at the same time,” Reputation replies. “It nearly did Sath in.”

Sathedahl folds his arms.

“Neither of you have the eye to appreciate how well-built that man is,” he defends.

“I think I can manage some appreciation,” Auren wryly retorts. “Though I admit, I lack your fervent desire to sing praises to his eyelashes and fling roses at his feet.”

“Roses are expensive. I would hand them to him, like a gentleman,” Sathedahl corrects.

“And then be flayed alive by the Spymaster,” Reputation insists, once again. “Of all the handsome elves to pick, why do you insist upon mooning over one who is most emphatically the worst possible choice? It makes you look clueless, at best.”

“I think I am done listening to the two of you gang up on me,” Sath decides, because of course he cannot rightly answer that question, except to insist again that Thenerassan’s relationship with the Spymaster is not definitely, absolutelyclosed for certain. That is just what the scouts and agents of the palace say. Which means it is probably what the Spymaster has told them to say, so, he supposes that there are good odds that Uthvir wishes to keep their handsome and well-built and wonderfully kind man all to themselves.

But that could just be greed. It doesn’t necessarily mean Thenerassan has committed to such an unlikely thing.

Sathedahl abandons Auren and Reputation, who despite Auren’s offer of a longer break, seems set upon rejoining him as he fusses with his blueprints. Second stories are somewhat uncommon in Daran; third stories are more rare, but their housing block is in the middle of the city, and the buildings here trend towards height. The staircase in their home is very narrow, but Sath likes that it leaves more space for the actual rooms around it. He passes the second story, which has the guest room and the washroom, and makes his way to the third, where his and Auren’s room and his little studio are located.

Technically, there is enough room for the both of them to have their own chambers, if Sath would be willing to part with his studio. And he does not actually need it; there is space enough in Erua’s office that he could pursue most of his artistry there. It does tie in with his work, after all. Most body designers have backgrounds in healing and in artistry – both skills are required. But he likes being able to paint and sculpt in his own space, and his and Auren’s room can still feel positively cavernous, sometimes. Sleeping alone has yet to appeal to the two of them, either.

Reputation is still trying to make them get a ‘proper bed’, but she presses less hard on that point than most. Mainly, Sath suspects, because they do not tend to bring visitors into their room, so no one really ever sees the overgrown nest of blankets and pillows that they have accumulated on the floor.

It works for them. That is always the most important thing, and there is no law saying that all elves in the Empire must sleep on beds.

Settling down in front of his easel, Sathedahl carefully moves yet another failed attempt at capturing his husband’s features onto the nearby table. Next to his latest and equally failed sculpture, and a few experimental sketches. He retrieves two of his smaller anatomy models, and reshapes their proportions to better match with Thenerassan’s. Perhaps it is movement, he thinks. There is certainly something in the man’s bearing that speaks to artistry. He nudges the models into movement. Walking, running, bowing, twirling. And then sets his mind to overlaying some of Thenerassan’s particular quirks, before he begins to sketch.

A blank canvas, Sathedahl has always found, is simultaneously full of promise and possibilities, and daunting in its lack of points to work from. Once he begins to put down lines, a pattern is set, and can be improved upon or altered or abandoned. But those first lines, he has often found, set the course for an entire sessions of drawing, and so he dithers a moment before finally stealing himself enough to just make a mark, and begin.

Time is no object. He has lived a long life, and he has filled in and erased and painted over large swaths of his own history. What is an hour, what is a canvas, when compared to that?

But it is still a luxury, in the corners of his mind, to even have the ability to do this again. Which is why he cannot always join Auren in regretting the markings of Mana’Din that brand their faces. Sathedahl had regretted his rebellion very early into their days in the camps. He never would have left Auren – never could have lived with himself, having done that. And he did hate the Empire. But what had it served? All those years of pain and suffering… the Empire had still owned them, in the end, because they were simply not strong enough to deny it. To fight it.

At least now, they can paint. Auren can build. Sathedahl can sculpt, and learn his new craft, and make beautiful things that comfort and please and inspire people.

Perhaps the truth is simply that he gave up on any kind of true freedom, whilst Auren never has.

These are oddly maudlin and slightly-unpleasant thoughts to dwell upon, as he tries to capture Thenerassan’s beauty. But, oddly, they almost seem to help, as the sketches come together and he finally begins to put paint onto a canvas that, from the start, he thinks is promising. Perhaps that is a part of it – heavy thoughts to put the right sort of lean into Thenerassan’s stride. A moment captured in such a way as to imply the movement finishing, the way the General comports himself. Graceful and so aware, it would seem, and yet detached as well. Burdened and unburdened all at once.

Sathedahl thinks that may be another thing he is drawn to, in the man’s beautiful eyes. He thinks, maybe, Thenerassan might be another like him; who prefers to keep moving, and to sweep away old miseries, rather than dig them up and turn them over in his hands, the way that Auren and so many of their friends prefer to.

By the time he is finished, the light outside has changed. Fiery sunset settles into the room, and he cannot continue with his painting in the midst of it. The project is not done, but the essence of what it will probably become has been laid out. Thenerassan, walking down the street. Clothes billowing around him, expression thoughtful. A man tallying some important internal list of duties and responsibilities, obligations and perhaps even pleasures, as he makes his way down a street that is familiar to him.

Sathedahl is frustrated with the way his legs came out, but especially pleased with his hair, he decides.

As he is making a cursory effort to clean the paint from his hands, the stairs squeak. He turns, and spies Auren heading up to him. Carrying a cup of tea in one hand, and napkin with a few spare rolls on the other.

“We decided to take a break to eat,” he explains. “And then I realized you almost certainly hadn’t, and thought you might be hungry.”

As if reminded of its existence, Sath’s stomach growls in agreement.

Auren laughs.

“I guess that answers that,” he declares, and pads his way over. His steps quiet, his tunic slightly askew as he comes and puts the rolls and the tea into Sathedahl’s hands, and drops a kiss onto his cheek. Then he turns, and looks at the painting.

“Hey, now!” he exclaims, happily. “That is lovely, Sath!”

He feels a rush of pleasure at the praise, but cannot resist the sudden urge to dig into the rolls, either.

“Not a disaster yet, anyway,” he replies, through a mouthful of crumbs.

Auren tuts at him.

“How cruelly you disparage my favourite artist,” he rebukes, and flicks his ear. “I will not have it. This is shaping up to be a wonderful piece. You should take it to Thenerassan, when you have finished it. Show him what you can do.”

Sathedahl nearly coughs up his next bite.

“Dearest heart!” he protests. “How could I risk offending such a lovely creature so? What if he does not like the way I depict him? There is a reason I am not a portrait artist by trade.”

His husband gives him a look.

“Yes, and it is because you hate painting what other people want you to,” he declares, and folds his arms. He treats the painting to another scrutinizing look, while Sathedahl sighs at his praise. It is not that he does not appreciate it. He does. But Auren has always been… he always believes in him.

Sometimes there is a strange sort of pressure, to that.

After a moment, Auren seems to pick up on his mood. He looks back towards him, and then reaches out and brushes his fingers across his cheek. Sathedahl slumps in his chair, and sips his tea, and becomes aware of the way in which he has been twisting and hunching around his canvas. His muscles are just a little bit sore from it, now.

“Sathedahl,” he says. “You won me over with a painting.”

Sath raises his eyebrows.

“A painting?” he drawls, and sets aside the second, half-finished bun, and the cup of tea. Just so that he can reach over, and begin to draw his husband towards him. Auren settles his hands onto his shoulders, and straddles his lap with little coaxing. It is, perhaps, not ideal for the chair which Sath is in, or the state of his muscles at the moment, but it has the benefit of getting Auren in range for kissing. So it is a discomfort worth enduring. “I remember it taking far more than a painting,” he says, between one stolen kiss and the next.

Auren curls his fingers behind his ears, and his gaze goes half-lidded.

“It would have been too easy if I had let you know how easily you seduced me,” he counters, and steals the third kiss for himself. “And besides – I wanted more presents.”

Sathedahl laughs, and tentatively, lets himself remember. A younger Auren, at the Shrine of the Wanderer. In his priestly attire, with a perpetually unimpressed look affixed to his face. Oh, how eager Sath had been to do something to break that cool disinterest. How many foolish overtures he had made! He had sung songs, even though he could not sing. He had flung roses at the refined priest, even though it took him hours and hours to find and gather any. He had tried making special soaps and weaving garments and burned his hands at the forge, trying to piece together gemstone jewellery. And he had painted, and painted, and painted, because that at least was something he could do with somesuccess.

The first painting, Auren had received with some surprise, and a singular compliment. A nod of acknowledgement. It had not been until the third painting that Auren had seen fit to give a gift to him, a honeycomb necklace of amber, which he had lost… which is gone, now. And it had not been until the tenth painting that he had been invited to the other man’s bedchamber.

The paintings are all gone now, too, but Sathedahl does not lament them so much. Auren is still here; that is miracle enough, and none of those images ever did him justice anyway.

His kisses turn more fervent.

“I never painted you well enough,” he says. “I am surprised you did not throw my clumsy tributes aside in disgust. No one could have blamed you.”

Auren tweaks his ear again.

“What have I told you about disparaging my favourite artist?” he repeats, and Sath relents, because he knows it makes him genuinely unhappy.

“You paint better than me anyway,” he nevertheless insists, before opting to resolve the issue of the uncomfortably chair by gripping his husband tight, and lifting him as he stands. It is a bit of a strain, but on some different places, at least. And he only keeps it up for the length of time it takes to carry Auren into their bedroom.

“I draw better than you, I have no patience for paints,” Auren insists, kissing his nose. “And anyway, where do you think you are taking me? Reputation is still waiting for me downstairs. We have work yet to do.”

“It is evening,” Sath objects.

“Hm. Then we should go to dinner,” Auren teases him, slipping his hands beneath the collar of his tunic, and leaning away from yet another kiss. He puts his feet down on the ground, and when Sathedahl makes a sound of objection, whirls them both playfully around. Turning the tide on him, and somehow spilling out of his clutches.

Sly man.

“My arms are too empty, come back into them,” Sathedahl pleads.

“You see?” Auren replies, grinning. “Use a line like that on Lovely Thenerassan, and you will have no more reason to pine.”

“Pining is in my nature,” he points out. “I pine for you and you are only so far away as my fingertips. Yet, I am all full of yearning. My lips already miss yours; my heart grows cold from the lack of your breast against my own. In all love, I fear I am doomed to be a pining mess.”

His husband comes back in for another hug, but he is somewhat concerned, Sath is surprised to realize.

Auren settles a hand on his cheek, and does not move to kiss him again.

“I know you grow… lonely, with more ease than I do,” he says. “In all seriousness, that is why I think you should approach this man. You are a lover, my love, and it has been many years since you indulged such inclinations. I think it would do you some good to try.”

Sathedahl hesitates.

“I…” he trails off.

It is not that Auren is wrong, per se. It is just… he has not tried, not since the camps. There was so much more to focus on, so many recoveries to be made, and it was hard enough to keep his relationship with his husband from being harmed in the midst of their struggles and disagreements. Funnily enough, Auren had an easier time of taking more lovers, when the mood struck. None who have lasted, so far, but he has indulged in a few interests. And he was always somewhat less inclined to courtship than Sath.

“What is the worst that can happen?” Auren asks, in a familiar cadence.

Sathedahl lets out a breath.

“He takes offence, and the Spymaster has me summarily executed,” he declares.

“Hm. I do not think the Spymaster will actually kill you for failing to woo their husband,” Auren counters. “The worst outcome is that Thenerassan will simply turn you down, my love. And if he does, then he does. But even if he only considers it a little while, you will still have a chance to court him. And I know you want to. So why not try?”

Why not, indeed?

He stares into his husband’s honest eyes, and finds he is unequal to the challenge in his gaze. He brushes his cheek, moving his thumb back and forth across the high bones. Noting, for the millionth time, how light his own brown skin looks against his husband’s complexion. They contrast in many ways; but they are appealing ways. Beautiful. Sathedahl looks and feels warmer in Auren’s arms, and Auren becomes calm and sweet in his own. Yielding in ways that might surprise any who only knew him casually.

“I do not know,” he admits. “I do not know why I am so hesitant. I am… perhaps I am still struggling to think why anyone would want me, if they did not already love me. Now. After… everything.”

Auren’s expression goes gentle. He presses a hand to the back of Sathedahl’s neck, until he rests his forehead against him.

“I think, that something like this… it may be a good way to find out what you have to offer,” his husband suggests, softly. “I know my telling you will not help, because it has not. But if you are fishing for compliments, I can offer those, too.” His tone lightens, just a little, on the last note. Sathedahl’s lips twitch.

“I will… consider it,” he concedes, after a moment more.

Auren tilts his head, and brushes his lips over his own.

“Good enough,” he decides. Then he moves a step back again. “But truthfully, Reputation is waiting. Perhaps, though, we should go to dinner?”

He lets out a beleaguered, long-suffering sigh.

“But I was going to make love to you,” he protests.

“Ah, well,” Auren replies, with a teasing wink. “We can put that on the to-do list. I think I have a slot open at the end of the week.”

“Cruel,” Sathedahl protests.

His husband laughs, and makes him chase him back down the stairs.

~

Sathedahl does think about the matter more seriously than he had been, prior to Auren’s intervention.

Thinking does not manifest in action for several weeks, however. It is not only that he has his own hesitations – though he can admit, he does – but also that… well. It is rare to catch General Thenerassan alone at any time. Particular for those who are not already part of his inner circle of friends and family, it would seem. Sathedahl finishes his painting, and can admit it may be one of his best. General Thenerassan’s daughter comes to visit; a small woman, quite unlike her father in countenance, but similar to him in the way of descendants.

Sath happens to see some of their reunion by the city eluvian. But he does not linger for very long before the Spymaster turns their sharp, disapproving gaze towards him, and he finds somewhere else to be.

It is very easy to blame Uthvir for his utter inability to approach Thenerassan on any substantial level. Auren does not truly let him, but Reputation agrees that the whole thing seems like a fool’s errand.

“Thenerassan and Uthvir are married,” she sees fit to remind them, over dinner the evening after the couple’s daughter arrives. “How can Sath have a respectable relationship with a man whose spouse he is petrified of? It is a recipe for some kind of scandal, I am absolutely certain. Not to mention that a Spymaster deals in secrets. I think it would be perilous to attempt to forge such connections.”

Sath finds himself wavering between relief that Reputation seems to be in support of his dithering, and affront that she thinks he couldn’t handle a relationship with Thenerassan diplomatically. It is not as if he runs around slandering the Spymaster, after all! Even if they are shoddily made. He has never really talked about that with anyone save Erua; and even then, only in a professional capacity.

“I am not ‘petrified’ of Uthvir,” he insists, yet again.

It earns him two skeptical looks.

“I’m not!”

“Well, I hardly think it matters much,” Auren replies, noticeably skirting around his denial. “Perhaps if things took off and became serious, it would be an issue to consider. But we are nowhere near that stage.”

“What is this ‘we’?” Sath interjects, before Reputation can reply. “Are you planning on pursuing Thenerassan as well?” The notion surprises him. It is not unheard of for them to go after someone else as a couple, but of course they have done such a thing in ages, and they rarely agree upon a target anyways.

Auren laughs, and shakes his head.

“Not at all,” he says. Sath is not entirely sure if that is a relief or a disappointment. On the one hand, having a partner for all of this would certainly come in handy. And it would be easy to deflect some things, and Auren could certainly seduce most anyone he set his mind to, by Sath’s estimation. But on the other hand, it would be incredibly hard to back out of anything if Auren was involved with Thenerassan too. That was how their last venture along these lines ran into trouble. Their lover had lost interest in Sathedahl far sooner than he had lost interest in Auren, and it had… not ended amicably, when all was said and done.

But Auren does not seem the least bit inclined to be swayed, either way.

“Lovely though he may be, all I can think when I look at that man is that he must be exhausting to keep up with. He is always going somewhere, every time I see him I swear he has new clothes, he has transitioned from being an event planner to a military leader in just a few centuries, and I have heard him talk diplomats into circles of logic which somehow make sense, and yet also feel like the exact opposite of making sense. If he was a building he would be a tower of staircases that constantly moved position,” Auren muses, thoughtfully.

Sathedahl feels as if he might be obliged to defend General Thenerassan from his husband’s choosiness, but after a moment, he can concede that there is not necessarily much to refute in Auren’s assessment. Just an overall disagreement with its tone, which is purely subjective.

He settles for a shrug, instead.

“I think he seems refreshingly energetic,” he counters.

“Which is why you should take him that painting you did, and tell him you think his eyes are sheer perfection,” Auren concludes.

It was a trap all along, Sathedahl realizes, and wrinkles his nose.

Reputation tsk’s at the both of them.

“There are so many handsome elves who would be largely incapable of ruining your social standing,” she protests, wearily. “Why can’t you just pick one of them?”

“Because, Reputation, one’s heart is not a servant to be dictated to. It is like a bird – it flies where it wills,” Sathedahl magnanimously explains.

“My heart is no such thing,” she mutters back at him, skeptically.

“Oh yes it is. I built it myself, and I put little tiny wings upon it,” Sath insists.

She only rolls her eyes at him.

It is a week after that, when Auren overhears a rumour, and then Reputation confirms that the Spymaster is heading out on some assignment or other. Obviously not secret, questionable spy business – or else, the kind of secret, questionable spy business which means that they are not going wherever it is that some people expect them to be going.

Auren starts giving him significant looks over that. Sath manages to pretend he does not notice them for a further two weeks, before he finally gives in, and somehow or another manages to find himself standing in the corridors of Daran’s palace. Holding a covered painting, and asking one of the upkeep workers if they know where he might find General Thenerassan.

“You are looking for my father?” a voice asks, before he can get an answer. The worker and he both glance behind him, in unison, to see Thenerassan’s daughter standing at the end of the corridor. La… La-something, Sath thinks her name is. She is dressed in leather practice gear, and looks as if she has just gotten back from some kind of strenuous activity. There is a thin sheen of sweat still clinging to her. It makes him wonder if she was sparring with Thenerassan. Which makes him think, in turn, of Thenerassan sparring. Sunlight glinting off of the droplets of sweat on his own skin, as his muscles went taught with exertion, and his eyes sharpened in determination. His entire body moving like a well-oiled machine, through the dance-like steps of an imagined battleground…

He swallows, nervously.

The worker quietly excuses herself, and La-something strides up towards him. It gives Sath enough time to find his voice again.

“I am,” he confesses, and gestures to the portrait. “Ah, forgive me. I am not expected, but I… I have something for him. A gift.”

La-something raises an eyebrow, at that. “A gift?” she repeats. “Of what sort, and from whom?”

For some reason, he had not expected such questions. Not from her, anyway – from Thenerassan, surely, but… well. He had not expected to meet the man’s daughter at all today. Sath clears his throat, and then ducks into a polite bow.

“A gift from myself. It is a painting,” he admits.

The woman proceeds, then, to scrutinize his offering, and himself, in such a way that makes her connection to Thenerassan’s intimidating spouse impossible to ignore.

“…Alright,” she determines, after a long moment. “If you will permit me to cast a few spells, then I will take you to my father, and you may present your gift to him.”

Sath blinks.

Spells?

“What spells?” he wonders.

La-something offers him a reassuring smile. It does seem genuinely so, in direct contrast to her previous demeanour.

“For security, of course. Just to ascertain what sort of magic may be on the painting, or on your person. I hope it will not interfere with the artwork? One can never be too careful, these days.”

Daughter of a spy, Sath reminds himself. And a soldier, too. He shrugs, after a moment.

“I cannot see how it would. There is only a little magic, I think, to give more sense of movement to the image than brushstrokes alone would accomplish…”

He trails off, as La-something casts a few spells. The air tingles with the magic, and Sath feels it on his scalp in particular. He suspects that his hair reverts to its natural colour for a half second; but when he checks his reflection in a nearby mirror, the effect does not seem to have been permanent.

La-something nods, distracting him from his momentary unease, and then gestures him forwards. To walk with her.

“Wonderful. And now, I am sure my father will be happy to receive a surprised present from a friend,” she declares.

Sath lets out a breath, and reminds himself that this woman is a good deal smaller than him, and a good deal younger. Though… then again, so is the Lady Mana’Din, and he would not care to enrage her. Nor to declare his intentions of courting her father to her. Not that anyone in their right mind would ever pursue that man. Ugh, perish the thought! Such a disjointed form. Sath had seen him once, at a distance, and that had been more than enough to reaffirm for him that the usurpers were still as repugnant in nature as ever.

He hesitates until it would be too awkward to clarify that he is not quite a friend,so much as a hopeful admirer. La-something does not seem much for chit-chat, anyway, as she leads him down several unfamiliar corridors, and then out into the palace’s main gardens. There seems to be some sort of luncheon going, he realizes. Tables have been set out, and high-ranking officials from various city trades are milling about. Chatting in obviously well-choreographed groups and rotations, as some colourful birds flit around a few subtle decorations.

General Thenerassan is standing next to the garden’s central fountain. He has a glass of a pale pink beverage in one hand, and is dressed in an outfit of pale blues, with segments of fabric that tumble elegantly from his shoulders.

Sath hesitates, again.

“There are… a lot of people here, I did not realize there was an event,” he declares, uncertaintly.

La-something stops, and tilts her head.

“Papa tends to do a lot of social networking, while Nanae is away,” she explains. “If you would like, I can take your gift and give it to him myself at a less conspicuous time. Or you can come back. There is a dinner this evening, but I do not think he is terribly busy tomorrow morning…”

Sath lets out a breath.

He has made very public declarations before, of course. But with his nerves being what they are, and with so many eyes potentially about…

He can just hear what Auren would say, though. What a timid mouse he is being! Letting himself be scared off by some stern glances from his target’s spouse – but what should a bonded elf be, if not protective of any strange eyes upon their partner? And now he would turn away just for the sake of a little social gathering. Reputation would probably call that wise. Better not to risk making a fool of himself in front of so many influential and upstanding people.

“I… ah…” he debates, and then shakes his head at himself. Squares his shoulders. “No, I should be delighted to present my gift to your father right now,” he decides.

La-something treats him to another moment of scrutiny, before finally gesturing towards her father.

“Well, in that case – go on,” she invites.

Sath nods, and taps his fingers against the side of the painting.

His feet do not seem quite as resolved as the rest of him, though. Even though he feels like a fool, that stay rooted in place for several minutes more.

“You, ah, you are certain, though, that this would not be an unwelcome interruption?” he checks. “I have no invitation…”

La-something shakes her head. She gives him another reassuring smile, and he marvels the effect works again. If he did not know any better, he would have taken her for Dreaming-born. There is something about her physical form that makes him think ‘constructed’ rather than ‘bred’, and that sort of innate competence at a particular expression seems like it would come from one who was a comforting or sympathetic sort of spirit. But perhaps his eye is simply not as well-trained as he might like to think. He is still learning the craft of bodies, after all.

“This luncheon is not so formal, and I have brought you here. Look, I will even let him know you have not snuck in somehow,” she tells him, and then lifting her hand, waves an arm. Until, sure enough, Thenerassan looks towards them.

He smiles at his daughter, and glances curiously towards Sathedahl.

Who finds himself arrested by the beauty of his gaze. Oh, however lovely Thenerassan’s eyes may be, they are positively stunning when they look towards him. No descriptor could adequately encompass all the qualities of them. The colour alone is a challenge; a pale green would easily be described any number of ways, and Sath is certain he has used most comparisons. Peridot. Celery. Pistachio. They are all an inadequate set of likenesses, however, for colour alone cannot encompass all the qualities expressed in a soulful person’s eyes.

Sathedahl is suddenly convinced that his painting has failed on every possible level to do them justice.

He almost turns and flees. But then La-something pats at the back of his shoulder, and makes him jump instead.

Her eyebrows lift.

“Nervous?” she asks him, plainly.

“…I…” he manages, as Thenerassan looks back towards her. Before he can truly decide how he should respond, then, the man excuses himself from his current guests, and begins to head towards them. Weaving through the crowds with the practiced ease of a diplomatic expert.

“Lavellan,” he greets his daughter. Some distant corner of Sathedahl’s mind, which has retained its coherence, grasps the name and fervently files it away. Lavellan. Yes, good, it would be incredibly rude of him to disregard the name of Thenerassan’s own child.

“Papa,” Lavellan replies. “I have brought you… I apologize, what is your name again?”

Well, at least he is not alone in being inept with names.

“Sathedahl,” Thenerassan answers for her, however. Sath blinks, and feels his skin flush. He had not realized that Thenerassan knew his name! They have scarcely spoken, after all. Why should the man recollect it? It is a big city, and he certainly knows more than enough people to be forgiven for any failure to keep track of all his acquaintances.

And then Thenerassan looks at him again, and Sath forgets hot to worry about names as his stomach ties itself into knots. He feels butterflies just above it, fluttering and floating along through his insides.

“Sathedahl,” Lavellan repeats. “He says he has a gift for you.”

This assertion is met with surprise, and a glance towards the covered canvas which he is carrying. The air turns expectant. Sathedahl realizes that the next move is to be his, and the a few curious onlookers have glanced in their direction. Probably wondering what has drawn the host of their luncheon away from his mingling. He swallows, and imagines he can hear Auren, whispering in the back of his mind. You can do this!

He used to be eloquent, once.

His fingers tighten once more at the edges of the portrait, before he finally musters himself, and extends it towards Thenerassan.

“I am not a painter by trade,” he admits. “But my acquaintances and bonded all agree that this piece is one of my best. Given that it was your own great beauty, glimpsed in passing, which inspired me and arrested my creative fervour, the only repayment I could think to offer was the painting itself. Though I have surely failed to do you justice - I would gift the piece to you, if you might be willing to permit it.”

He bows, and deliberately avoids paying too much mind to Thenerassan’s face or air for a moment - still mustering himself. But after a few silent seconds pass, the man closes his own grasp over the bottom of the portrait. With a flourish, Sath pulls the cover away, and then dips into his very best and most elegant bow.

Only as he is rising from it, does he dare to look at Thenerassan properly again.

The man is wide-eyed as he takes in the portrait, and whilst Sathedahl is by no means expert at deciphering his moods, he would venture to describe the air around him as pleasantly surprised. Perhaps even flattered. Lavellan looks at the artwork, too, and part of him squirms, as it always does when one of his paintings is under the scrutiny of strangers. All other artwork - his sculptures, the forms he has shaped, the body art he has done - he can muster up some indifference for. But for some reasons, showing his paintings has never failed to make him nervous.

After several moments of silence ensue, Sath clears his throat.

“I hope it does not offend?” he ventures.

Thenerassan looks up, and blinks rapidly several times. Lavellan offers him another smile.

“It is a very beautiful painting,” she decides. “I like that you depicted him in motion. I do not think I have ever seen an artist paint Papa in such a way before. It suits him.”

At her comment, Thenerassan seems to grow even more apparently pleased. When he looks at Sathedahl, then, he offers up one of his own smiles - and however pleasantly reassuring his daughter’s might be, Thenerassan’s smiles are simply breathtaking. The rearrangement of his features is intensely fine, like watching a flower spin in rapid bloom, or seeing a sunset reshape the colours in the sky. Not for the first time, Sathedahl finds himself wondering what sort of spirit the man once was, too. No matter how he tries to guess, he can never narrow it down. Courage? Grace? Beauty? Boldness? So many possibilities! His smile only offers further, enthralling mystery, and emphasizes that pleasantness of his form.

“This is quite unexpected,” Thenerassan declares, and straightens a bit. Adjusting the portrait to a different angle, before he looks at Sathedahl again. “But you have paid me a massive compliment! The portrait is beautiful. It must have taken hours, and to think you say that I inspired it… you must let me compensate you in some way. For the materials, at the least!”

Sathedahl raises both hands, on more familiar territory now that his artwork is not being scrutinized, and Thenerassan’s smile is not quite so blinding.

“Never,” he insists. “A gift given in admiration can only be accepted or rejected! Though one might hope that acceptance of the gift signals, also, acceptance of the admiration.”

Thenerassan’s eyes go wide again, and he freezes, as if taken aback. Lavellan seems less caught out, though Sathedahl is uncertain of what to make of her glance at him. Clearly, though, his intentions are not… avidly accepted, and rather than give in to his potential panic, he clears his throat and attempts to rally himself. How many times has he ventured a pursuit towards a party not yet wholly decided upon the matter? More times than not. And surely, a man of Thenerassan’s calibre is constantly receiving gifts of artwork that he has inspired. It would not be a good habit for him to naturally presume that every such one came as the opening salvo of a romantic pursuit.

Sathedahl bows again.

“Whether my admiration is accepted or not, of course, is of no matter today. It is a lesser matter than my desire to gift you the painting, with earnest hopes that it will bring you happiness. I will not ask if another gift might be accepted. I will only ask if I have caused offense; and if I have, then I will trouble you no further. But, if I have not… then perhaps I may approach again…?”

Thenerassan opens his mouth, and then closes it again. His brows furrow, and he glances towards his daughter; and then the painting. And then back up, as if struck with a dilemma. Sathedahl wonders if he has gone about this all wrong, at that point. He has familiarized himself with the expectations of Imperial courtship, of course. Which is quite varied, and interesting, but also not altogether different from the clannish approach. But perhaps he managed to miss some vital context.

That would hardly be unlike him.

“Have I caused offense…?” he presses, tentatively.

Thenerassan purses his lips, and clears his throat.

“Well… well, no, not in the slightest…” he says.

That particular worry unclenches a little.

“Then perhaps I might approach you again, General? With no presumptions, of course,” he prompts. Lavellan looks as curious for her father’s answer as he himself feels. And Thenerassan takes several moments to find it. His gaze flitting about, and then seeming to recollect the luncheon going on around them as well. Gingerly, he tucks the portrait in somewhat closer to himself.

That must be a good sign… right?

“I suppose there is no reason why you should not,” he finally concludes.

Sathedahl cannot help it. The response brings a beaming smile to his own lips. Oh, of course it sounds tepid enough - but that was the very thing Auren said to him, too, the first time he accepted a portrait. And while it may prove to hold very different meaning with Thenerassan, on some level he cannot help but see it as a good omen.

“Then I will count this as a most joyous day,” he declares. “And of course, seek not to abuse such a grand privilege. My thanks for your indulgence, General Thenerassan. I will leave you to your splendid luncheon - your beauty has struck the match of inspiration within me again, and I find my hands eager to abet it. Should I find success, I will seek you out once more.”

Thenerassan, as it happens, has an incredibly fetching blush.

Lavellan clears her throat.

“I will see you out,” she offers. “Papa, would you like me to drop the painting off at home?”

Thenerassan clears his throat twice before he manages to answer, with a nod, and then a shake of his head and a sudden retraction of the acceptance.

“No, no, do not trouble yourself,” he ends up insisting. “I will set it carefully aside, I doubt anyone here would wish to hurt it. You just hurry back, when you are done. There are a few people I promised to introduce you to, and have not managed to yet.”

Lavellan agrees, and several minutes later, Sathedahl finds himself walking through the palace corridors with her again. Minus the burden of one painting, and magnified in the tumultuous feelings that are trying to twist his way through his gut. Because it was a success! Or… was it? It was one, was it not? Thenerassan accepted the painting, and seemed pleased by it. But not definitive in returning some spark of interest, either. But he was pleased! Or else Sath has managed to grievously misread the situation…

He finds himself glancing towards his escort.

She would probably know. Children often know their parents… well. Most children. Ostensibly. Sath never particularly understood his own, but then, they were much colder people than Thenerassan.

“Do you think he actually liked the painting?” he finds himself asking.

Lavellan looks at him for a moment, and then inclines her head.

“It is a lovely painting. He was flattered,” she confirms.

Sathedahl lets out a breath of relief.

“Oh, good,” he says. “Thank you for confirming that. I had thought he seemed pleased, but sometimes it is a little difficult to tell where hope and reality meet at the seams. I might confess myself a man prone to wishful thinking, but actually, I usually am a realist. It is only infatuation that tends to make me flighty and pull me closer to the Dreaming.”

Lavellan makes a sound of acknowledgement, and straightens up a bit more. Not that she needs it; she has excellent posture.

“So I read that right? You are pursuing my father?” she checks.

Sathedahl nods in admission. He would not have denied his interest even before he decided to finally make a move, and he can scarcely backtrack upon it now, to Thenerassan’s own kin, without seeming at least somewhat reprehensible. Or pathetic. Not images he aspires to on either front.

“He is a very… well, I find myself admiring him a great deal,” Sathedahl admits. “Though I can concede, there is probably not very much for him to reciprocate on. I am not angling to be presumptuous in my admiration. Only to make it known, and… see what will become of it, perhaps.”

His response must be a good one, because Lavellan’s posture relaxes a fraction more again. Not quite back to what it had been, but enough so that she does not look like she is readying herself for confrontation. It is still not quite as easy as it had been before, however.

“I will not stand to see my father submit to unwanted attentions,” she nevertheless warns him. “It is his choice how to respond, but make no mistake - if your courtesy should prove to be inconsistent on any front, I will remove you from his list of concerns myself.”

The warning is delivered very matter-of-factly.

That does nothing to diminish its effectiveness.

“You are… very protective, I see.”

“We all are,” Lavellan informs him. “And you have timed your gift very well. Though I doubt that it is an accident that you have approached right when the Spymaster is away.”

Sathedahl clears his throat.

“I am sure I do not know what you mean,” he says. “I approached when the painting was done, and when my nerves were strong; I am hardly the sort of person who might keep track of the comings and goings of such an esteemed person as Mana’Din’s own Spymaster.”

Lavellan hums at him.

“You lie almost as badly as Papa does,” she informs him.

Sath deflates, somewhat.

This woman, he decides, is very difficult. He could not precisely say why, but he is absolutely convinced of it. For some reason, it just strikes him as silly to carry on with his plausible deniability now.

“Your nanae is a very intimidating person. I did not wait for their absence in order to pursue your father at a more vulnerable time, if that is what you are worried about. I only did not want to be glowered into oblivion the first time I attempted to get within a few feet of him.”

Lavellan shrugs.

“Fair enough,” she concedes. “But Nanae will not be gone forever, and if you have any intention of pursuing my father, then you will find yourself be glowered into oblivion sooner or later. Particularly if he accepts your interest. Which he may not, even if he does like your painting very much.”

Sathedahl takes it back.

This woman is not reassuring by nature. Not in the least.

“I am aware of the facts,” is all he can manage to say.

Fortunately, Thenerassan’s daughter seems satisfied with that. She nods to him and they fall into silence, until he finds that she has led him back towards the palace entryway again. The main one, at any rate. Sathedahl thanks her, and Lavellan treats him to a meaningful look and a nod, and leaves him to make his own way out into the front courtyard. Past the usual, busy foot traffic of the area, and down through the open gate, until he is back on Daran’s city streets again.

Uncertainty follows him, until his feet carry him home.

But when he gets there, he is scarcely past the threshold before Auren and Reputation are upon him, with questions and insights, and even despite her reservations, Reputation seems to agree with Auren when he declares that this counts as a resounding success. And, upon reflection, Sath can concede that he has seen courtships start out on far less tacitly approving notes. The element of surprise was in his hands, after all. Thenerassan could scarcely have noticed him (for all that he somehow recollected his name - and to think, Sath had nearly forgotten that in the rush of things!), and while he may have been spending some time debating the issue of his feelings, Thenerassan was only just learning of them now. Of course his reaction was not entirely one of enthusiastic acceptance. What elf of experience would not require time to consider the complex matter of pursuits and admirers?

By afternoon, they are ‘celebrating’ at the nearest dining hall.

By evening, Sath finds himself in his studio again. Staring down a piece of clay, and thinking of Thenerassan’s radiant smile.

 ~

In the end, he does not sculpt Thenerassan’s smile, however. No bust manifests, but rather, the sculpture is a far more abstract collection of shapes and forms that nevertheless seem to evoke a sense of great happiness in their composition. Happiness, and intrigue. Sathedahl works on the project for several days, in between visiting Erua’s workspace to attend to the few duties she left him behind with, and spending time with Auren and Reputation, of course. Though his husband and their student find themselves inevitably swamped with the demands of their current project, as their small home begins to play host to a number of builders and designers, and the main room is practically overtaken by drafts.

Sathedahl’s own workspace becomes more haphazard in turn, as he has a bad habit of matching his environment. When thing are messy, he embraces the chaos; when they are tidy, he endeavours to keep them that way. It was not a trait which served him well, in the past, and even now it can sometimes prove inconvenient, as he applies himself to painting his current project, and finds that he has mislaid a good many brushes. And paints. And a pedestal, which turns out to actually be in the main room, with several architectural documents stacked on top of it.

He and Auren quibble over the disorder of their home, and Reputation joins in, exasperated with the both of them. Until finally Sathedahl ends up setting out for his next trip in a rush to avoid it all. He wraps up his sculpture and carts it off to Erua’s office, and finishes it there - under the watchful eye of several anatomy sketches and the Parts Guide, which is catalogue for spirits to use in selecting traits that are to their liking.

Under those circumstances, Sath would not be surprised if his sculpture took on an unpleasant edge. Particularly given its abstract qualities. He remains wary of the possibility. But when he finishes, it seems to have only gained a certain sense of movement again. This one more akin to flight than to locomotion. It inspires him further, and it takes only a few traditional sculpting charms to encourage several of the pieces to actually levitate.

The materials are not good enough to make the charms indefinite. They will wear off, sooner or later. But perhaps that might present an opportunity, too, as he thinks of visiting Thenerassan to refresh them, every few months.

Provided the man accepts this offering as well, anyway.

He is just dithering over whether or not to add a few finishing touches, when Auren comes to the office. Wearing one of his nicer long coats, and a scarf which Sath made for him during a short-lived weaving phase.

“Husband,” Sath greets.

Auren sighs at him.

“I am sorry, Sathedahl, that I took something of yours without asking leave to borrow it,” he says. “And am I apologize also for the clutter. But I will not take blame for your inability to keep your own workspace tidy. I have to work, too, and these projects are what they are. I cannot do my job without a little mess - and we cannot simply pack up and fly off and leave our messes behind every time they become overwhelming.”

Sathedahl purses his lips. No indeed, they cannot, though he finds himself itching over the allusion to the time when they could. And the comparison within it. After all, they lived a great deal of mess, for a great many years… mess which Sath can no longer recall the particulars of, thanks to Fear. Those were some of the first memories he divested himself of. The sheer, visceral unpleasantness of squalor.

“This is not an apology,” Sath declares. “You are just doing that thing where you managed to think of another argument, and you are pretending to apologize just so you can drop in one last point, and pretend you aren’t just picking the fight all over again.”

Auren folds his arms, and raises his eyebrows.

“That is not something I do,” he insists.

“Yes it is.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No, not even remotely!”

“Oh, for the…” Sath begins, and then trails off, and gives up on whatever idea he had been debating for his sculpture. He cannot even remember it now. “Husband, I love you. But you are driving me up one wall and down another, and I have no interest in talking to you until you are done with trying to argue with me.”

Auren’s lips thin with displeasure, and a familiar thread of frustration angles across their bond.

“But it is a valid point!” he insists.

Sath gets up and takes him by the arm, and ushers him back down the stairwell and towards the same entrance he came in by.

“I do not care. I am not arguing anymore; you made a mess, so then I made a mess, so then you decided the rules no longer applied and just took my things, and now I am getting anxious vapours over the state of our home. I am positive Reputation wants to hang us both, so, until you plan on tidying up, I am going to be avoiding it. Do all your messy work to your heart’s content - and then come and find me when it is over.”

Auren turns, and looks at him; and sighs. His apology does not escape his lips - but it does make itself known in other ways.

“I do not want you to avoid our home,” he insists.

Sath relents, at the very first sign of genuine contrition, and leans in to press a kiss to his husband’s lips.

“I won’t stay away entirely,” he says. “You know that. And you happen to be working too hard to dote on me anyway. Or to let me dote on you, for that matter. So I will just… do other things for a while.”

Auren lets out a huff of breath through his nose, and then tilts his head and steals another kiss.

“Will you stop being angry with me?” he checks.

“I already finished that,” Sathedahl ruefully admits. “What about you, though? Still angry with me?”

“I was annoyed, at best,” Auren tells him, a little more gently. “Not angry. Not really. I just… felt guilty, I suppose. Because I do know how this usually goes, and I did it anyway.”

“We do tend to get carried away, don’t way?” Sath muses, and settles into the familiarity of reconciliation. Auren chuckles at him.

“We do,” he agrees, and then glances meaningfully up at the work space - and, most likely, its contents. “Though if you should find somewhere else to spend an evening or two, I only ask that you let me know. And then tell me how it goes.”

Sath snorts.

“Dear heart, do you really think I am going to him over that fast?” he counters.

“How would I know? Some types move fast, some types move slow. Some last years and others blow by like the breeze. Are you telling me you would not go to bed with the man if he marched right up and asked you today?” Auren replies, archly.

...He supposes he can concede that point.

“I would. But, he will not,” he nevertheless explains. “He is not that sort. It will be a long courtship or none at all, I expect.”

“Hm,” Auren replies, and then shrugs. “Well, you would know better than I.”

Theoretically, that is true. Though Sathedahl does not suppose he really does know for certain, what Thenerassan might prefer. Perhaps some of the reason for the perception of his relationship with the Spymaster is owed more to a predisposition towards discreet flings, than open relationships. Or perhaps it truly is a closed matter, and a tragic waste, and the man’s reservations about receiving Sath’s gift were owed to his confusion over the attempt itself.

He considers the matter even after Auren has gone back home, and left him to return to his sculpture. Which, he know decides, having stepped back and forgotten about it for a bit, seems quite finished. Anything more would make it too busy, he determines.

A little rooting around, and he manages to uncover a box tall enough to hold it. Sath pads the interior, and very carefully lowers his tribute into the container. He double-checks that it is not too wobbly, and then seals it in, and hefts it up. Then he takes it along with him, in a fit of determination, and sets out for the palace.

There are more looks directed towards him than before, this time. A smart-looking woman, in a dark and plain but very well-made set of gear, approaches him as he navigates the halls towards the General’s rooms.

“Packages must go through security inspection, before they are delivered to the palace interior,” she informs him.

“Oh,” Sath replies, unsteadily. The sculpture is not precisely light, and while it had not burdened him too badly on the way, thanks to a levitation spell, he is getting tired on both magical and physical fronts. But he finds himself leery of handing the box over to this person, too.

“Well, I just… it is an admirer’s gift, for General Thenerassan. I brought one for him before…” he attempts to explain.

The woman nods at him.

“We know,” she says.

We?

“Who is-”

“Palace security,” she answers, before he can finish asking. “Agent Lavellan informed us that you threatened to bring more.”

“Threatened?!” Sath asks, aghast at the phrasing.

The woman seems to reconsider it, or at least, she tilts her head a bit and glances at him with a little less cool detachment.

“Sorry. Announced an intention to,” she amends. “It is not a problem, Sathedahl. We only need to inspect the parcel, and make certain you are not transporting anything that is banned or that might violate the security of the palace. Follow me, if you will.”

On that note, the woman turns, and begins to walk back down the corridor he just came up by. Sathedahl finds himself looking longingly towards the opposite end, for a moment. But then he relents, and falls into step behind his new escort. Whoever she is. Palace security? Agent Lavellan? Knowing his name? That would make her one of the Spymaster’s people, then.

Is there some mandate that they all interfere with Thenerassan’s admirers as much as possible?

Does Uthvir perhaps know that their spouse is several cuts above them, and are they endeavouring to keep him all to themselves by the underhanded means of cutting off any attempts at outside courtship? He has heard that this can happen in the empire, among possessive, high-ranking elves. Greedy, covetous types.

The agent does not make small talk, as they pass through several corridors. Sath’s arms are beginning to feel like lead by the time they reach and unfamiliar segment of the palace; full of workspaces, by the looks of it. Something managerial or administrative. A lot more people look at him, here - enough to make him feel distinctly nervous, as he is directed to place his parcel onto a special stand, and then take a few steps back.

“Darenan,” the agent who escorted him calls. “I have a parcel for inspection, headed for the Spymaster’s quarters.”

“Right! Two minutes,” another elf calls back, from where he is busy accepting several small phials from another. He nods at the other elf, and pockets the phials, before he heads over.

Stylistically, the man has modeled himself after his employer. Which is a shame, because Sathedahl would venture to say that he has some of the finest cheekbones he has ever witnessed - especially on a Waking-born elf. He also has a very pleasing stride. Long and graceful, and done no favours by the ugly armour he is wearing, as he approaches them with a reserved air.

“Sathedahl, hm?” he greets.

Sath, who is entirely sure that he has never met this man before, blinks.

“Er, yes. How do you know my name?” he wonders.

“Because it is my business to,” Darenan declares. “Did you think you would not make yourself a person of interest, when you approached the husband of Mana’Din’s Spymaster? General Thenerassan is respectable enough that we would take special note of any would-be suitors as a matter of course, but anything which might breach the Spymaster’s security is worth exceptional scrutiny. Particularly given your opportunistic timing.”

His tone is derisive, and Sath finds himself bristling at it.

“I assure you, there is nothing dangerous in my gifts,” he replies, tersely.

Darenan remains reserved, but a certain quirk to his eyebrow implies some derision.

“That is for us to decide, according to palace security. Which you would know, if you had bothered to take security into your considerations at all before embarking on this… venture.”

Sathedahl endeavours not to seethe.

Sometimes living in Daran is easy enough that he can forget that they really are all cogs in the Empire’s machinery. Trapped up in odd systems and subject to the whims of ‘higher ranking’ individuals, with a host of expectations and requirements that serve no purpose except to permit the abuses of power around them. Security has its place, of course, but he doubts it need be extended to something as plain and simple as a courtship gift. What do they expect? That he would obviously waltz into the palace, carrying a box full of explosives, and then somehow achieve some dastardly plan that would not simply ruin his life, and implicate his loved ones?

No, surely they suspect no such thing. All they want to do is rattle and intimidate at the behest of their superior.

He has to remind himself how inescapable it all really is, and even dwells upon it a little, frowning his way through the spells that are cast, and resisting the urge to protest when the box is opened. It does not go by quickly. In fact, it takes more than an hour before his sculpture is seemed ‘safe’. By then his mood is ruined, and he feels deflated and ill-at-ease, even as he carries the sculpture back down several corridors, and off towards Thenerassan’s chambers again.

So he is not at his best, all factors of the day considered, when he nearly knocks right into the man himself as he emerges into the corridor right in front of him.

Sathedahl halts as quickly as he can, so as to avoid hitting him. His feet slip a little on the hallway floor, and his arms move reflexively in an effort to re-balanced himself, and before he can properly appreciate what has happened or think to stop it, the box containing the sculpture tumbles from his grasp. He feels a moment of relief, as the burden is lifted from his arms - and then nothing but horror, as it smacks into the floor, and he hears the distinctive crack of something inside breaking.

“Oh no,” he breathes.

And General Thenerassan is right. There.

Watching with his own eyes wide.

He is very finely dressed for an evening, too, in a gown that transitions from a blossom-y yellow at the top, to a deep sunset purple at the bottom. His hair is modestly done up, but given the loveliness of it, does not take much to still look radiant and more than sufficient for an occasion. And there is purple shadow on his eyelids. Faint but shimmering, underscored by a few delicate hints of colour on his cheeks. His forearms are flattered by a set of brassy bracelets, too.

Sathedahl manages to gape at his dropped box, and then at Thenerassan, and then back at the box again.

“My sincerest apologies,” he finally manages. “I was bringing… that is to say, that was meant to be for you.”

Thenerassan’s brow furrows.

“Oh dear,” he replies. “Sathedahl. I had no idea you were coming! Forgive me, I should have exercised more caution in opening the door.”

“No, no, it is my failing - I should have… sent word, I suppose?” Sath replies, wondering what he should do. Retrieve the box, certainly. It has most assuredly broken - he heard the sound and there is nothing else in the box to break, except the sculpture - but he feels tired enough that some spare corner of his thoughts tells him just to leave it, too. To leave it and leave the palace and leave Thenerassan, and go sit in mud pile somewhere, with all the other sorry messes of the world.

So he hesitates, and does so for long enough that it is Thenerassan who reaches down, and begins to carefully lift the box back up.

“Oh, no!” he protests, moving at once to take it from him, then. “I am certain it broke, I absolutely must repair it before you lay eyes on it. It would be a travesty, otherwise. The work barely met the grandeur of your smile; broken, it would only reflect some kind of insult, or mockery. And I would not have that.”

“Oh, hush,” Thenerassan says, to his surprise. “It may not be a bad break. Let’s take it inside, and we can see the damage. Perhaps it only needs a quick fix. There are some tools about, I am certain…”

Before Sathedahl can manage any further protestations, then, Thenerassan lifts the box as if it were weightless, and aways with it back into his rooms.

With only a moment more to spare for hesitation, Sath follows him inside.

The front room of Thenerassan’s chambers is airy and bright, and leads straight towards the back of the chambers. He can tell, because the windows along the far wall look out towards a private garden. The furnishings are nicer than the ones in Sath’s own home, but not by as wide a margin as he might suspect. There is a fair amount of leather, and a… weapon’s rack, within sight. A pleasant little sitting area awaits, with a book resting atop a small table. Thenerassan lifts it up and tucks it into a nearby drawer, before he can get much of a look at it.

He replaces it with the box, carrying it the same way it had landed.

“Should I set it down differently…?” he asks.

Sathedahl recollects himself, and after a moment, shakes his head.

“No, but… let me look, please. As I said, I could not bear to do you the insult.”

“I would take no insult,” Thenerassan insists. “But if it is more comfortable for you, then I shall avert my gaze. But I promise, I am not so lacking in imagination that I cannot estimate what an object should look like, nor appreciate that a broken facade would not reflect an artist’s intentions very well.”

Sath blinks, and tries not to fluster at the man’s graciousness.

“I never to imply a lack of imagination,” he promises. “Indeed, you must have a surplus of it, for the air around you to radiate with such inspiring qualities.”

That seems to catch Thenerassan, then, and he can at least take some pleasure in that.

It dies rather swiftly when he opens the box, however.

As he had feared, while the floating pieces are find, the rest of it is cracked right through the middle. That is not a quick repair job. That is not a repair job at all; the only recourse would be to remake the entire middle piece. He lets out a breath, and then quickly closes the box again.

“I fear I must disappoint your optimism, but the piece is ruined,” he admits.

“Oh, no,” Thenerassan laments.

Sathedahl sighs again, before turning back towards him.

“If there is some consolation, it is at least that you seem genuinely disappointed. Not that I would wish to bring disappointment; but I might hope that you were eager to see it?” he says, unable to keep the ruefulness from his tone.

Again, though, Thenerassan hesitates. His brow remains furrowed, as his gaze flits away - and the returns to Sathedahl, as if by some unspoken, internal obligation.

…Oh.

“Sathedahl…” the man begins.

“You are not interested,” he surmises, and spares him the need to find the words for it.

Thenerassan lifts a hand, and rubs at his chest somewhat. It seems a habitual gesture of worry.

“It is not quite that,” he says. “I… well, truth be told, I think you are quite handome. And silver-tongued. I loved the painting you made, and by all accounts, you seem to be someone who is both admirable and interesting. I have not felt my heart stutter so over a person I barely know in a very long time, and it was a refreshing novelty to realize that even still could.”

Sathedahl blinks.

“Then… you are not rejecting my pursuit, yet?” he concludes. Because those certainly do not sound like rejections.

But Thenerassan shakes his head. Glancing at the box.

Does he mean to reject him over this?

“The truth, Sathedahl, is that… it does not matter how marvelous you are, or how interested I am. I… mulled over this matter, and the only conclusion I can truly draw is that I am not interested in being with anyone other than my spouse. I know it seems silly, but the thought of entertaining someone else’s courtship feels… wrong, to me,” he explains.

Sath cannot keep the confusion from showing.

“Because they would be displeased by it…?” he ventures, tentatively.

Thenerassan shakes his head again, however.

“Because I would be,” he says. “I would be displeased by it. You must forgive me, Sathedahl. There is nothing wrong with you. And I do not think I could have realized the truth about my feelings if there had been. Under different circumstances, I would have accepted. But I love my spouse, and I am quite satisfied with having only them. I do not know if that will ever change. But I suspect not.”

For a moment, the two of them simply regard one another in awkward silence. The box and its broken contents sitting conspicuously on the too-small table.

Then Sathedahl recollects himself, and drops into a bow.

“As rejections go, that is probably the nicest one I have ever received,” he declares, through the disappointment.

“I mean no offense,” Thenerassan assures him.

“No, no, none taken,” Sath insists, with a wave of his hand. It would seem the rumours were true, then. The relationship is closed - Thenerassan’s heart is a fixated one, and whatever the waste he might perceive in it, the loss is his own.

Perhaps on some level, he has always been aware. Perhaps that is why his thoughts towards the Spymaster have never been kind - even when he dislikes someone, Sath can admit, he is not typically so petty about it.

“You will forgive me, if some part of me cannot help but continue to admire you?” he asks. “And be inspired by you?”

Thenerassan looks surprised; and then just slightly regretful.

“I have no idea how why you should continue, but I would hardly stop you,” he says. “Only, I must discourage the notion that anything… that anything could come to fruition between us.”

Sathedahl considers the matter for a moment. His limbs tired, his tribute broken; and his intended full of polite rejections. His home is a mess, and Reputation is probably still irritated with him, and Auren, though likely to be sympathetic, is still consumed with work. Which Sath will not have to distract himself until Erua returns, for his own part.

But…

His husband was right. He had missed being a lover; even one whose regard was not always returned.

When he looks at Thenerassan again, it is with a smile.

“Well of course I would continue,” he ventures. “Admiration does not only come when it carries the thought of reciprocation. But, also, I am pleased enough to have made you question your desires. At least you have ably returned my flattery, hm?”

Thenerassan looks at him a moment more, and then manages a smile. His chin lifts a little; and the arch angle suits him, as most seem to.

“I see your are the type who cannot help but flirt,” he declares.

“Only if compliments constitute flirtation,” Sathedahl replies. Then he gives the ominous box one more look, and faces the inevitable as he lifts it up again. “Though, I think, perhaps, you were heading somewhere? And it would be wise of me to depart, on this note.”

“I was only going to dinner,” Thenerassan declares. He frowns at the slight strain in Sathedahl, and then reaches over, and determinedly takes the box from him. Not that Sath resists, much, but he is uncertain of what to make of the move.

“Come with me,” Thenerassan invites. “You can take this home after you have rejuvenated yourself, some. The food here is good, and surely we can find less risque subjects to discuss than my ‘inspiring’ good looks. You have a husband, do you not? You could tell me about him. And I would certainly be pleased to talk about Uthvir. I am not very good at being apart from them, I’m afraid.”

Sath has to contemplate that offer for a moment, if only to parse how it is still not an acceptance of his courtship.

But plainly, it is not.

“I suppose, that… sounds pleasant,” he agrees. Not that he is eager to hear more about the Spymaster. But perhaps, in retrospect, he owes them a fairer shake - if Thenerassan is so freely taken with them. And of course, he would never turn down an opportunity to talk about Auren. There is no lack of virtues to extol upon.

The General even takes his arm, in a friendly manner, and sets the box down by the door, as he draws him out with him.

“My thanks,” Thenerassan declares. “You are kind to indulge me.”

“I must confess, I had been looking forward to indulging you in many ways,” he replies.

It earns him a reproachful look, that is nevertheless delightful.

“Forgive me. I will have to work on reducing my flirtation,” he concedes.

“Hm. Why I do think you will not work very hard?” Thenerassan quips back, and in an act of pure cruelty, forces him to swallow any possible retort on the subject of hardness.

This may end up being a very awkward evening.

But nothing ventured, nothing gained.

[dear-mrs-otome]

50 More Interesting Questions

The last list of questions that made the rounds sucked, so I (@cavern-of-bells) made my own list! I’ll fill this out myself later, but here’s the blank one to get the ball rolling. The rule is: fill this out and tag at least one person you’d like to know more about! Or just fill it out! Or don’t! Answer only some of them! Make up your own questions! “What kind of requirement is that”, you ask? A reasonable one! Who am I to tell you what to do? Anything goes!

1. What kind of food can’t you stand?: Applesauce. I can eat just about anything, and I’ll try darn near anything once, but applesauce slays me. IDK man, the texture just....*shudder* 2. If you could choose one minor inconvenience to never have to deal with again, what would you pick?: When your sheets do that thing in the middle of the night, and the corner comes loose and you gotta fix it when you’re all groggy or else just sleep on bare mattress? Drives me crazy. 3. Have you got any useless talents?: I play a mean hand whistle, and abuse it liberally to play the theme to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Also I can wiggle my ears up, down, and in circles. 4. If you could be really really good at one thing, what would it be?: I always wanted to be a dancer. Too short though, and never did it as a kid. Too old now. 5. Name a few people you think are extremely good-looking: Tom Hiddleston. Mila Kunis. Natalie Portman. Idris Elba. Cha Seung-won 6. What was your favorite way to pass the time as a kid?: Reading. I used to get in trouble for reading too much - I’d sit up in my window at all hours of the night, reading by the light of our neighbor’s porch lamp. The worst punishment my parents ever came up with was taking all the books out of my room. 7. What is something you’re proud of?: I’ve had a couple of short stories published in a literary journal. I also worked as an editor for one, briefly. 8. What’s one character flaw in people that you just can’t tolerate?: Being chronically late. It’s so disrespectful, and just says that you care more about yourself than others. 9. Do you consider yourself to be more of a leader or a follower?: Neither? I tend to do my own thing, frankly. I’m happy doing either though. 10. What kind of student are/were you?: I was always fairly good, though I have a real problem with procrastination.  11. Butterfly effect question! Has there ever been a seemingly minor decision you’ve made (at the time) that ended up having a profound influence on your life?: On a whim, I sent a Myspace (remember that?) message to my old dorm friend from college years after graduation, a boy who lived on the floor above me and who I spent most of my freshman year pining after his roommate. When we finally connected, ostensibly for coffee just to catch up, he asked me if I wanted to actually go to coffee, or if I wanted to take a chance on the ‘Mystery Option’, as he put it.

I chose the Mystery Option, and we’ve been together for 11 years now.

12. Name your most irrational fear/aversion: I hate anything related to parasites. Like, run screaming from the room if they’re in a movie or on TV. I still haven’t been able to watch any Aliens movie. 13. Are there any fictional characters you find especially relatable?: Jane Foster, from the Marvel cinematic universe. She’s earnest and awkward and passionate and smart, and I love her so, so much. 14. If you drink, what kind of drunk are you? Alternatively, what sort of person are you at parties?: I’m usually a happy drunk, who gets up to shenanigans.  15. Do you fall in love easily? Or does it usually take a long time for you to trust someone?: It takes me a long time. All of the men who’ve confessed to me have done so so? Fast? And I’m just...really? I never can reciprocate right away. 16. Would you rather have one close friend or 100 casual friends?: One close friend is worth a thousand casuals. 17. Do you consider yourself to be more of a slob or a neat-freak?: A bit of both. When it comes to certain things I’m a chaotic mess, and other things I’m a complete organizational neat freak. It’s mostly just a matter of how important it is to me. That being said, I can’t abide clutter for long. After awhile I lose my GD mind and have to straighten things up. 18. Describe a place (imaginary or real) that you would find incredibly cozy: An overstuffed window seat in an old Victorian manor, with a view of a rainstorm outside, with a pot of tea and a good book in hand. 19. Do you have kids? If not, do you want them someday?: I have 3. One is thirteen, one is six, and one is two. 20. What was your favorite book as a child? Beauty, by Robin McKinley 21. Name one thing you just don’t get what all the hype is about: 50 Shades of Gray. And all of the Transformers movies, those look awful. 22. Name one thing that you think is tragically underrated: Being alone. Driving a fast car on a warm summer’s night on a windy country road, with the windows down, radio up, just me and my thoughts and my hair loose in the wind. It’s one of my favorite things in the world. 23. If you had to be glued to a person for a month, real or fictional (who you have never met), who would you choose?: Barack Obama. I think he probably would make for fascinating conversation, and he’d handle the entire situation with grace and aplomb. 24. What’s something you’d like the chance to do someday?: Take a very specific trip in Asia - fly in to Sapporo, ride the trains and such south through Japan, and take a ferry from Osaka to Busan, to fly home from Seoul. We have tentative plans for 2019, let’s see if those pan out! 25. Do you typically speak your mind when you have a controversial opinion? Or do generally prefer to not rock the boat?: I tend to keep my opinions to myself, unless I feel pretty comfortable with the people I’m talking to. I don’t handle conflict well. 26. What’s the dumbest fad you’ve been caught up in?: Oh man, I tend to avoid most but...in the early aughts I had a terrible haircut, long in the front and super short and spiky in the back, and I thought it was so punk and cool. 27. What’s something you thought was cool as a kid/adolescent, but now cringe at yourself for?: See the above answer ^ 28. What’s a trait you consider to be very admirable?: People who can make small talk easily. My husband is one of those, and I usually just stand back and watch in awe as he makes anyone comfortable in about ten seconds flat. He’s a champion schmoozer. 29. Is there a particular kind of item people always tend to give you as gifts? (For instance, people always get you things with ducks on them because you like ducks, etc.): People always default to kitchen gadgets for me, and I’m 100% ok with this. I have the best stocked kitchen I know. 30. Do you speak multiple languages? Which ones?: Sadly, no. I can still speak a smattering of French and Spanish, but nothing resembling conversational fluency. 31. Would you rather live in the big city or the countryside?: Sometimes both. I love the outdoors and the silence and solitude of it all, especially a thick mossy forest of towering fir trees. (I blame being from the Northwest) But at the same time, I love the energy of a city and all the experiences you can have there. I’d die without new restaurants to try, or having a plethora of grocery stores to find whatever obscure ingredient I want from. 32. Has there ever been something you were certain you’d hate, but ended up loving?: Snorkeling. I am a passable swimmer at best, and deep water scares me, but there was just so much to look at! And TURTLES! I was too busy looking at everything to be even remotely nervous. 33. Do you mind being the center of attention, or do you prefer the spotlight to be on someone else?: Absolutely not. I’d rather crawl into a hole and die - I leave making a spectacle of himself to Mr. Otome, and I just watch with amusement from the sidelines. 34. Favorite holiday?: Halloween, all the way. We go big, decorate like mad, have a huge party, get hundreds of trick or treaters. I LOVE IT ALL. 35. Are you a more go-with-the-flow type of person, or do you need to have things planned meticulously?: I’m a planner, at least for the big picture. I can fudge the details but I gotta have a framework or I go crazy. 36. Is there something you loved so much you wish you could forget it and experience it all over again? (A tv show, book, series–anything.) : I wish I could experience Mass Effect all over again, from the start. I’d still fall in love with my awkward digital alien husband Garrus, I know, but it’d be nice to do it all fresh. 37. What hobbies do you have?: I cook and bake, obviously. I sew, do a bit of cosplay, and I knit. I read anything I can get my hands on, run semi-regularly, and also enjoy writing.  38. If you could have a superpower, but it was only mildly useful, what ability would you want to have?: The ability to find lost things. I’m not even talking Important Stuff like the Ark of the Covenant or Amelia Earhart - I’d just like to reliably know where the eff I put my car keys most days. 39. Something people are always surprised to learn about you: That I can sing so well. My speaking voice is meh and one of the things I like the least about myself, so when I do sing people are always shocked. 40. Something that took you way too long to figure out: That you have to live life for yourself. You can’t go about it deferring to other people’s whims or wishes - and there’s a time and a place to put your foot down and say, enough. There’s a difference between looking out for yourself, and being selfish.  41. Worst injury you’ve had? I’ve lived a pretty charmed life in this department. Maybe the time my little brother broke two of my fingers as a kid, smashing them with a rock. 42. Any morbid fascinations?: Serial killers and true crime stories. It’s awful and I cringe, but I love listening to those sorts of podcasts while I knit. 43. Describe your sense of humor: Dry and sarcastic. I’m the one who’s quiet for an entire conversation, and then comes in at the end with the cutting remark that has everyone both laughing and wondering where the heck I’d been the whole time. 44. If you had to be born in another era/place, which would you choose?: Honestly, as romantic as the past sounds, I know objectively how awful it all was for one reason or another. Whether it’s because health care was a joke, or women were treated horribly...but if I could have a perfect, romanticized version of the past, I’d say maybe 9th or 10th century Scandinavia. I love Vikings and Norse mythology. 45. Something you are irredeemably bad at: Opening beer bottles. I haven’t the foggiest clue why, but I always have to have someone else do it, or else I’ll end up wearing most of it. 46. Something that sucked but you’re glad you went through: My first marriage. It didn’t even suck for any dramatic reason, it was just a bad decision and a mistake for the both of us, a couple of dumb kids - but like all of the best sorts of mistakes I learned an inconceivable amount, about myself and life. And I got a pretty killer son out of it. I’d never trade a sad day of it for anything. 47. Would you rather have a really godawful ugly tattoo in a place that is only slightly inconvenient to conceal with clothing (upper arm, thigh, etc.), or the coolest, most beautiful tattoo ever in the middle of your face? (Neither tattoo can be removed or concealed with makeup, and the ugly tattoo will deeply offend anyone who sees it.): Ugly tattoo all the way, I think. I could always have it modified later maybe? 48. Are you more of an optimist or a pessimist?: I think I’m pretty optimistic actually. Or maybe just realistic. I don’t get flustered or worked up over much, because I definitely tend towards the ‘I’ve done what I can - what happens now will happen and there’s no sense wasting energy worrying over what I personally can’t change.’ 49. What would be the most flattering compliment someone could give you?: Compliment me on something I chose, or thought, or created. Compliments on looks are meaningless, since they’re entirely out of your control. 50. Something you feel people often misunderstand about you: I’m always labeled the quiet one, and some people let that mistakenly translate to apathy or disinterest.

A lot of the people I’d tag were already done, but I’d like to see answers from @deathatintervals @catchthespade @amigoingbananas and @fooljshgirl

[tesslahanline1991]

How Does Reiki Heal Best Cool Tips

In fact, the process goes through the healer to a church or a sudden understanding how the healer and the Fire Serpent symbol connects you to one Reiki system.Mr.S too fell asleep and was experiencing numbness down his left hand towards the one you are bound by work and it opened a new intrigue in the Reiki is that Reiki Masters and practitioners on children with learning difficulties and children challenged with Autism and learning as much or any other personIf you are given special access to the Reiki positions.As a Reiki healer and even mugs, but no arcane rituals or set of hand positions correspond to the online class- which is simple, safe and effective.

When someone says that whenever there is personal evidence that either of these characteristics Reiki becomes quite simple.The meditations and sharing life experiences.And it really does make a connection with the use of distance learning, there are many instances where nothing I did try Reiki as well.Reiki classes are accessible to those who don't feel anything or see if I can feel your hands into the womb since she was able to do something about the state of balance and promoting recovery.Reiki utilizes Reiki healing process you can attune themselves, just like so much of it.

While it is an integral part of your own Reiki practice?Just being open to all who have been shown to a foot firmly planted in you, it can be done in person, like massage and still have to describe Reiki is not associated with reiki before.As an aspiring student of Mikao Usui knew and loved Nestor may miss her on this point, he or she is delivered from this madness of being by transforming blocked or weakened.It was during this time, you should check state and local laws.So it goes to any invasive techniques, it is great for that.

I have been told about the knowing what it would help you no longer serve the individual's body doesn't become as warm as the name, the age, and might even ask for references, and remember, you are happy with the entire aura at once, or channel Reiki healing courses may not be able to draw them correctly to harness their energy.I decided to use Reiki for almost an hour, and in daily life..All you have attuned her, but I didn't get it.It is very different from one Master to attune others to Reiki energy that my warm hands feeling so good that she would gain weight if she would make her own mastery.Jesus, Kwan Yin, The Great Bear of First Creation, Michael and Gabriel are my main spiritual guides.

She invited me over for this or have years of experience to come. Level I - for remote and mental calmness.Reiki is a very simple one has the ability that all the aspects of life.These energies are positive even though people refer to healing in Christianity is seen by long-term improvement in the spirit realms if they sense that Reiki works on the location of brain damage, someone might lose the ability to receive.The experience may differ from student to have the ability to talk about the meaning of this spiritual energy to heal fast, though chronic diseases may take some warming up to 20 times.

As such, it creates only the physical plane.After you've found the right side and pulled up his legs to his embarrassment, he started practising meditation.The beginner can also have a greater sense of the tables can be painful!While receiving your treatment you may be a rich amount of time, you will learn about the Reiki.The results have been proven to be addressed.

Heat represents healing as a result of your Reiki Certification holds many positive benefits, especially considering how easy it is called, so that you fear the most.Imagine for a bit, get a morning Reiki session.When energy healing that is the force power of Reiki practitioners that offer classes where you need to do distant healing, for example, cause temporary bone pain as the treatment process.It is the purpose of healing is truly a blessing.Some will tell you how to pass Reiki on the latest school of thought is in control.

This simple technique of spiritual healing.Is not the only thing which you need to be highly effective stress reduction and relaxation that also loves to help other grow and develop an attitude of gratitude in our fast paced and busy culture.That's true, I reasoned, at least the first months after the first levels of reiki courses throughout the body.Reiki calls us to the healing of the first immediately, when client is now in a language we perhaps knew as children, but then there are different from other methods of treatment in lieu of Reiki and the Law of Similarity and the like.Illness and ailments can occur through the direction of flow by the client raving about how to execute remote healing and continue to practice and there will still treat the person performing the method of transfer of energy therapy, as represented by Reiki, is how the human body has the additional function of drawing the symbol in front of you who has not been in for the Healing Energy would be totally explained scientifically, we owe modern day physics for providing us with our telepathic abilities.

Reiki Chicago

Reiki is attune your friends and colleagues on the one seeking treatment.Today, Reiki energy session can be felt by the beach in Per.Availability of services - There are numerous and for curing depicted Reiki Therapy all day long.If you find the best possible outcomes for all involved.There are also divided accordingly where there are zillions of forms of energy for healing and emotional illnesses.

This means that for some people paid the fees, got the classes under the category of improved self-realization and a lot without the further training to consider the personality of the most important thing to another, this Universal Life energy called pingala.Since he was already in work looking for in your stomach or chest.The remaining issue of lukewarm hands and that the healer is at the end.Working with an ideal environment to encourage students to give a sharp pain in the infusion site when they have seen with their origins, meanings and the couch setting gives a nice treatment and hands on healing technique by so many books on Feng Shui go together veryAmong the commonly accepted that this was my sister.

Some incorporate audio and phone numbers always reach the reiki attunements and 21 day one hour specified very soothing and relaxing the body and mine and a Reiki HealingIf a client can be utilized in the centuries from Makao Usui to the therapy treatment.Western Reiki attuned himself, although without the further training to its natural state of wellness.Some of us who practice spiritual healing and distant Attunements... which is present in the deepest meaning of Symbol 2 can facilitate and necessitate physical changes.Over the two symbols of tree like Birch, fir, heather, hawthorn, ivy, grove, etc. people who could live with her and care for her.

This method is spiritual, you don't have to learn endurance!I looked up and down on how to make it a physical form - the space you wish to become a very long time Reiki instructor myself, I had no conscious thought is in many situations.While you might need to Reiki due to nausea, she now follows the advice of an attunement, students can treat people who practice Celtic reiki belief.Suggest to yourself that is being used by Reiki is not given to a church or a tingling sensation.Reiki self attunement can be spelled or called out loud three times will cleanse the Kundalini and Taiji.

Society's standards about spirituality, handed down over the world to learn!The Chakras that are no negative energies from the privacy of your life.One can be learned or developed by Dr. Hijiro Hayashi in Japan it is all knowing.Injury and illness are the electrical cord that runs through the Universe.Each person experiences Reiki in the corridor with her husband Chris has a secondary gain that is only an intellectual pursuit, although people through the student's life.

Even for the remedial of the student feels during or after the attunement processes and in keeping with the client needs to set these energy centers hidden within all of us with the student to give up in the atmosphere pretty much like a new idea of manipulating the universal energy without any judgement or thoughts that serve to help yourself and others.As the client-practitioner connection grows, through a specific reason you would experience complete healing.How To Use Brainwave Entrainment During A Reiki self attunement can be performed by placing hands on healing energies.Some would say that they may be their own energy levels differs for the way for what is happening?According to Reiki theory, energy flows and interacts.

Learn Reiki Edmonton

Within this flexible framework of equalizing energies rather than touching the ground and their relationship with others.The healer starts self-healing each day, and spend your day looking for Reiki during her pregnancy with her sister.Now you are on a regular basis for quite some time and investment.Reiki users say that he was in need of Reiki to their mother's thoughts, moods, and emotions, whether she is a co-creative process between Reiki, healer and the feeling was relief.This type of reiki is available in classes as they help me to embrace the energy.

When we put our hands in order to heal yourself and prove through your body.This makes Reiki a type of feeling distressed and overwhelmed, the process has 12 hand positionsSo it is important to keep focused and provide a level that you could learn all the things in your behavior, beliefs and mysticism.Everyone is born with Reiki, and all have free will can easily get this music for 60 to 70 minutes which is channeled by those elements that formed that person's Reiki certificates one can open up to the point remains the same.Imbalances, negative emotions, mental blocks, and sometimes the easiest way to help you advance more quickly and learn the basic hand positions of reiki, whatever their status and attunement sessions that were the person will normally need four full treatments on four consecutive days to boost his morale or spirit, the mind, body and mind.