#oc: jesyll

[silversiren1101]

To Our Children

[A little drabble between Regill and Jesyll, since I got the father-daughter bonding bug]

Jesyll listens intently as her father reads aloud the words on the page before them, nestled close to his chest where she sits on his lap, wrapped tight in a blanket. She has to listen hard; unlike the books Mama picks for story time, the ones Papa picks have no pictures. She can read some words on the page, but there's just too many for her to take in at once. She doesn't mind, though. The pictures form in her thoughts instead as she listens hard as she can, sometimes having to close her eyes to do so.

The trick is not falling asleep—which she has a feeling story time is supposed to be for. Lucky for her, Papa's stories keep her much too interested for that, and they continue in her dreams even after he does settle her into her bed afterward.

He doesn't use different voices like mama does, but she doesn't mind that either. Storytime with Mama is fun and makes them both laugh, and she likes to look at the pictures and ignore whatever the words say to try and tell her own stories, which Mama really likes. With Papa, though, she learns so many new words, and the stories make her think in a way the picture books don't. She need only tap his hand and ask what something means, which usually makes him smile a little bit as he explains. Bigger, stranger words are broken into many more smaller ones, but she understands them much better that way. When she reacts to parts of the story, he stops and asks her questions about what she thinks, and she likes that, too. It makes her feel like she's an adult, being listened to.

She likes both types of story-time. Asking her to pick her favorite would be like asking to pick between Mama and Papa themselves: impossible. She loves them both in different ways, just as they love her differently, too.

Tonight, Papa continues to read stories of a place called Lastwall, which doesn't exist anymore. He'd told her that it was why he was reading her stories from there, that it was important to know about it so that it wouldn't be forgotten. It disappeared only a few years ago—before she was born, but not long before that—so she doesn't understand how people could forget a whole place like that, but she doesn't fixate on that. She likes these stories. They make her sad but also hopeful, and make her want to run outside and pick up her sword (stick) and swing it around like the heroes on the pages and in her thoughts. She knows they're a lot like her parents and the rest of the knights in their castle, though they wear shiny silver armor instead of black; more like auntie Seelah. They fight to keep people safe, the ones like her that can't pick up a sword—only for so long as she stays little. She'll be like them too, when she can, with armor that covers her tail like Mama's does and a real sword of her own... or maybe a type of hammer like Mama and Papa.

For now, though, she listens hard as Papa reads to her. Her tail peeks out from the blanket to wrap around his arm, ready to squeeze if she has any questions. Like Mama's, the chill in the air makes her scales turn warm, unlike her skin which is just achy in the cold. Even in front of the fireplace like they are now, on the floor leaned against her bed, she'd been shivering—their castle was old and 'drafty', as Mama had called it—and so Papa bundled her up tight for story time tonight.

This one is about the orcs that fought the knights in Lastwall; about how they sided with the evil skeleton king and his undead armies. She listens hard, scenes of the battles playing out in her head painting a very clear picture until they reach the end of the chapter and then Papa tells her that things are very different today. She blinks questioningly, suddenly having no understanding at all of who had been right and wrong, as the book had made it obvious even to her little head. She knows he wouldn't lie to her though. He doesn't lie about things like this, even if the truth makes her sad or isn't easy to understand.

"But... they fought the good knights for a long, long time... and now they don't want to? Are they good now too?", she asks, looking up at him from where she's drawn up even closer to him as her eyes have gotten heavy. A yawn is stifled in his shirt after the question leaves her mouth.

Papa rumbles in that deep way that tickles her ear when she's leaned up against him like this. It's a noise she's come to understand is something like 'yes and no at the same time' when she asks questions like this—one that means he's going to ask her questions, too.

"It's easier to say they are no longer the enemy they once were. There is a lot of talking still to do between them and everyone else, to see if they will be 'good'", he answers, confirming her initial expectations. Yes and no.

She chews on her lips, little fangs biting into the oft-tenderized flesh. His answer only makes her have more questions. They normally do, and his silence after tells her he's waiting for them.

"They hurt a lot of the good guys though, didn't they? For the Whispery Ty...Ty..."—Tyrant, her father supplies—"Tyrant. They did for a long time... How can talking make things okay?"

How many times has she done something wrong only to be told that saying 'I'm sorry' is just the start of an apology? Mama and Papa both have taught her that you have to actually try and fix things, if you can. Just talking sounds like it won't fix anything.

"Hrm", he rumbles again. The approval in it makes her feel happy, like she's done something good. She always likes giving answers he likes too, even as much as both he and Mama say to speak what she thinks and likes most during moments like this. To her, it's best when she does both at once.

"You are right, Jess. They did fight for the Tyrant, but it's because it was for such a long time, and so long ago, that 'talking' may indeed make things right. It is not the same orcs now as it was hundreds of years ago, during the days of the Shining Crusade and Arnisant."

She nods in recognition of those names. The story of Arnisant has been her favorite from Lastwall thus far.

"Generations have come and gone since then, and these orcs have not fought for the Whispering Tyrant like their grandparents did. To treat them as if they had, it would be as if... my father's father had wronged someone, but you were held at fault, and made to make things right."

Her golden eyes go wide at that. Something stirs in her, bigger than her little body can quite contend with. Her tail tip rattles from where it's hanging wrapped around his arm, the little feathers at the tip rustling. She sits up a little straighter.

"But, that's not fair! I didn't do it!"

Papa nods, his own eyes—pale, pale yellow, long having lost the gold she has now way before her time—staying evenly narrowed as they hold hers. Something in them watches Jess in that way like he's expecting something, searching in a way. It's the look they get when he's asking her questions about the stories, about what she thinks about what's happening, on what's right and wrong or just is.

"No, you didn't, but I want you to think about something. What if he—my father's father—had raised his child with the way of thinking, or taught them rules, that caused that fighting or hurting during his time? Then, my father taught me the same, and I then taught it to you? It wouldn't be a 'bad' thing to you, now would it? It would be a good way of life in your mind, so, would you go against it all? Would you live completely differently than our family in this scenario has done for so long?"

She frowns. It's hard for her to think about, but what it does sound like to her is a trap. Was Papa really asking her if she would break the rules he taught her? If she would do the opposite of what she knew was good? On purpose? She does sometimes, but she wants to be good. It's just hard. She thinks then on what else he said: but what if doing what he and Mama said wasn't actually 'good', then? That doesn't make sense to her! They wouldn't do that! It hurts her head. She makes a little noise, a half-whine-half-grunt, as she thinks hard as she can, wanting to get it right.

That noise itself seems to be the answer.

"It's a difficult question, isn't it? The orcs of Belkzan today aren't the same ones that fought against The Shining Crusade, but they were raised by the ones that did. They were taught to live in the same way that led their parents and grandparents to fight, but they themselves have not fought in the same way, for the Whispering Tyrant."

Jess thinks she understands, but it's late and she's sleepy and her head is too heavy for this. Papa is looking at her like he expects another question though, and she doesn't want to disappoint. There's still more he wants her to know and learn from this.

"...Do you think they will be good? Will the talking help them?"

Papa's chin raises a little at her question. He looks pleased, and she's happy to see it, even tired and filled with too many jumbled, confused thoughts as she is.

"The talking won't, no. They must decide for themselves if they wish to change. The talking will only prove that they have."

She stifles yet another yawn. These questions have only made her realize how tired she is. It doesn't slip her notice though—"Papa, you didn't answer my question..."

He looks taken aback for a moment, before softening into a slight smile. He makes that airy, breathy noise where she or Mama would have laughed instead.

"I suppose I didn't." He shifts, letting go of the book to gently run his hand through the feathers behind one of her ears, which makes her giggle, albeit sleepily. "Now, do I think they will be different? I hope so; they would prove valuable allies now that Lastwall has fallen. And, given that some of their people already have, I do think there is a chance."

She perks up at that. It's not often that Papa is hopeful in this way. He answers most questions with the opposite, and sometimes it makes him and Mama get into a talk with really big words and ideas Jess can't keep up with... though she gets the sense they like talking in that way. It makes even Papa's eyes brighter.

"...But what if they don't?" Still, she has to ask. Only, a real yawn this time interrupts the tail end of her question. It's full and wide enough for her top fangs to catch on the outside of her lips as she closes her mouth.

Papa only shakes his head in response, though a little of his soft smiles touches his eyes.

"A question for next time, it seems. It's much better suited for more awake little girls."

Jess thinks to protest, but as Papa closes the book, something happens that pushes all that to the side. His left hand, having been holding the book open stiff for so long now, twitches. He makes short, pained grunt and shakes it, as if trying to knock loose whatever pained it, before squeezing it open and shut a few times.

A little needle pierces her chest, carrying with it a thread of pain of its own. She disentangles herself from the blanket and places one of her hands in his pained one just as he opens it again, finding it cold. It's not from the pure whiteness of his fingers, either (which she knows is not a good thing), but from the chill in the air even the fireplace can't quite beat. A little whine escapes from her closed lips as she looks up at him, not quite sure what to say or do, just a child upset to see their parent hurt.

The feeling of her hand in his makes him pause, before his fingers close slowly over her entire hand, so very gentle. His other crosses over her front, bringing his arm around to pull her into a full-body hug from above and behind as she feels his chin rest on the top of her head. All down her back, she feels him sigh a great and mighty sigh.

"I am fine, Jesyll. The cold does not agree with this scar, as you know."

She does know. How often has she run her little fingers up and down his hand and arm, tracing it from palm to shoulder because it was there and a thing to do? She's watched Mama take care of it when the cold comes, rubbing medicine into it so it doesn't hurt him anymore. She expects she'll smell it on him tomorrow, if it's hurting him tonight.

Papa has lots of scars. She's asked about the ones on his back, which made him and Mama look at each other before answering her.

'From the training I did to become strong. Strong enough to protect you and everyone else.'

"...Does getting strong always hurt?", she suddenly asks.

Papa goes stiff around her at the question before he relaxes into another hug. Shorter. Reassuring.

"Not always, though this scar is not from that. No, this one is from protecting your mother."

The answer strikes her. Mama? Needing protection?

"But Mama is stronger than you!", she gasps. "Why did she need to be protected?"

It gets a real chuckle from him this time, but Jesyll doesn't feel like laughing. The topic is much too worrying for her.

"She is stronger, but not always. For those times she isn't, I will do anything to keep her safe, just as I will you."

She whines at that. She knows scars are from moments of pain, far more than the little scrapes and cuts she gets from running around and playing. The thought of him getting even more of them because of her makes tears prickle at the corners of her tired eyes.

"...I don't want you getting hurt, Papa..."

He hums. The feel of it all around her makes her feel as warm and safe as protected as he'd said he would. Her little hand is squeezed in his."

"You don't have much choice in the matter, wyrmling. That's what good parents do, just as their good little children go to bed at a reasonable hour."

[silversiren1101]

THIS IS SO CUTE I'M LOSING MY MINDDDD!! My baby girl! Aw you've get her energy so well! jskldjklsajdlksad

Wip Wednesday

Before the day ends, I'd like to join and share a little piece that I'm writing with @silversiren1101 blessing (and approval).

She knew every corner of that place by heart. Even with shutted eyes, she could tell what was going on there: the birds chirping, the water fountain running, the oldest cat complaining about anything. And that sound of feathers, along the muffled giggle, was very familiar.

Ekaterina felt little hands grabbing her skirt, and she heard a scare attempt, “Boo!”

The druid did her best acting, putting one hand over her heart. “Jesyll!”

The little girl laughed out loud. “Hi, auntie! I gotcha again, didn't I?”

“You always get it.” Ekaterina couldn't help but smile. She patted her head. “Hello, my dear. How are you doing?”

Jesyll hugged her legs. She adored how Auntie Kaya smelled like. It was like a fusion of a vegetable garden in summer and a pine forest. Herbs, flowers, juicy fruits.

Comfort scent.

“I came to help you.” The girl leaned her chin on the woman's leg. “What can I do?”

Ekaterina gave a half smile. She looked around; there was almost nothing more to do in that afternoon. But it would be impossible to change the mind of a ganzi-gnome child. Then she asked, “Alright, can you fetch me some water?”

“Yes, ma'am!” she happily agreed, darting through the greenhouse. The rustle of her tail always lured the stray kittens out of their feline dreams under the branches, making them run after her. Jesyll was used to that kind of buzz, and just laughed. When she had learned that it was a great way to bait them to pat them, she didn’t mind anymore about the occasional chase.

Ekaterina watched the scene, silently having fun, but also paying attention. She didn’t want anyone to get hurt in her greenhouse. And the vines, branches, playful kittens, many things there could leave a scar or two. Especially when you were small like… a gnome.

Jesyll got a bucket and filled it into the fountain. When she stopped and curled her tail, the kittens tried to nuzzle into it. She sighed, delighted with the scene, leaving the bucket on the stone edge for a while. One of the creatures had golden eyes like her, and his tail was halved. The girl pouted, thinking about what could have happened to him. She couldn’t imagine how to live without her tail, even without a tiny piece.

She loved tending to plants. Every time when she had the opportunity, Jesyll was on her Mama’s side in the gardens, taking care of roses and trying to make friends with insects. One time, she mistook wasps for honeybees, and it caused her to fall into her mother’s favorite rose bushes. She could swear that Papa’s eyes got brighter for a second when he heard about it later. And since then, everybody — mostly Auntie Kaya — kept all eyes on her when Jesyll was outside.

But for the aasimar’s relief, she came back safe and sound and with a bucket of water as requested.

[dujour13]

Daeran should have known not to ask Uncle Woljif to babysit the ganzi-gnome chaos bean even for a minute. pwotr pals art trade with @silversiren1101

[arrow-alrakis]

Turned friends' wotr/km ocs into animals!

characters and their owners: top to bottom left to right

Siavash @dujour13, Agria @lairiend, Sparrow @cassynite, Balthazar @outeremissary, Ariadne @turbulentpumpkin43, Grushankaya @three-of-crows, Taro @desnas, Luthais @gutterspeak, Zrise @hauntedolly, Knave @iwoszareba, Ven @angrygoatwoman, Salvadore @dmagedgoods, Kadira @spyridonya, Lenarius @undyingembers, Tristo @molochka-koshka, Minovae & Jesyll @silversiren1101, Kaija @goddevouringserpent, Theoven @offsidekineticist

Yall have amazing character designs! ^^

[silversiren1101]

Updated baby (Jesyll) design - lil chaos bean💜

[silversiren1101]

My girls!!! Thank you so very much! Little-bundle-of-chaos Jesyll brought to life and loved upon by a very doting mama Mino!

gotcha!!! (commission for @silversiren1101!)

[silversiren1101]

For Jesyll: ☮ for a scene about behaving well

[Struck by this idea: what exactly does behaving 'well' mean in the mind of a young ganzi-gnome?]

Her lip worms its way through her sharp teeth, the soft flesh almost always a ragged, chewed, slightly tender mess. It's her thinking habit, and, boy, for a little girl of five summers, does Jesyll has a lot to think about. Her thoughts run as fast as momma's griffin, Danza, can fly, only slowing down when her tiny frame runs out of energy to keep them—and her feet—going, and sleep calls for her to rest up and recharge for more antics on the morrow.

And right now, she's thinking about a horse.

The horse that went into the main hall.

She saw it go in as the other knights arrived, ones wearing different armor than their knights here. They had funny faces on their chest armor, which might have been scary to other kids but certainly did nothing to her. Their armor was also more black than the knights here too, who wore dark metal that shone a deep and pretty green tint in the sun. They looked similar enough though, which told her that they were knights like their knights but not actually their knights—friends, maybe? Another Order, if she'd been paying attention to her lessons correctly.

Anyway, they had arrived just as she was being dragged away to one of said lessons. She watched them ride into the courtyard, and while most of them had put their pretty horses in the stable, one didn't. Its rider rode straight on their horse up the wide stone stairs and into the hall—the selfsame hall she was told not to go into today. At breakfast, Mom and Dad told her they were expecting guests today—other knights—and they would be meeting in the main hall instead of their usual offices, so to please be good and do her lessons and stay out of the hall.

Probably because a horse wouldn't fit in an office?

But why was there a horse in the hall? Why did the horse need to come inside? Horses weren't supposed to come inside! They were supposed to stay in the stables which is where all the other visiting knights' horses went. Why not this one?

The conundrum fills her thoughts, even as her quill works up and down the pages in front of her. It's only midday, so she's brimming with energy, fidgeting constantly. Her feet tap and bounce. Her tail coils all over itself. She bites at her chewed up little lip with teeth too sharp. Still, she's trying to do as she was asked to, despite the letters and numbers on these drills having been learned weeks ago. Roan insists on doing things at exactly the pace and way she said she's always done them, though, saying that Jesyll isn't any more or less special to warrant a change in how she's done things for... for... the little girl tells herself 'a century'. Old Roan certainly looks that age. Older than dad, somehow, and she knows he is actually two centuries at least. She's certainly old enough to be set in her ways! It doesn't matter that Jesyll can already read everything on these papers. It doesn't matter that she can already sum the numbers Roan thinks she's only just learned how to write. She's clever, is what her mom and dad said, which they said as simply as one would talk about the weather as much as it sounded like they were giving a warning—exactly like the weather when someone is telling you to bring a coat or umbrella. They even told all her tutors that she's moving fast and to keep her from getting bored, which all of them have done except for Roan... who's lessons were so boring that even she herself was snoozing at her desk in the corner. All the other knights that tutor her are only ever surprised and happy as Jesyll learns fast and asks questions, eagerly tackling bigger topics and lessons as her gnomish curiosity grow from a fledgling bird to a starving roc. Not Roan, though, who thinks she needs hours just to practice her handwriting; enough time at least to fall asleep despite it being midday!

So Jesyll has been left to her drills, which she blazes through. It's the one major thing she definitely tries not to disappoint her parents on: 'your schooling is everything, wyrmling.' Even though this bores her because of how easy it is, even though it makes her feel a little angry because it's too easy and she is so much cleverer than this. It's why she starts summing the numbers as she goes despite Roan only asking her to copy them—painstakingly—because she's clever and feels the need to remind—and warn—Roan that she is, and her parents will see her papers and see she did all this extra work and hopefully talk to Roan about making things more interesting.

But there's another reason.

The horse.

Jesyll works quickly because she just has to know. A little gnome's curiosity can only be held at bay for so long, and a ganzi gnome's? Even with the sums she chose to do, her quill is set down on her desk before Roan has even had half an hour to nap. She waits a few moments, to see if the old knight wakes. She even clears her little throat, because she wants to be good and ask if she can go out and play in the courtyard now, which is what all her other tutors let her do when she's done with their drills and lessons.

Roan sleeps on.

Jesyll slips out of the room.

Her little feet hardly make a sound—some of the knights have joked about getting her little bells for her shoes or for her tail given how many times she's almost been trampled underfoot. It helps her now, though, as she quietly pads out of the room and down the hall, thoughts of the horse in her mind. She worries not about Roan waking. The old lady knight will see that she did as she was asked—her drills are done and then some, after all—and assume she went out to play. If she has any complaints about it, then Jesyll thinks she should have stayed awake.

Not a shred of guilt or feeling of misdoing clouds her thoughts.

Instead, she thinks of a plan. Her parents told her to stay out of the main hall, but she can't just play without knowing what's going on with the horse. The main hall has plenty of doors into it, though, and she thinks to press her ear to one of them or peep it open a crack to peer in. That's not going into the hall, so she won't get in the way and disobey her parents. Right? Right.

Only, that idea is quashed the second she crosses an intersection in the hallways that lead there. She rounds the corner and her golden eyes land square on the face of a knight—one of theirs, at least—who stands watch afore the door she'd meant to peek through. She doesn't know his name, but still, she comes to a halt beneath his widened then narrowed gaze, a playful warning in them. He tilts his head, asking without words, "and just where are you going, little one?". It tells her that he most certainly won't help her in her plot. The knights never do, unless they've been given permission to. He probably has strict orders not to let little curious ganzi-gnomes past him at all. Still, she doesn't want to slink away with her tail between her legs, acting like she's in trouble when she isn't. She is just walking in her home. The knight instead gets a little wave from her little hand, which he returns with a nod... aimed in the direction of the courtyard.

"Go out and play, Lady Jesyll. You are not to pass through here."

Only a minor setback.

Another plan has already formed in her ever churning mind.

She pads off back down the hall and to the courtyard as implicitly ordered, though not to play.

The sun is high as she steps from the side door into the yard, conveniently very close to exactly where she needs to be. Someone will most certainly yell at her if she's caught, and the answer to that is simple: don't get caught. So long as she doesn't go into the hall and doesn't get caught, then she's done exactly as asked by mom and dad; perfectly logical reasoning concocted by her exceedingly clever and mischievous mind, woefully understimulated today. (A warning, remember, that she is clever.)

Much to her luck, the courtyard is busy with other work. Knights are in the middle of setting up tents. Nice ones. They're of deep black fabric with red trim, and banners on them have what looks like a sun but the points coming from it all look almost like spears. Are they for the visiting knights, wonders? The knights here are black and green, not red. Will they not be staying in the barracks like everyone else? It's strange, but she doesn't focus on it too long.

No, her sights are set to the window overlooking the main hall, reachable from the top of the stables. It's not a terribly difficult climb. At least, it doesn't look like it. She hasn't done it, but with her lightweight and tail, it should be simple enough. She's climbed enough trees and fallen off the walls enough times to not be afraid for better or for worse—most certainly worse, her parents would say. But to her, all she has to do is scamper up there without being seen, look down into the main hall and figure out why they let a horse inside, and then she can actually go and play. She does have a rather important scene to finish with her toys, after all. The Princess still needs to be saved by the dragon from the evil devil king. Or, she can swing her sword (stick) around at the her-sized training dummy Uncle Yaker set up for her on the other side of the yard. It's within view of the guest-knights too, and the urge to show off her prowess for her age and size is a siren song most tempting.

Later.

She slips into the stables quietly, pausing for a moment once inside to make sure no one saw her. No one comes in. The horses don't even make a stir, save for soft curious sounds as they expect sugar cubes or apples. She's snuck in here enough times to give them treats for them to know her by now. Her little hands are empty this time, however, and soon have her scampering into the stable rafters within minutes. She pulls herself up the piled bales of hay and only stops to apologize to one of the horses when some of it flies into their face, promising to bring it a sweet later, though it only snorts and eats at the extra hay in response.

Her tail supports her as she scuttles along the rafters, then to the eaves. It's the hardest part, making it on to the roof, but ever is the resourcefulness of a young ganzi with a prehensile tail and the insatiable curiosity and bravery of a gnome . Her hands and arms get a little bloodied, but what else is new? This is nothing like when she fell off the wall into the roses mom planted around the walls to keep intruders away. Uncle Daeran had to help with that, and it was a good thing he was here at the time. He's not here now though.

She tries not to think what that will mean if she falls from the stable roof she's now crawling across. Or if she falls from the stone wall and window she's quickly approaching. Even keeping a low profile—the knights might be tall, but not even they could see her with how flat she's pressed against the shingles—she reaches it fast. She certainly gets there faster than it would've taken for Roan to wake. The old knight is probably still asleep even as Jesyll's little fingers easily grip the weathered stone blocks that make the wall, so much more easily than an adult human could. Her tail steadies her as she climbs, only about five feet but that's nearly three of her. A fall from this height will hurt but it won't hurt. Not unless she falls completely to the courtyard. That won't happen. The stable roof would catch her first. It's not a possibility in her mind.

Only a few minutes pass before she's gripping the edge of the windowsill. It's a small ledge—clearly, it's a sill—but she is a small girl. Her little body easily huddles against the window as she pulls herself up, taking a few seconds to catch her breath before peering through the glass to finally solve this mystery; or, trying to. The window, so high up, hasn't been cleaned in what she guesses is forever. Probably never. It's splattered with roof drippings, bird droppings, and all sorts of other muck and grime. She can see blurry shapes and movement far down below, and hear muffled voices that definitely sound like her parents and some others. That's all. Certainly not enough to solve her mystery. To any other child, it might've deterred them. She merely spits on the glass and takes a sleeve to it, determined.

And then the window is moving forward.

The very moment she puts any pressure to the glass, it swings open with the loud screech of rust—along with a scream of her own. Hers comes entirely unwittingly, as the only thing she'd been able to balance against gives beneath her.

The world turns into a rapid blur. Wall tumbles over floor over wall over ceiling over wall. Her fall is instant, face-forward, down off the ledge, into the open air. She hears the scream along with other things, though not really: gasps and cries and clopping. Absolute fear grips her, that primal OH NO but nothing more because doesn't have time to think more as she falls. Not even her endlessly sprinting mind and thoughts are faster than gravity itself.

The walls the ceiling the floor the walls—darkness.

Then, she stops.

Not on the floor, no.

In the air.

A pressure grips about her little ribs, and she hears in the dark—eyes having closed instinctually before anticipated impact—relieved sighs and gasps as well as a great breathing, like a large animal. Then a clopping, like hooves, as she feels herself being moved about.

"Oh, gods, Maidrayne... thank you. I... I am so sorry—she should be with her tutor right now."

It's her mother, out of breath, clearly worried.

Then, her father sounds equally so, in his own way.

"Instead, she's climbing the exact window I told you was too easily accessible to an overly curious young gnome, even without the tail."

"And I told you that Roan isn't capable of keeping tabs on her, so I suppose we're both terrible parents today. Dammit..." The curse that follows is muffled. Speaking into a hand? It sounds tired.

Jesyll only hears all of this distantly. It comes through the roar in her ears of the panic and fear and adrenaline of her fall, and only because its her parents. Hearing them in this situation would've filled her with dread: entering the hall was exactly what she'd been trying not to do, and she'd done it in the most dramatic and dangerous was possible. Right now, though, she can't feel anything like dread. She can't even think of what she's done exactly. Her heart is still racing. Her thoughts are all in a disarray. Instead, the sound of her parents makes her want to burst into tears and reach for them, to make the fear go away in the safety of the crooks of their necks and arms.

But a sudden deep, reverberating snort cuts right through all that. It comes from behind her. Right behind her.

"So this is the terror stalking the halls of Citadel Darvhage", a voice deep and gruff, yet definitely feminine, comes from where the snort did; from where the clopping seemed to come from. "I must admit, the resemblance is uncanny. She is the spitting image of you both."

And then Jesyll is being rotated in the hands holding her aloft, the selfsame ones that caught her mid-fall.

"You... you're the horse", she speaks up. Her golden eyes opened seconds ago, and she stares dumbstruck at the person that caught her: the horse that isn't.

A woman, or, rather, the upper-half of a woman with dark, neatly cropped hair, holds her as if she were nothing more than the dolls she herself plays with. Her black eyes regard her curiously, scarred lips pressed together in amusement. Jesyll can't help but stare, everywhere. At the skull armor on her chest, and black plate along the arms holding her up; at the horse body covered in black hair beneath her, and the equally black plate protecting it; at how high up she's being held and why it felt like she hardly fell all that far at all, because this horse-lady is massive. On the ground, Jesyll thinks she wouldn't even come up to her... knee? She doesn't know if horse knees are called knees.

"Oh, hells, I am so, so sorry, Maidrayne. Jesyll is still very young, she doesn't know—" Past the lady, her mom, looks downright mortified as she surges forward. Her scales look almost white overtop the reddened skin of her cheeks, and her violet eyes are wide above her grimace. Back at the table—dragged into the hall because it usually isn't there, now covered with maps—dad pinches the bridge of his nose, shoulder armor clinking from the force of his sigh. The tips of his ears are slightly pink.

"—No insult taken, I assure you." The horse-lady cuts mom off as she seems to be profusely apologizing for, something? Her falling into the hall, probably. Instead, she smiles wide and holds Jesyll aloft higher, as if to get a better look at her. Jesyll only looks back down in kind, too confused and awed by the lady to even be scared anymore—though the trembling doesn't cease. She certainly looks human up top, or maybe half-elf? Her pointed ears make it hard to tell. But she is also unmistakably a horse below.

"She can't be, what, more than eight summers old?", the lady says, directed at her mother now standing next to her. Mom doesn't even come up the horse-lady's human waist with how massive she is. "It's hard to tell with you two-legged folk."

Mom looks... relieved. She shakes off the embarrassment and sighs, crossing her arms. Jesyll can see though from this vantage, where the horse-lady cant, the sign mom's tail is making directly to her: you are very lucky, wyrmling.

"Only five, actually. Young enough to not have a sense of self-preservation, as you can see."

The lady laughs again. Clopping echoes about the halls as she turns, and lowers Jesyll at the same time, delivering her into her mother's arms. Even with her armor on, Jesyll crowds into her neck, that scared part of her still searching for the comfort only a parent could give her from the fall. The smell of armor polish and oil is strong, but not strong enough to completely cover the comforting scent of mom. She breathes deep and presses her face right into the spot where her armor gives way to soft flesh, scale, and feather.

"And for many summers more, I imagine. Also a learned trait in our young."

Her mother laughs, and it's a genuine laugh, which Jesyll can tell. It rumbles against her face through her throat and makes her feel safer.

"Again, I'm terribly sorry, and thank you. She is quite a handful, even as tiny as she is."

"Please." Jesyll turns and watches the lady hold up a hand, waving off the apologies and thanks. "If ever there is a permissible chaos in this world, Lady Arangeir, it would be that of our children."

"'Minovae' is fine, Maidrayne, please." Her mother then shifts, and it's in the way that Jesyll can tell she is now speaking to her. "Speaking of which, Jess, dear, this is Maidrayne Vox. She's from the Order of the Nail, and no, she is not a horse. She is a centaur, which is a person just like an human or ganzi or gnome or elf. Say hello and thank her for catching you."

"...Hello... Thank you... Sorry..." She mumbles. From the way mom said it, calling her a horse was probably the thing she tried to apologize for.

Maidrayne, who Jesyll now knows is not a horse but a centaur, dips into a bow. Her knees lower to the stone floor, like a horse kneeling, and her upper half sweeps into a bow like a two-legged person would. Even so, she still somehow towers above mom and her. Jesyll wonders what it would be like to be that huge. She's only ever been tiny.

"My pleasure. I can only imagine you came to be in this situation because of me, anyway." Something shines in her dark eyes.

How did she know?

Jesyll nods. "I saw you go into the hall and wanted to know..."

"We were going to introduce you at dinner this evening, had you been more patient." Her father's voice sounds from the side, and Jesyll lifts out of mom's neck to see him leaning against the table, arms crossed. His eyes, pale and yellow, no longer gold as hers are now, are narrowed. His scowl is deeper than usual but then he sighs, and the stern anger melts off his face. A gauntlet runs through his silvery purple hair. "I suppose we should ground you, but that will do little. It certainly did little for me at your age. I trust the fall was fearful enough to give you some sense, at least?"

She nods again. A little too vigorously, maybe.

"I see Lictors naturally have soft spots for their daughters", Maidrayne snorts. "Severs is much the same with his three, though he and they know the importance of a good scolding and appropriate punishment."

Dad waves his hand, as if to shoo away the notion. "As do I, just as I know a fruitless endeavor when I see it. Jesyll has learned from this... and, I also know the safest place for a reckless and overly curious young gnome is not locked away, but tucked tight beneath as many eyes as possible. She will be joining us for dinner tonight."

"I'm... not in trouble?" Her little voice pipes up.

Mother laughs. She laughs loud and long. "Oh, no. You are in so much trouble."

[silversiren1101]

For the sensory prompt, The moment when reality starts to make sense again?

You didn't specify who and so Shelyn was invited to zap me with the most explosive idea. I cannot stress that I've been thinking of this for like a week now.

TW: Blood and canon-typical violence from a child's perspective.

Everyone say hello to Jesyll.

WHAT IT MEANS TO BE BRAVE - PART 1

She can't move. Her arm and leg hurts and she's scared, but she can't move. Her father told her to stay hidden and though she usually loves trying his patience, it's the last thing she could ever do right now. She likes to see him annoyed because he hardly reacts to much anything else but right now he's on the ground and has been for too long and there's blood and she's scared.

She peeks out from the broken street-level window of the basement he'd shoved her into when the monsters had appeared around them and while she knows it's a good thing the monsters haven't moved or gotten up, she doesn't know why her father hasn't either. He's facing away where he’s lying so she can't see his face but she can see his tattered purple cloak starting to turn red and she doesn't know what to do. He'd told her to hide. He'd told her to stay quiet and not come out until he came for her but he never did. Her little mind blurs his face from the memory even though it was only just minutes ago, keeping her from seeing just how scared he had looked, for just a second, because he never looked scared ever and so she simply just can't remember it that way no matter how recent it was.

Dad didn't get scared. Not like that.

Still, she knew to listen this time because she'd messed up by grabbing that whatever it was that'd brought them here and those monsters had appeared so suddenly after. Everything was bigger than they were as gnomes and that wouldn't ever change no matter how old she got, but the monsters were bigger than even Uncle Trever and so she'd known to listen to her father just this once. She'd hid among those dusty crates, hands planted over her ears to keep out the noises of the monsters and her father fighting them, her tail curled around her in a tight hug... but it'd been quiet for too long and he hadn't come to get her afterward like he said he would.

Now, she looks out across the cobblestones level with her golden eyes, so much like his, where she's perched on a stack of crates she'd scraped herself climbing up and she doesn't know why he isn't getting up. Why? He's strong! Not as strong as Mom, she knows that, but he's a hero and can do anything. That's not his blood coming out of his armor, its the monsters’! It has to be the monsters’.

Big tears burn at her eyes like Mom’s gotten soap in them again during bath time, and her lip wobbles but she dares not make a sound. Even as she wants to call out for him, she can't, terrified that if any sound comes out more of those monsters will appear and she doesn't know what will happen then. He'd told her to stay quiet and hidden and it may be the first time she does exactly what he wants without being difficult.

All she can do is sink to her knees, quiet as a mouse despite how much she’s shaking and how badly she wants to cry out for him and her mother. Where is she? Why hasn’t she come to save them yet? She knows Mom is away, in some other city or country doing her job talking to people, but she also knows Mom can appear wherever she wants, so why hasn't she come yet? Mom is stronger than anything and she knows Mom can fix this and get them home and she can forget this happened and be back to pulling at her father's cloak and hiding his reports and quill and annoying him like she loves to do so much... Dad can call for Mom whenever he wants in his head and right then little Jesyll tries her hardest to do it too but she doesn't know how. She might not be able to make a single peep right there as she huddles against the cellar wall on that splintered crate, but in her head she's crying loudly, screaming for her mother to appear and save them both.

It's too silent and still, no matter how loudly her thoughts cry. The place they'd appeared in doesn't seem to have any people around and no one comes down into the basement wondering why she’s there or out into the street. It looks like a town, or was one, but there's no one else here and the buildings are falling apart and it's so quiet. If only she hadn't taken that whatever it was from his hands, but she'd been so curious and he wouldn't let her see it. She'd done it anyway because she liked doing the opposite of what he said and then everything had gone bright with light and it'd felt like her stomach had fallen right out of her to the floor before she'd blinked away the bright spots in her eyes to see they weren't in their castle anymore but this new place.

Then the monsters showed up. So big, with massive wings and horns and covered in fire and red skin like a lizard's... Not dragons. Something else, standing on two legs like a person but with such a mean look on their faces. Dad seemed to recognize what they are.

Was that why he'd been so scared? No! He hadn't been scared... he hadn't...

She hugs her knees tightly and wraps her tail around them, hugging herself because no one else is here to. What is she supposed to do? She's only six and she's so small. She couldn’t even drag Dad to the safety of this basement if she could work up the courage to. She could barely climb up these crates and even then she'd hurt herself doing that - tearing up her clothes and getting splinters and scrapes in her skin. Her knee is bleeding and she can see some old wood has cracked through some of her periwinkle scales and she wonders if mama will be upset about that too and her clothes and the thought only makes her more scared and upset. She’s messed up so bad this time and she can’t fix it. Her father is hurt and it’s her fault. She’s hurt and it’s her fault. Her mom and dad are strong heroes, why isn’t she too? She tries again and again to think of her hands wielding light and magic or anything she's seen her parents do but nothing happens. The helplessness and regret is so unfair and terrifying but she doesn’t have the words for it at this young age.

All she knows is that she’s messed up and she can’t do anything about it even as much as she wants to. She can only cry silent tears and hug herself on that crate too afraid to do anything else, her little fingers anxiously plucking at the feathers on her tail tip the same color as her mother's.

In reality, only a few minutes pass, but for a child who has only been around so long, time passes slowly compared to an adult. Each minute is precious and long, though in this case, her mother thinks the same as her and feels the weight of every minute passing with despair. Only when the ten minute mark hits—how long a teleportation spell takes to cast—after her and her father were brought here does she suddenly feel that popping in her ears and the feeling like a breeze around and in her, and she recognizes that telltale sign she associates with Mom coming home. She doesn't pull herself to her feet to look back out the window but she can hear it her just fine… and it makes her hug herself and curl up harder.

Mom cries out and it sounds so scared and sad and angry. There’s a heavy thud of metal against stone and then metal against metal and Jesyll can hear her mom’s voice through the broken glass of the window.

"—No! No, no, no, no, no! Wake up dear, please! Wake up! I've got potions, it's going to be okay. Please just—!”

She hears what sounds like the start of a sob but it cuts off early. Another bolt of fear cuts through her as she worries more of those monsters have appeared and will put her mother on the ground now too and she's too scared to stand up and see, because what if they hear? What if—

"Jess!" Mom calls out instead, but still she's too scared to let go of where she's hugging her knees and come out. "Jess, please! Where are you?! Jesyll! Mama's here, please come out! Please!”

Her mother says it’s okay but she hears the fear in her voice and can’t move. She’s still so scared, and hearing Mom so upset about Dad who she still hasn’t heard say anything at all reminds her that this is her fault. For the first time ever, Mom might actually be mad at something she’s done and for some reason that's what keeps her frozen still even though all she wants is to be held and to go home.

Dad doesn’t get scared, but he did this time. Mom doesn’t get upset, but she is right now.

None of it makes any sense, and Jesyll doesn’t know what to do. This is all so much. She just wants to undo what can’t be undone and she wants to open her eyes to find she’s asleep in bed or on the couch in her father’s study or the one in her mother’s music room.

She especially doesn’t know what to do as a pink glow pierces through her eyes squeezed shut, and she opens them to find she is still very much in that dusty basement but now she’s glowing with the same light that sometimes appears in her mother’s eyes when she’s doing magical things. She raises her little arms to look at the glow only to cringe as her elbow shoots a spike of pain through her and it hurts like when she fell out of that tree and fell on her arm a few months ago. A whimper escapes and she clamps her other hand over her mouth in terror because the cellar door at the top of the stairs suddenly opens and she just knows it’s another monster and it’s going to hurt her because her mom has to save dad too and she doesn’t know where she is—

“Jess!” Her mom’s voice cries out in relief. “Jess, baby!”

Footsteps thud heavily as Mom practically leaps down the stairs, and Jesyll realizes it’s not just because she’s in her armor but because dad is slung over her shoulder too. Her teary golden eyes move from the relief on her mother’s face, to the matted red patch in her father’s purple and silver hair next to it, and then to the eye.

She can’t help but press herself flat against the wall on impulse. It’s always creeped her out, the eye in the center of her mom’s magic crown. Her mother rarely makes it appear, usually only when she’s done something bad and needs to know the truth she won’t tell them. The eye in the center follows her without blinking and she’s cried from it a few times because of how creepy it is being beneath its gaze, and this time is no exception.

A little sob escapes her even as happy as she is to see her mom because she knows she’s messed up and the crown is out too so she definitely has messed up. She can see her father covered in blood and laying so limply and she knows Mom is angry at her and he is going to be so angry too and the thought of it scares her somehow more then the monsters. They don’t get mad at her, only annoyed.

But they don’t show fear or upset either, and she’s learning all too much and fast at once that that isn’t the case at all anymore.

Her mom stops as she sees her react, and her expression changes from relief to something like sadness or hurt that only makes Jesyll feel worse. Mom’s lips open slightly as she hesitates mid reach for her, but then the pink glow fades as the crown does too, taking the scary eye with it. Her mother slowly crouches and lays her father on the ground and he looks so pale which she knows is bad for their kind and she can’t help but gush another wave of tears at that. Her face hurts as it screws up from the fear and how hard she’s trying to keep the sobs at bay but suddenly there are hands there wiping at her wet scaled cheeks and pulling her in close, and she falls apart all at once sobbing loudly into her mother’s neck and crying out mama over and over again.

She tries to throw her hands around her mother’s neck only to whine in pain again and her hurt arm to fall limp. All she wanted to do was put her hands in Mom’s soft neck feathers! She cries louder, and she feels her mom tense and hears her breath hitch upon her whimpering before a fresh chorus of reassuring shooshing tries to drown out her sobbing. She holds her and presses their cheeks together, letting their scales—Mom’s opal ones and her periwinkle ones—slide against each other as Jesyll feels fingers thread into her neck feathers instead.

“Jess”, Mom starts, and she notices how strange she sounds. Her mother sounds serious in a way she’s rarely heard before, the sadness and fear completely gone now. How did she do that? More of those powers she didn’t seem to have despite being her kid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, I just had to find you. I know you don’t like it when mama brings out her crown but—”

She’s pushed away slightly so Mom can look into her eyes and there’s such a determined and brave look on her face, and she knows this is the hero people have always told her her mom is. Those violet eyes are no longer glowing bright pink but their normal color, and there’s a smear of blood on her scaled cheek that makes Jesyll wonder if there’s blood on hers, but still there’s such a feeling of ‘hero’ to her and Jesyll feels a little bit of awe. Her mom wipes away at her little eyes again and leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead like she often does and it’s like a bit of comfort transfers from her lips right down to Jesyll’s stomach. Mom hugs her with her lips still to her head before drawing away again to look eye to eye, making Jesyll feel strange—it’s the same look Mom gives to people like Uncle Yaker when they’re talking about important, adult things.

“It’s going to be okay, okay? I promise it is.” Her mom speaks to her too like she’s a big responsible adult and Jesyll doesn’t get it. She’s so scared. “Mama has to do a few more scary things to make that happen and she needs you to be brave right now. Both of us need you to be brave.”

She stares at her mom and then down at her father on the floor who is breathing so heavily and still hasn’t woken up. Be brave? Doesn’t Mom know she doesn’t have any powers like them? She can’t be a hero or brave. How can she be a hero when Dad was supposed to be one too and he’s so hurt right now!

She starts to shake her head and bites at her lip before crying again in earnest. “I can’t! I’m sorry, Mom, I can’t!”, she blubbers through another wave of ugly, wet sobs. “I’m not like you and Dad! I can’t do what you do no matter how hard I try! I tried to call for you and tried magic but nothing works! I cant! I can’t!”

Mom keeps staring at her, and she expects her to get angry and for the crown to reappear because Jesyll does want to help and do what she’s told this time but she just can’t and she’s not sure if Mom understands that. But Mom, of all things, gives her a slight smile. There’s such warmth and love in her pretty violet eyes as she wipes at her tears again and Jesyll then feels her mother’s tail, so much bigger and thicker, coil with hers where it’s hanging off the crate. It squeezes tightly and holds them together like when they’re walking someplace as other moms do with their kids’ hands, because she’s too small and Mom too big to hold her hand without hunching—something only they can do.

“Oh, Jess… of course you can be brave. You can do what we can because you’re our little girl, you just need to know the secret.”

Her chin lifts at that. There was a secret this entire time? Why hadn’t they told her! She could have helped with the monsters if she had known before! Maybe Dad wouldn’t have gotten so hurt if she could have helped him!

“What…”, she wipes at her tears with the back of her little fist and sniffles. “What’s the secret?”

Mom lets go of where she’s holding her cheeks and reaches down to the pouches around her waist. She pulls from one a vial filled with red liquid, and Jesyll recognizes it immediately as a healing potion. She’d had to take one after hurting her arm from that tree and it’d tasted awful and made her gag but it’d made the pain go away and her arm work again.

“First, I need you to take this”, her mom says as she uncorks it and offers it to her.

Jesyll’s gaze falls down to Dad and her mom reads her thoughts right then and there. “Dad is going to be fine, okay? I have more, so don’t worry. I just can’t take care of him until I know you’re okay and you’ve become brave for us.”

Her golden eyes go wide. There’s no way he is going to be fine! There’s red spreading across the floor and he would’ve woken up by now, otherwise! She starts to argue but Mom cuts her off with a sharpness in her voice that startles her.

“Don’t! Argue with me on this one, Jesyll! Not this!”

Jesyll goes stiff. Her mother has never spoken to her so sharply before. She’s never been looked at so sternly before by her either. She knows immediately, just like when her father told her to hide and stay quiet, that she has to listen.

Mom’s nostrils flare as she breathes in deeply and closes her eyes for a moment. When they open again, she looks at her with that heroic warmth again and Jesyll looks at her amazed. How does she do that?

“Please, Jess. Take this potion, for both of us. I can see your arm and knee are hurt. I can carry your father but I can’t carry you too, so I need you to be able to walk on your own.”

She needs little more convincing, and the potion bottle ends up empty on the floor shortly later as her mother carefully watches her knee and arm while the warmth spreads out from her tummy. Mom gently squeezes at both and nods in approval as Jesyll feels nothing, just like that time before. Numb. Walking will be funny but she can do it.

She nods right back at her mom, who smiles a little wider and exposes one of her sharp fangs.

“Are you sure you need to know the secret? You’re already being so brave for me right now.”

Is she? She fiddles with the hem of her shirt. She still wants to know. She needs to be strong for both Mom and Dad and if she knew the secret then she could do that whenever they needed it.

“Mama… please… I want to help.” Her voice is small and it makes her mom press her lips together and stifle that proud smile with a sad one. “But… help Dad first?”

Mom’s eyes widen, before she sighs and squeezes their tails together. “You really are my brave little girl, Jess.”

Their tails stay twined as Mom sinks to the floor, withdrawing another potion from her pouches before she pulls Dad up into her lap with a sound of metal and metal as their armor scrapes together. Jesyll can see much better now the pain on his face and the blood all over him, coming from his nose and some gashes across his cheek and it looks so painful. What had those monsters done to him? She’d never seen her father look like this before, almost always so stern, just a little softer when with her or Mom or, rarely, so rarely, mischievous when she catches him in the right mood and he turns her pranks back on her. It makes her scared to see him this way; how can she be brave when Dad was like this and he was so much stronger than she was?

Mom uncorks the potion and slowly pours it into his mouth, and Jesyll expects him to open his eyes but the only thing that happens is a low, weak sounding groan as he shifts slightly. The bloody marks on his cheek barely close. No! She knew taking her potion was a bad idea. He needed both of them and she had only gotten a little scraped up! A whining whimper escapes from her throat and her mother’s eyes snap back up and meet hers with that heroic determination.

“He will be fine, okay? I’m going to take us some place safe and he’s going to be healed, but it takes time for me to cast the spell so it’s time to be brave.”

Even with the secret she’s not sure if she can be and she feels those tears coming back hotter and stingier than before. She starts to sniffle and it’s so hard to breath and she tries to swallow down air but then Mom’s hands are on her face again and she’s shooshing her and kissing her forehead again and then there’s that pink light in her eyes and at the tips of Mom's bloodied fingers.

And she suddenly feels… calmer, as her mother finishes whispering something she doesn’t realize is a spell—and her mother meanwhile swallows down the despair of casting Greater Heroism on a child so very young and should never be in a situation where it’s necessary but what is she supposed to do? She has to be brave.

Both of them have to be.

Jesyll stops crying and looks around, feeling just… calm. She should be scared and she’s not happy so she kind of just feels nothing at all, like the potion had made her hurting arm and knee numb but not normal. It's strange. Not good. Not bad. She doesn't need to cry anymore though and her Mom squeezes her tight for a few moments longer. Only then does she notice the blood on her mother's hands and she wonders if it's all over her face too now but she doesn't ask, because Mom pulls away and looks at her with that sad smile again despite the heroic look in her eyes.

“Okay, baby. You want to know the secret to being brave? To being a hero like me and Dad?”

Jesyll nods, eyes opened wide but otherwise stays quiet aside from sniffling at the wetness uncomfortable still in her nose.

Her mom takes a deep breath, and then says with the a great seriousness as if telling the most important secret in the world: “You just wait to cry until it’s all over.”

...Jesyll doesn’t understand. How is that being brave? She thought brave heroes just didn’t cry at all, that being brave meant not getting scared or upset or sad. She must’ve made a funny face because her mom pinches her cheek and tries to smile but it looks wrong. It’s not a real smile.

“You don’t believe me? Well, every time something scary or bad happens, you ask me how I don’t get upset or cry. Right?”

She nods, because it's true. She always wonders how Mom and Dad both stay so calm when she gets hurts or something happens.

Her mom reaches up and cards some of her bright purple hair where it’s fallen into her face back behind her ears, careful with the feathers she has there where her mother doesn’t.

“I do, Jess. I do cry and get angry and sad. I just hold it in until it’s over. I make sure everyone is safe and everything is fixed, and then I cry after, usually in the bath or in my room. That’s being brave.”

Jesyll is quiet for a moment. She thinks on what her mother has just told her, still not sure if she's being told the truth.

“…It is?” She asks quietly, and her voice sounds weirdly flat because she herself feels flat too.

“It is”, her Mom reassures her. “So… can you do that for me? Be calm and help me until we’re safe and Dad is okay?”

She thinks she can, and Mom kisses her again and squeezes her tail when she nods.

“Thank you, Jess. I know you can do it. You’re our girl after all.”

That makes a funny feeling in her tummy and she finds herself smiling back somehow. Yeah, she can do this! She is their kid and they’re heroes! She can be brave! She can help!

Her mom stands then and their tails slip out of each other, which she doesn’t like but she doesn’t say anything about it now. She’ll be brave and tell her mom later that she wanted to keep them together. Instead, she quietly watches as her mom sits back down on the floor, where she takes one of Dad’s hands in hers and kisses it even though it still has armor on. Jesyll hears her whisper something but not clear enough to understand what, only that Mom looks at Dad so warmly and sadly even though he can’t see it.

“I’m going to get us out of here," Mom says a little louder then, and she realizes Mom is talking to her now before she looks her way and confirms it. “I can’t pay attention to what might be outside while I cast the spell, so I need you to keep a look out and shake me if you see anything. It’s going to take ten minutes, which feels like a long time, but it’ll be over before you know it.”

Is ten minutes a long time? She doesn't know, but she believes her mom on this one that it'll be over soon and then they'll be in a place where they can both cry together. Still, she nods frantically at her ask, because looking out a window is something she can definitely.

Jesyll quickly stands back up only to sway as her numbed knee buckles. Her mother nearly leaps up to catch her, but Jesyll throws her little hands up and rushes to proclaim: “I’m okay! I’m brave! It doesn’t hurt!”

Mom hesitates before smiling again, but the pain in her eyes doesn't escape Jesyll's notice. She notes to be even braver, because mama needs it. Her little hands grab at the edge of the window frame for support as she begins her watch, but not before asking where they’re going.

“…We’re going to visit Uncle Daeran.”

[silversiren1101]

Not in fic writing mode because I need to get far enough ahead in ff16 to beat the spoilers... nonetheless I am still positively infected by my usual brainworms.

Since there was talk of KC babies in chat recently...

Due to their respective duties, their childcare responsibilities tend to fall on a day = Mino and night = Regill schedule when Jesyll is very young. He's got a lot of frustration with trying to balance his time as Lictor and actually being a good and present father so he unilaterally declares all night time baby duties will be his. Mino of course fights him on this (they don't actually fight lol), worried about him getting sleep and being rested enough to do his duties as Lictor [and also because she's always pushing herself to do too much and doesn't want to feel like she's slacking for not taking her fair share of nights.]

The first few times, it's a race for him to wake up and slip from bed if he can tell Jess is awake late at night before Mino is woken by a crying baby. There's a stubbornness to it, lol, both these extremely duty oriented lawful parents both trying to claim their fair share of baby duties because this was an accident but gods dammit they're going to do this right. That's not to say he doesn't occasionally force time in his busy schedule running the Order to spend time with them, which he most certainly does when it's been too long! Or sometimes a toddler gets seated in his office chair as he narrates his reports to her, who babbles and tries to eat his quills...

Back to night though, I just have this super cute imagery of Mino waking one night to a light from the next room over, voice of her husband very quietly yet insistently asking their baby "Please don't wake up your mother. She needs her rest, just as you do. You both spend all day exhausting each other. I would be relieved to see you both rested for it, at least. Can we get you back to sleep?" With interspersed baby whining and grunts between his sentences that gradually sound less like about to cry and more sleepy baby agreement lol

He takes naps in his office in the day if he needs to. She's found him plenty of times taking a light snooze.

[silversiren1101]

Stricken by the idea of Mino being away a long time for a diplomatic mission in a nearby nation and Jesyll starting to get particularly rowdy and antsy so dad must take drastic measures: a day-trip to Absalom to visit the Menagerie (the zoo). Regill, perfect father, talks about how he's fought nearly every type of beast in every enclosure and where their weaknesses and dangers are. Jesyll listens very intently; she loves tales of her parents' battles and heroics. Other guests around them look on with that nervous side-eye at hearing the gruesome details. I'm sure some people recognize him, of course, but are stricken by the completely wild image of him with what is unmistakably his child... at a zoo... None approach, lol.

Just imagining them teleporting back to Citadel Darvhage late in the evening, greeted by Yaker (their Master of Blades) or Wolka (the Paravicar OC I've made for them), asking if it was a good outing before catching him up to speed on what he missed on his day off. A very passed out Jess clings to his back, clutching a newly acquired plushie of a terror-bird, and the dried smears of ice-cream sticky around her cheeks.

[silversiren1101]

🌺This is kind of half Regill/half Jesyll, but I have this idea in my brain that Jesyll kind of tries to emulate Regill's personality to mixed effect. Like it's mostly an act, but also she might slip into his pragmatic, serious attitude sometimes if she's focused on something?

idk idk I just love soft fluffy family headcanons heheh

YEAH absolutely! This is like an 8/10 because she really is a daddy's girl but she's also chaotic as fuck lmao.

It's a mix of that extremely logical and calculating mindset but all to justify the most chaotic things imaginable. It all makes perfect sense to her and she gets all defiant and a little condescending when challenged on it! Like "I thought this through all the way what are you not seeing?"

It's kind of that joke about what's scarier to a Mom than a loud crash from the other room? Complete silence: proof of scheming and something disastrous in the works. Hyperfocused super pragmatic Jesyll is a bomb about to go off somewhere. Hence why they're so adamant she be properly stimulated with her leaning and schooling. If her brain isn't kept busy with complex and satisfying things to chew on, she will MAKE such things herself and that's where the trouble begins.

Her righteousness is both very much like her mother's AND father's too. That little Regill-like glare with both parents' stubbornness!

[silversiren1101]

Regill isn't particularly good at it when it begins, but there are times he brushes Mino's hair. And he's the only one that can really do this. Take down the braids, have her sit in front of him, judge the quality and the thickness of the hair and while he never praises it overly, he's absolutely careful about brushing her hair from the very start.

10/10 This is absolutely a true one! It starts with just her feathers and scales, but graduates to hair later. Disentangling the plaits and brushing out those wild waves at the end of an adventuring day. She's actually not very good at plaiting her own hair, hence the really thick braids that often fall loose and are tied up anyway. He's better at it, so meticulous and with dexterous fingers, but there's a learning curve and that hesitation to get over at first.

Where he really shines is Jesyll's hair! She has a combination of Mom's waviness but that super thick and bristly gnome hair and becomes a MESS with how active she is. He's the one the braids it into those little pig tails and other styles to keep it from getting caught in things or terribly messy. Where he brushes Mino's feathers and tail, his own thing taking care of Jess is doing her hair all up 💜

[silversiren1101]

Please someone buy them a drink or something they're so tired

[silversiren1101]

With a young gnome-ganzi about, the holidays tend to have a... unique brand of chaos to them.

Certainly not helped by family friends and their questionable sense of gifts!

[From @kit-n-kamoodle who has only been all too amazing for over a year now enabling my indulgences with my most favorite commissions!]

[silversiren1101]

so i understand if you don't want to answer all (or any) of these, especially since I'm pretty sure at least some of it will be covered in the fic you're working on, but I really wanted to know....

What were Mino's foundling's like? And later on, since Mino sees as her kids, I assume she also sees them as Jess's older siblings? Does she ever tell Jess about them, and if so, how much does she tell her? If Jess finds out about them, how does she feel about these older siblings she'll never meet?

Wah! Thank you for sending in an ask! And giving me a chance to talk about Mino's foundlings. I'm still workshopping their names but there is one that is concrete, and you'll understand.

Minovae found them right at the end of the civil war, during restoration efforts when doing search and rescue (and 'cleaning' *cough cough killing undead and monsters and bandits) in the district of Westcrown she both grew up in and had a part in its total destruction: Rego Plea, though it was already starting to be referred to as Rego Cader. She heard screaming and sounds of trouble, and arrived into a ruined part of the subterranean aqueducts there just in time to save the three tiefling brothers she'd take in as her adopted wards from a otyugh. Starving, sick, and terrified, they'd lost their parents and just been trying to survive, and even though she'd saved them from a horrible monster, the sight of her Hellknight armor actually led to the oldest (only 12 at the time!) to try and stab her with a broken dagger he'd been using to protect his younger siblings.

She only gently disarmed him, tried to wipe his cheeks clean, and asked who he was and why they were here and alone. It took some gentle but firm prying for her to get their story, and the minute she did she knew she couldn't turn them over to any orphanage--not with her own childhood experience. Who would take in three obviously devil-blooded kids, with their bright red skin and pointed horns and black-yellow eyes? She declared she would see them cared for by invoking the title of Foundling, and that with nearly every city overflowing with orphans and resources low, the Order of the Scourge wouldn't contest her claim as they could actually afford to take them in.

The three of them are:

Finley (Age 12): Oldest of the three. Fiercely protective and independent. First instinct is to turn down help and do everything himself. Also loves to help when he is specifically asked for it - Mino recognizes the same need she has in him to be deemed useful and needed for protection's sake. He's also secretly generous and giving, as he's been caught sharing food with the resident stray cats and taking care of them.

Aver (Age 9): The middle brother is the most quiet and withdrawn, and also the most likely to flinch. One of his horns being broken and signs of a long broken cheekbone told Mino all she needed to know, especially as both his brothers tend to swarm protectively over him. He comes out of his shell when engaged through art or books (the signifers teach them all to read but he really latches onto it), especially when the subject matter is knights and heroic figures.

Morgeth (Age 8): Youngest. Tries hardest to be strong, since that's the last thing he remembers of their parents "Stay strong for your brothers" (he used to be a crybaby). Rejects things he says "are for babies" even when really wanting them. Mino usually has to trick him in some way for him to accept gifts or treats.

The three of them come with her to Citadel Demain (a bit far from Westcrown but it's nicer than Citadel Rivad, the Scourge's new home, and actively under reconstruction) where they begin a new life of structure: regular meals, regular chores, regular education. Foundlings are overwhelmingly raised by Signifers in the Orders, and it's no exception for these three, though Mino spends a lot of time with them, dotes on them, and starts saving up money for when they age out. She absolutely begins to consider them hers. There's a lot of chafing at first, but who can blame three tiefling orphans not even in their teens yet for it? Being surrounded by Hellknights is terrifying at first, especially the masked signifers who aren't as soft as their savior (though not cruel to them in the slightest, just a bit chilly). The three learn to read and write, begin to learn history, and Aver even begins some basic magical training as a sorcerer's spark reveals itself in him.

[Spoilered for the next bit - since it concerns child death.]

The next four-ish years are among the happiest of her life by then, as she works in Egorian and gets to see her 'sons' whenever she returns to Citadel Demain - watching them grow healthy and strong and happy and cared for.

Their loss is... it's the worst moment of her entire life. Finley turned 16 and didn't want to enlist. She knew he wouldn't and it was never expected of him, but he did not take the prospect of being separated from his younger brothers well. Mino tried to reason with him, produced all the money she'd saved up to get him a home and settle him someplace close by, where she would bring Aver and Morgeth to visit whenever she could. The younger two also didn't like Finley having to leave now that he'd aged-out, and try as she might, she could not get them to accept it would only be for a few more years until they also became 16 and could live together.

They boys waited until she left Demain to leave with Finley - sending her a letter that thanked her for everything and that they loved her, but they couldn't be separated.

It took her weeks to find them. The fact it was related to a spread of missing persons cases she'd been working on for months broke her. A lesser Thrune had been trying to gain power by taking those that "wouldn't be missed" off the streets and from slums, ritually sacrificing them to some devil they'd formed a pact with. Finley was still alive when she arrived, but it was only a matter of time. There was no saving him. She ended his suffering as gently as she could and even to this day can barely remember the whirlwind of rage and slaughter that happened afterward at the complex. The cultist death count from her grief was over twenty before she was subdued by the Order of the Glyph and dragged a bleeding chained mess to Abrogail Is feet for interrogation and torture (since she learned some things about the Thrune's contract with Hell).

Decades later, nearly a century even, Minovae is still like to have to fight off a tear when something reminds her of her lost sons, even though they were only a part of her life for barely four years. Finding Finnean was a strange experience, his name similar enough to Finley's that even with her memories gone, she found a few tears rolling down her cheeks when the errant pathfinder had introduced himself to her, not knowing why.

In post-game canon, she holds their memories close to her heart, and even closer after she has her biological daughter, Jesyll. She waits a few years to tell her about them, and points to the Foundlings about Citadel Darvhage, explaining she'd had three of her own (the Order of the Vice continues the practice of course). She tells Jess gradually more as she gets older, at first only explaining that they died in a tragic accident, then telling her truth once Jesyll fully comes to understand the threat of House Thrune and what her parents have been working towards for years now: their total destruction and usurpation.

Jess' relation with them is complicated, of course. When she's younger, she's sad she had brothers she'll never meet. She's sad that mom fights back tears whens he talks about them, and how happy she seems when she talks about the brighter memories with them. Coming to learn the truth, and at that point Thrune has already blatantly tried to kill her and her family at least twice... well let's just say she inherits her mother's strong sense of justice. It's not difficult for her to infer just how many other cases there have been like this in this damned country, and her outrage only feeds into her revolutionist spirit.

I like to think as an adult she also has a habit of charity and caring for orphans displaced by tragedy, seeing it as carrying on a family tradition.

[silversiren1101]

Mino's crippling childhood loneliness and emotional isolation and alienation translating to ensuring Jesyll has the biggest family and support system possible to an almost suffocating degree.

Dropping her off with family friends is less a crucial need for someone to babysit and more a desperation for her daughter to have the childhood she never had herself: surrounded by family and never truly alone.

Much teasing about her of course missing her kid she just dropped off for a weekend of babysitting she didn't even need.