#wrote this during a migraine; the recovery from the migraine; and the ill-advised drinks that brought it back

[thought-42]

Fictober day 2: That’s the easy part

Critical Role, 1351 words, ensemble, gen They make it out of Wildemount. They topple the Cerberus Assembly. Not with the drama or the fire and destruction that Caleb would like, but with the slow, inevitable landslide of political upheaval and the rattle of skeletons against closet doors. They make it out alive and intact and with no official prices on their heads. They make it out having spent their social and political capital in spectacular fashion, and with more people cursing their names than celebrating them, as the murky waters of gossip and misunderstanding and the feral terror of change swirl and eddy around the truth. They are not the monsters many would claim them to be, but nor are they without blame or beyond reproach. They never asked to be hero's. Actively rejected it over and over again, tore themselves free of the bonds of imperialism and nationalism with vicious glee, swore loyalty to truth and survival and vengeance and family and gods with no temples.

They make it out of Wildemount. Barely. That’s the easy part.

 Whitestone is cold and modern and fiercely defiant, but it's that same attitude that keeps the Mighty Nein at a metaphorical distance that keeps them safe from the political reach of the empire and Xhorhas alike.

"This is bringing up some disconcerting childhood memories," Caleb says, drawing the collar of his new coat high.

"You'd say that about literally anywhere with snow," Beau says.

Jester grins, boots crunching as she jogs alongside the wagon. "It's really different from home, but I like it!"

Molly's tail, hands, and horns are all wrapped in bright green knitwear, a rainbow of scarves layered over his coat and wrapped up around his face so only his eyes peer out. He's tucked into an uncharacteristically compact ball between Yasha and Essek in the back on the cart, and it would be adorable if everyone hadn't seen him shivering so hard after a nightmare that he could barely speak. The cold is a familiar companion for Caleb and a harmless playmate for Jester, but Mollymauk awoke in the cold and the dark and the dirt twice over and it will never let him forget how it feels to be a thing that thinks it should be dead.

Their apartments in Whitestone are centrally located, at least. It's a brisk jog for Beau to get to the newly established Cobalt Reserve each morning, and Jester (to her vocal relief) need only roll out of bed at the last possible moment to stumble her way across the road to the bakery in the early hours of the still-dark morning.

It's not the Xhorhaus, nor is it Caleb's magical creation, but it is safe and clean and dry and no one expects them to play hero or villain. They hadn't arrived hurting for gold, but the economy of Whitestone is startlingly booming, and the top floor of an old rooming house is the best they can do.

Caleb and Essek spend the first few days carefully considering the best method to open the space into something more welcoming to the Neins habituated appreciation of communal living. Three days in, Caduceus calls a flurry of insects to oh so gently soften the wooden walls, and Yasha uses her sword to knock them down. Fjord trudges up the stairway, shoulder slumped beneath the weight of another day of unsuccessful job hunting.

"You realize," he says, exhaustion dragging his words slow and resigned, "some of those walls were there for a reason."

"Huh," Caduceus says, after a long moment.

So the roof is probably going to collapse in on them all one day, which is something to look forward to.

Most of them arrive in the city on fake papers. Beau has no trouble-- there's a modern library failing rather spectacularly when they first arrive, and the cobalt Soul is delighted to expand beyond the tentative rebuilding in Westruun, particularly with a volunteer ready and pseudo-willing to head it up. Caleb, for all of his determination to leave his past behind him, is forced to admit that 'can perform and develop complex magic, and can extract information from challenging personalities' looks fucking excellent on paper; evil the Soltryce academy may be, but it's name still carries weight. Caleb doesn't discuss his work, but it pays well and he comes home with a bounce in his step and a gleam in his eye as often as he comes home unwilling to speak.

Veth and Yeza have little trouble finding work as alchemists, and Jester puts on her best dress and her best confident smile and walks into the best bakery in town, coming out not ten minutes later with a full time position. While there are those who will come just to stare at the tiefling decorating their cakes, she remains unapologetically thrilled with her choices.

The rest of them work when and where they can, Yasha and fjord mostly in construction or deliveries, Caduceus selling teas and flowers, Essek unofficially with Beau in the library. Mollymauk... struggles. He doesn't mention it to anyone, but there are only so many people interested in tattoo designs from a random stranger, or having their cards read in the marketplace, or sleeping with a tiefling for the fucking novelty. He's confident something will slip into place, but the liminal space between adventure and security is uncomfortable.

Yasha tries to grow flowers, but as they settle solidly into the deep chill of midwinter, with its endless nights and brief days of sharp, merciless sunlight, the cold slips through the floorboards and the windows and quite literally freezes the tiny shoots of new growth to death.

"The summer will be good for it," Caleb says, while Yasha carefully digs crackling brown husks out of the dirt and crushes them in her hand. "The days will be long."

Essek is pretending not to watch from across the room. There are no flowers in Xhorhas, and Caleb feels quite suddenly as if he is intruding on something sacred, a memorial he can neither understand nor appreciate.

A year later, ice and snow yet again thick on the ground while herbs hang in bundles from the rafters and Caduceus packs away seeds for the spring, Molly gives their Xhorhasians flowers. Lilacs that creep up the outside of Yasha's leg, their colour a shocking splash of joy against her skin. Iberis cascade across Essek's collarbone, delicate white and rich greens a reminder of growth and renewal.

For the first time, Caleb begins to truly collect a library of his own. Veth is a mother and a brilliant alchemist and the one does not negate the other; there is room inside of her for endless possibility. Luke grows older surrounded by love and wisdom and hands that will sneak him candy and books and knives and paint brushes at every turn.

Jester brings home loaves of hot bread and spun sugar sweets to pretty to eat, draws and sings and dances and if she reaches her hands out for a partner there will always be a pair of ink-stained, bruised knuckled hands in a blue robe, or calloused green palms and the faint smell of saltwater, purple skin and claws that match her own. And of course, delicate unblemished hands from beneath a green cloak, a sharp laugh turned kind only for her.

Mollymauk grows older and grows younger in increments, though he will never stop recklessly chasing experience and sensation and feeling in the same way he will never lose that inherent distrust of those who think they hold power over him.

Caduceus makes friends with a tree.

Fjord comes in the door far past the dinner hour, cold and aching down to his bones, steps in to the drafty chill of the main room where paint has spilled across the carpets and smoke still lingers in the air and every face in the room turns to smile a welcome, conversation and laughter and hot tea spiked with whisky drawing him in, welcome back, sit down, put your head on my shoulder and let your breath out. And he thinks, maybe this time he has brought his people home.