#this is worth the wait if i do say so myself

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 62

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 59, part 60, part 61

the first part takes place somewhere between parts part 37 and part 39, the second part takes place during part 40, and the last part takes place sometime between part 40 and part 41.

“No, no, no,” Steve complains as the radio just keeps talking. He had switched it to the game while he was making dinner, seeing if it was anything worth watching. “Come on.”

Considering how bad they were losing, it might give him more stress to watch it happen.

“Something goin’ on,” Wayne asks, rummaging around the fridge to find something to eat before going to work.

“Nothing serious. Just a bunch of idiots who can’t seem to actually score anything good.”

“Listening to the game?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Might just turn it off, it’s pissing me off.”

“Oh, I know the feeling. I normally listen to the game on my way to work, find myself turning it off when I can’t take it anymore.”

He turns to stir the stir fry he was making in the pan. Lowering the heat so it doesn’t burn. “If there’s nothing good in the fridge, you can have some of this. I made too much for myself anyway.”

“Thanks.” Wayne grabs a bowl. “If it won’t piss you off too much, we could go and watch some of the game before I have to leave.”

Something in that makes Steve freeze for a moment. No one ever offers to watch the games with him. Nancy would sometimes, back when they were dating, but was never really into it. Back when he was friends with Tommy and Carol, they would sneak off halfway through. And just the mere mention of watching it now makes Robin gag, and Dustin roll his eyes.

The only person he can remember watching it with was once with his dad. He was seven and his dad called him into the living room, made him sit down. Asked somewhere between the fifth and sixth inning if Steve ever wanted to play. He knew, then, that if he did, it would make his dad proud. He said yes.

He never liked playing baseball as much as watching it, though. He switched to basketball and swimming in middle school, played that the rest of the way through high school. But that moment was one of the only nice memories he had of his dad.

“Yeah,” he says. Trying to play off whatever he was feeling. “That would be nice.”

Wayne walks away, waiting for Steve as he searches for the channel on the TV. Steve sits down on the other end of the couch. Watching the train wreck of a game, but that’s not what he was focusing on anymore.

It’s stupid, he knows. But somewhere, right now, that hole in his chest fills a little bit. For a moment he can pretend that he’s seven years old again, watching the game with his dad. It’s better this time, though. Now it’s with someone who cares.

“If you ever wanted to make this a little sweeter, a small bit of honey goes a long way,” Wayne offers during a commercial break.

“Really.”

Wayne nods. “Just a little bit, don’t need to go wasting it. But it just adds a little more flavor to it.”

Steve smiles. “I’ll have to try that next time.”

. . .

Steve’s out in the garage when he hears it. Someone in the house calling out his name. The closer he gets, the more distressed it sounds. He tries to remain calm as he finds who it is, but the panic is there.

And then he realizes that it’s Dustin, and everything starts to crumble.

“Dustin,” he says, trying to mask the panic in his voice.

Dustin’s just standing there in the hall, tears streaming down his face. He opens his mouth to try to say something, but all that comes out is a sob. His knees buckle and Steve rushes forward to catch him.

“What’s wrong,” the panic asks. “Are you hurt?”

“You—” is all Dustin says, the words broken off with another sob.

Steve holds him upright and brings him to the living room. Gets him to sit down, calm down. When he starts to breath less frantically, Steve leaves to go get some water from the kitchen. He finds Dustin’s backpack, the radio inside going off like crazy.

“Dustin,” Mike’s voice cracks through. “Dustin, do you copy?”

He finds the walkie. “It’s Steve, he’s at my place.”

“Oh thank God. He just ran off; we didn’t know where he went.”

“Is he ok,” Lucas speaks over Mike to ask.

“Doesn’t look like he’s injured, I’m pretty sure he had a panic attack, though. I’m making sure he’s ok.”

“Ok. Thanks, Steve.”

He returns to the living room, finally gets Dustin to tell him what happened. All of this started because Steve wasn’t at work. Because he called out. The panic on his face says something different, though. Something deeper.

“Dustin, talk to me,” he tries to coax. “What’s going on?”

“No one tell me anything,” Dustin practically yells. “I have to find out everything from someone else, or days, or weeks later. I never get told anything by the person themselves. I’m always the last to know.”

“Dustin—” Steve tries to explain.

Dustin doesn’t let him, though. “No. I’m tired of the excuses. I’m tired of you saying that it’s not my thing to worry about. Because I do. No matter how hard you think you shield me from it, I worry about it. Every day I wake up and wonder if your head is killing you. If when I see you later, you’re going to be how you were before, or a ghost of yourself. If I’m going to look at you push yourself for my betterment. When I know that you’re in pain.”

Stupidly, Steve thought he was hiding it well enough. There was that little bit Dustin saw last week, but that was a one-time thing. He didn’t need to know more; he didn’t need to worry about Steve.

“You’re like a brother to me, Steve. You’re family. I don’t know why you think you can just get away with hiding this from me, but you can’t. Because I love you and all I’m asking is to know what is going on with you. Is that such a big thing to ask?”

Brother, family. Hearing those from Dustin hits Steve harder than he thought they would. Because, deep down, he knew that. He knew that him and Dustin were close, and that they acted like brothers would. There was just that voice in his head that told him it was all fake. That Steve couldn’t really mean that much to Dustin, not when he had a family of his own.

Steve pulls Dustin into a hug, holding him closer than he needs to. But really, he does need to. “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s a start. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

. . .

Steve shoots out of his sleep, sitting upright. Breaths leaving his lungs faster than he can suck them in. Heart beating so fast, it could run right out of his chest.

A trembling hand reaches out to click the lamp on his bedside. Three things. The swim trophy he won in his senior year. The picture of the party on his desk. His overflowing laundry basket. All things that can’t be in that place. They are all too new.

He wasn’t there. He was home.

In for four, out for eight. Until his breathing slows, his heart calms. The jittering comes to a steady pace. He won’t be able to go back to sleep. But he’s at least not panicking.

Well, not as much as he was.

Because he needs to do something, he stands and grabs the laundry. Takes it to the laundry room and throws it in. Stops to go and change his clothes, before shoving them in the washer too. It isn’t enough.

He heads to the kitchen, pulls out a book and opens the dog-eared page. Begins a recipe that he probably knew by heart by now, but needs to read. Because the steps, the simplicity, the method, it was calming in a way he couldn’t voice.

Robin was the first person Steve ever baked with. She had come over one day back in the summer complaining that her mom was trying this new health trend, and refused to buy any chocolate chips. And well, since he had an empty house, and at that point a hefty food budget from his parents, he offered to get the stuff to make it.

At first, they used the recipe on the back of the bag. Spent most of the time laughing, and spilling half the ingredients on the floor. He didn’t care. It was the first time that the house felt alive again.

What he didn’t realize, then, was how calming baking could be. How following a recipe precisely could calm nerves. Place the fear into something productive, and give it away. Steve didn’t make much, sometimes he would stray from the simple recipe, but nothing brough comfort like homemade chocolate chip cookies. Nothing reminded him how much he wasn’t alone.  

“We have to stop meeting like this, Steve,” Eddie’s voice echoes through the kitchen. He walks over to the island, taking a seat. “What will the town say?”

Steve smiles. “I don’t care for what the town says about me anymore.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, thinking that Steve doesn’t notice. He does. It was painfully obvious, but Steve didn’t care. It’s been so long that someone stared at him for who he is, instead of who they want him to be. The look made Steve feel alive, in a way, like he was still capable of something.

And really, if Steve wanted to push, it could mean that the ignited heat that traveled with each stare might lead to something. Because, if his peripheral wasn’t fooling him, Eddie looked at him with such adoration it made Steve simultaneously melt and feel like a phony. How someone as amazing as Eddie looked at him like that, he didn’t know. But he felt like he didn’t deserve it.

“What are you making,” Eddie asks as Steve cracks the second egg into the bowl.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

Eddie hums. “Didn’t take you as much of a baker. Especially a midnight baker. There’s a backstory to that one, I’m sure. Let me see.”

He does this thing, sometimes, where he just goes off on a tangent of one thought melding together with the next. Creative thoughts stringing together in one story, much larger than it needs to be. Steve likes listening to it, though. It’s kinda cute.

“So either,” Eddie continues, “you are so ashamed of your secret love for baking that you only allow yourself to partake in such activities in the dead of night. Or. You are secretly a night owl, which is why you are so perky in the morning. You’ve already been up for hours, and are not tired.”

He laughs. “I’m not that perky in the mornings.”

“If you smile at me before eight am, that therefore makes you perky.”

“Maybe I just like smiling at you. Ever think of that?” He looks at Eddie when he says that. Sees the teasing smile turn into shock. Unexpected shock, but not unpleasant.

Steve’s reckless with his feelings sometimes. It makes him say things like that. Makes that beating of his heart come back. But instead of fear, it pumps him full of something else. Something terrified him in a way he was comfortable with.

And it meant that Eddie looked at him like that, and let Steve know it. It made Steve think that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t crazy for this. He hasn’t lost his mind. He isn’t making a stupid mistake. He might just be making the right decision for once.

The oven beeps that it’s done preheating, breaking Steve away. He hopes that it doesn’t mean Eddie does too.

“How’d I do,” Eddie asks as Steve starts to place cookies on the sheet pan. “With my guesses.”

“Not entirely wrong, I am up for longer than you think I am, sometimes. But not because I’m secret night owl.”

Eddie reaches out and steals the spatula. Hesitating for a moment to see if Steve would stop him. He doesn’t. “Why then?”

“Nightmares.”

The room falls to silence except for the clicking of the scoop.

Steve sighs. “When I get a bad one, I need to do something to get my mind off it. If it’s light out, I go for a run, or a drive. If it’s night, I bake. Sometimes I clean, but that never really helps as much as baking does. Not sure why that sticks so much.”

“I get it,” Eddie almost whispers as Steve slides the cookies into the oven. “Before, when my hands didn’t actively hate me, if I couldn’t sleep, I would play something on my acoustic. It helped calm me down. Playing songs I knew by heart, feeling the motions of my hand playing the notes, it was the most calm I ever felt.”

He wishes he was there to watch Eddie play. He could only hear it, just slightly able to differentiate the live playing from the recording. Steve can imagine what he looked like, but he wished he didn’t have to.

“You’re going to be able to play again, you know.” He doesn’t know what compels him to say it, but he really believes it. “With your determination, I think you could do anything.”

Eddie scoffs, rich in pain. “I wish I was as optimistic as you are.”

“Just because you think that it won’t ever happen again, doesn’t mean it won’t. That pool out there, I haven’t been able to fill it for two years. Something happened in there that made me never want to fill it again. But I did. And maybe when I stop thinking something’s going to pull me into another dimension, I’ll be able to swim in it again.” He turns to look out the kitchen window, seeing the moonlight reflect on the water. “I used to love to swim.”

He did. Before the upside down, when it was just a normal life that were giving him problems, he would swim lap after lap. Until his muscles were sore and his body still felt the waves of the water even when on land. Each time his arm crashed into the water, his frustrations melted away.

“Maybe both of us could find a way to love what we used to again,” Steve finishes.

He turns back to look at Eddie, seeing a mix of emotions in his face. The thing that stands out the most is the want to believe him. The want to believe that the weakness in his hands won’t stop him from playing again. That somewhere in the future, it could be possible to.

Steve really believes that it’s possible. It will just take time. Far too much time, creating nothing but frustration and anger. But it is possible. He believes that. And maybe, just maybe, if Steve could still be lucky enough to have Eddie in his life, he could witness it happen.

If the secondary look that Eddie’s giving him is any solace that what Steve feels isn’t one sided, maybe it could guarantee that. Maybe, if Steve could find the words and tell him, or lean forward and just take a chance, he could see if it’s possible.

The timer beeps, breaking whatever moment they had. It’s for the best, really. Steve can’t lose a friendship over the possibility of maybe. He’s lost too much already to that.

apparently my goal when writing this is how much I can make myself cry, because that bit with Wayne and Dustin definitely got me there

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[createacamillahect]

Okay, I just saw your latest ask answer with Palamedes getting the dicking down of his life and now I'm thinking: what about his first time having sex with a cunt in Cam's body and it's his first time being penetrated. What if Pyrrha is real gentle and slow with him where he knows she typically goes harder with Cam. And what if it's just mind-blowingly good for him?

Omg...

Last ask

In retrospect, Pyrrha Dve should not have fucked with Camilla Hect.

It was just so fun, teasing and seeing her adorable brow furrow when she called her and Nona "her girls."

And when Camilla yanked Pyrrha's collar and whispered huskily in her ear, "Do you want to fuck him?" like she was passing a plate of hors d'œuvres, Pyrrha said yes without hesitation.

Which led to Palamedes via Camilla in her lap, still grinding atop her cock, lips swollen and lust hazy eyes evaluating Pyrrha's reaction to his confession that he's never been penetrated before.

Her roguish grin drops. She leans him back on the couch. She wraps his hand around her bicep - his eyes flutter - and she tells him to tap if he wants her to stop and he has trouble speaking. One tap for pause and two for stop, full brakes. Palamedes is about to voice how the taps won't be necessary when Pyrrha begins to slide into him and his mouth opens in a breathless gasp. He taps once and she gives him a second, watching him take ragged breaths as he processes how it feels.

When he nods, she continues, transfixed by the adorable pinch of his brows.

Once she's bottomed out, he sighs. "Fuck, that's good." He nods, "Ready."

Pyrrha goes slow, edging herself with the slow powerful rhythm, and Palamedes keens through Camilla's lips, tightening around her with every thrust.

He hasn't opened his eyes for a few minutes, head tilted back and eyes screwed shut.

Pyrrha reaches one hand down and lazily thumbs his clitoris.

"She never lets me go slow with her. Never makes those pretty expressions for me, but you're easier than her, aren't you?" she coaxes him, and the flush covering his cheeks and chest deepen at the compliment.

He laughs. "I could never resist, she never had to wait long with me."

Pyrrha laughs, kissing his neck. "Me neither."

It only takes a few more minutes before his breath comes in staccato, and Pyrrha puts more weight into her thrusts as she increases the pace of her thumb, and Palamedes cries out as his cunt clamps around Pyrrha.

Pyrrha grunts, emptying herself into Palamedes for his first time.

They're both panting. Pyrrha easing him back down as she kisses him languidly, and before long he is tipping his hips against her for more.

Camilla comes back to her body exhausted and smiles, closing her eyes to bask in Palamedes' afterglow.

"You took care of him," she smiles.

"Yeah," Pyrrha huffs. "He's not easily sated either, you owe me a cigarette."

Camilla grins before flipping Pyrrha on her back, a move Pyrrha helped her perfect on the beach.

She hums. "Neither am I," she says, leaning down to kiss Pyrrha slowly as she begins to grind her hips against Pyrrha. "Make it a pack."

[suntails]

got carried away with a sketch and now i dont feel like finishing it properly <3

[queervegancryptid]

Seriously, academics and the like are flawed like the rest of us, so use critical thinking skills even when you're talking to an "expert" (obligatory disclaimer half because this is the internet and half because I majored in philosophy and am wont to quarrel about what exactly counts as an "expert" because my brain is wrong)

BUT

I promise that, in general, they will be very happy to talk about their work. Academics in particular, a lot of them I've known, don't get to pursue exactly what they want all the time. So when you engage with them on topics they actually have a background in, they sometimes forget how to act and infodump with the enthusiasm of your autistic friend who lights up talking about their special interests. All the ivory tower pretentious bullshit you sometimes have to cake onto yourself in that world, it can just crumble to dust with the force of their excitement about actually getting to talk about things that interest them rather than having to publish for publishing's sake or having to teach a course because someone in the department has to and it's their turn. (Seriously, I don't know if this is common knowledge, but that's actually how some departments run things: I taught the intro course last year, so it's so-and-so's turn next. See, for example, the dude who taught my intro to astronomy course. Lecture was a snoozefest. The planetarium and outdoor work? He was a different man. The final grades for the class had like a 40 point curve. It was kind of a mess. But it was cool when he actually wanted to be there.)

I used to say that was my favorite part of academia, but then I realized it's the main thing about that world that drew me in: I wanted a place where I would be expected and encouraged to explore in ways I wasn't allowed (or wasn't able, not having the resources and living in a small town) to do when I was a kid. It didn't work out the way I wanted it to, but that's a story for another post.

It's why I love libraries. There's a "bookmine" near me (I don't want to doxx myself naming it but DM me if you want and I'll elaborate) that I would fucking adore to roam for days and days. Or just nights. You know, sneak in and hide in this massive building full of books, wait for them to close and go home for the evening, and just go to town exploring various subjects. Also my partner would be there so we could gab to each other about our discoveries. I feel like a lot of people, academic types especially but not exclusively, can relate to this yearning to explore and share.

Don't feel like the only people worth talking to are folks with advanced degrees or prestigious titles, though. Academics can be easy to find relative to other kinds of experts, but good information can come from anybody. Not just somebody with an email address ending in edu. At the same time, beware of influencers and whatnot, obviously. Good information can come from anywhere, and the same is true of bad information. Someone saying things with a lot of confidence isn't necessarily telling you the truth and doesn't necessarily know what they're talking about.

Anyway. Send the email. I promise you're not bothering them by asking about the thing they literally got at least one advanced degree learning about on purpose (in the case of academics, but like I said, this can apply more broadly than that; read the room and shoot your shot, or whatever the kids are saying nowadays). I have a lot more to say about this and may even make a post to help people find experts in a given field of study and how to use responsible critical thinking skills and research methods more generally, especially if anybody expresses an interest in any of that. But I've babbled enough on somebody else's post lol I apologize and also it will happen again

Signed - your local autistic philosopher weirdo who just really really likes information and libraries and finding and exploring cool stuff and can't shut up about it sometimes

[zackcharine]

I need to try harder to get out of bed but augh

[bondagebimbo]

LOVE when the pharmacy decides to fucking dick around with my meds so badly that now I’m off my mood stabilizer, my pain meds, and my fucking birth control (in a few days) because they’re insisting I should have extra fucking bottles of each one and I DONT because they don’t let me pick up more than a one month supply of narcotics at a fucking time so do explain where these extra bottles are, hmm ????? and they didn’t have enough caplyta ordered last time to even give me my usual 3 months supply of that so … ???? get your fucking heads out of your asses and give me the fucking meds you owe me ??? like ??? but I’m in a nasty headspace right now so if I call the pharmacy this morning, I’m going to be that cunt ass customer they bitch about all day because this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. in fact, the first time, they straight up committed insurance fraud by marking one of my scripts as filled and picked up WHEN, IN REALITY, THEY FUCKING LOST THE SCRIPT AND HAD NO RECORD OF IT BEING FILLED OR PICKED UP IN THEIR SYSTEM, BUT YET, MARKED IT AS SUCH AND CHARGED MY INSURANCE AN ALMOST 8 GRAND FOR THE FUCKING 3 MONTHS OF MY MOOD STABILIZER THAT I. NEVER. RECEIVED. I’m genuinely about to report this entire pharmacy to the pharmacy board because I’m so fucking done with this place. it needs to be shut the fuck down because you’re telling me, out of an entire pharmacy, y’all share the same IQ point AND dead brain cell, collectively ??? then don’t fucking work in healthcare where people rely on you to know your shit and keep track of their fucking meds because you’re just constantly making shit worse on people since you can’t seem to not fuck around with these meds and not ‘lose’ scripts. fuck out of here.

and I’m pretty much out of weed, which is usually my back up pain management method, without the money to afford a delivery order by their cut off time to order in 3 hours because I just paid my fucking bills and have SOME to go towards it, but not enough for delivery to be free, and I’d still have to walk my ass to one of the ATM’s nearby because they don’t accept my bank as a prepaid method OR any of the cards I have on my person. 🫠

I can literally feel my back spasming and seizing on and off while I’m laying on my fucking side, I’ve had a migraine with a stupid ass aura for almost a week now because chronic migraines fucking suck and i was REALLY hoping this one would be over by now, my muscle inflammations that my pain meds are supposed to limit are already beginning to start their itching deep in my muscles so soon they’ll blossom into a whole fibromyalgia fucking episode and become entirely inflamed, my joints in my hands fucking hurt because of the dreary weather so I really need to get into a rheumatologist at some point soon as well and get that shit figured out, I’m nauseas as fuck from all the pain, and I’m moody, hormonal, and just feel like fucking death physically.

I’m just. I give up.

this shit is exhausting and painful and so mentally fucking taxing to constantly deal with and I just want a fucking break from all this fucking shit. I wish I could just … not exist … for even just a little while with how fucking painful existing actually feels right now 🫠😭

[donnyclaws]

I was gonan make a post apologizing for lack of regular art but I feel like jts already clear im sporadic and in and out of it bc chronic pain and circumstances. So for now I'm gonna hibernate, get my health steady again, deal with money issues, and art will happen when it happens.

[altruistic-meme]

i didn't get the specific one i was after, but i DID get a k-cup coffee maker!!! fuck yeah!!! and it came with a coffee filter too, so i can still make regular coffee in it :D

[fingertipsmp3]

Maybe I did this to myself but it does irk me when people see me knitting and they ask who it’s for and I say it’s for me and the immediate reaction is “you should sell it” yeah… let me spend at least a week’s worth of my free time making an item I like, want, and would wear just to sell it on etsy, making at most a £2 profit on materials and not being compensated for my time whatsoever 👍🏻

[eightspringdays]

Just saw a TikTok complaining about fanfics that didn't have "enough dialogue" because "reading more than three sentences" was hard.

I'm not against heavy dialogue-oriented fics; they are fun, but... that's a script. You want to read a fucking script, hope you know that. A writer isn't "bad" because they are... you know, writing. Just say it isn't your thing and move on, but categorize something as "bad" because you lack the ability to fucking read... ain't the author's problem; it seems like a "you" one.

[florida3exclamationpoints]

[lonelyplanetfag]

fun fact i got on a call tn cuz i thought itd make me feel better cuz ive been rly fucking miserable lately n usually that helps but in all honesty it made everything one million times worse n im so sad abt it

[eversncenewyork]

:D

[todayisafridaynight]

Dude ur cosplays are genuinely so good 😭. I don't think I could cosplay anyone from RGG because I look too fem for it, but you're killing it!

AW thanks fam that means a lot :']] tbh if you really want to cosplay a character, you should go for it! even if you dont plan to go anywhere or do anything crazy, even just putting on the outfits is pretty fun :]

[austerulous]

[lucalicatteart]

Poll adventure (paventure? lol) Day 6: read the small story tidbit below the poll for more details, OR just vote based on initial impression

(✦ see past poll results + further information HERE (link) ✦)

The winning option of yesterday's poll was that the adventurer should ask the Innkeeper about the suspicious egg he got from the Well Creature….

-

After finishing his food scraps, he awkwardly creeps back over to the main counter, pulling up a stool and just hoping the Innkeeper will eventually make eye contact with him... She finally looks to the side whilst cleaning a glass, his chance to blurt out whatever he can.

"SO!- uh,, I um... I found something weird, or uh.. I didn't find it actually, I guess, I..... s-someone, or something.. gave it to me, as maybe..? a reward, or.. oh, well i-it doesn't matter why.. but UH, but so, I was just wondering, d-do you think you might know anything about it? about like, uh... stuff? Objects.. perhaps.....?"

She stares with equal parts amusement and concern, crossing her arms and letting out a soft chuckle, "Well, I've seen quite a variety of things while working here, so - Yeah, I could try to help you identify an item, if that's what you're asking."

"G-good. Okay. Well.. It's, uh..... this." He's barely even placed the little wooden egg box up on the counter before she's already slamming the lid shut and reaching over to force it back into his bag. Suddenly serious, her eyes dart around the room, scanning to ensure no-one else happened to notice.

"Don't EVER let anyone see you with that, okay??". Abrupt tone shift making him even more nervous, he just stares blankly, muttering a few gibberish noises whilst nodding at her in confirmation.

"I mean, I'm not absolutely certain," her voice lowers as she speaks, "but to me it looks exactly like a Caiploras egg. Those animals have been nearly extinct for at least a hundred years. Only tiny groups of them still exist here and there, and even those eventually get wiped out as soon as they're discovered. Kings and nobles used to hunt them, especially for the eggs, 'cause of all the theories - unique magical properties, uses in enchanting, shit like that.. I don't really know, I'm not that experienced with magic.... But.."

She pauses for a few seconds to stare him down (this does not soothe his anxiety at all), examining intently, as if to determine whether he's actually trustworthy before continuing..

"...My brother is. He's a mage, and a scholar, and he specializes in stuff like this, all these rare animals and whatnot. He'll hate me just sending a complete stranger over there, but.. I think you should go see him. He'd definitely be able to identify it- hell, he'd probably even pay you for it, if it really is what I think it is. And, he'd know how to take care of it properly, raise it well, not just cut it up for fucking potions or whatever...", she scoffs bitterly.

Grasping at a nearby napkin to fan himself with, he shifts sweatily in his seat, "W-wh... but,.. How would I do that?"

"What do you mean? Do what?"

"F-find, him.. IHhh... I just.. I don't, know the area well.. is all, I uh...."

"I'll give you directions, obviously.. Are you okay? Do you like... need some water? You look-"

"NHnnnou, I'M FINE! I just, haha.. uh... Maybe, am.. not very good at....uh.. this.." He gestures around himself nonspecifically.

With a brief confused glance, she pours a cup of water anyway, then casually plucks a small notebook from her pocket to begin scribbling messily. "Well, look, I'll give you the information, and if you feel up to it, you can go. I really think you should, but, eh... your choice, y'know."

As he fights his shaky hands to maintain control of the water glass, she lays out the paper on the table, pointing at parts of her sketch. "He's over in Fargahel, which should be a few days travel from here. See? The roads kind of go like this, but it's mostly a straight path. Look for the ruins of an abandoned castle. He's holed himself up in there, the underground part, repurposed into some sort of 'sanctuary' for rehabilitating injured birds or whatever the hell he's up to now. He probably won't attack you or anything, but I signed a little note on the back of this so he knows I sent you.. just in case."

Neatly folding up the map, she slides it towards him as she leans closer to intensely meet his eyes. "Just remember, no matter what you do, do NOT let anyone know you have that egg. There are plenty of folks out here still hunting for them. You don't want someone recognizing it and coming after you. Especially with how, uh...", it feels like she might mention he doesn't seem he'd be very good at combat, but she simply lets the sentence trail off, shrugging with a smile and politely patting his hand as he takes the paper.

"Just get some sleep, yeah? Think about it. And talk to me in the morning if you have any more questions."

He slumps over to lean on the counter, resting for a moment after she walks back to the other end of the room, just trying to wrap his head around all the new information.. He only took the egg because it looked pretty! He just wanted it to hatch into a cool chicken or something! Why does it have to actually be some big stinky scary secret rare item?... With a heavy sigh, he resolves to never again trust mysterious creatures that pop out of abandoned wells....

Eventually trudging up to his room for the night, he flops onto the lumpy mattress that seems to just be hay stuffed into dusty old potato sacks. As he rustles around waiting to fall asleep, he considers all of his options... What should he do with the egg?