Night Like This

Evening has well and truly fallen, and the house is dark. Dark enough to make one think that everyone inside is fast asleep in their beds. The truth however, is that is not the case. Auranar sits at the fireplace in the chair that is usually Verna's. She has a blanket covering her, and an empty glass of what was once wine in her hand. There's an empty bottle sitting on the table in the middle of the room. The wild elf looks like she's trying not to sleep and is slowly losing the fight. Exhaustion and the effects of what is probably too much wine taking it's toll.

A dark house could be a good sign: peace, tranquility, security and safety to rest. Alternatively, it could mean that it is empty: devoid of living occupants. Statistically, one is more likely the logical fact. Fear and paranoia favor another. Verna arrives home with a brisk weariness that is somewhere between the two. After opening the door entering, yet before taking full stock of the immediate interior, her call is both urgently concerned and politely lowered in volume. "Aura? Are you home?" In hindsight, an illogical question, as only one possible answer could be conveyed.

There's a moment before Auranar seems to not hear the words, then she turns toward the sound of Verna's voice. Just her head moving. The darkness steals so much. Makes it hard to tell what her expression is exactly. The low coals of the one-time fire don't illuminate nearly enough. Yet the crack in her voice when she speaks tells a story. "V-verna?" She doesn't sound as if she believes it.

Verna can solve the lighting issue readily enough. With magic? Well, yes, she could, but it is not the only method. Rapid steps take her to Auranar's chair to stand before her. Thus the view is improved, revealing Verna's own worry as she looks Auranar over. "I am here. Are you well? Is anything wrong?" So says the one looking more than a little 'well-traveled' given that her robes are frayed, somewhat bloodied, and bearing fuschia grass-stains in addition to dirt, mud, and other detritus.

Auranar looks... well much the worse for wear herself. Though not necessarily that she is suffering from direied garments or a well-traveled look. She sniffs, her head unsteadily moving as she watches Verna move. She's clearly been crying. A stack of books on the other side of the chair suggests that maybe she's spent a lot of time in Verna's chair the last few days. "Wha's wrong?" Her words are slightly slurred, revealing the depths of her inebriation. "You're dead and I'm drunk."

She lets out a little unhappy sound and clutches to the blanket she's been holding. "Why'd we have to fight? Why were you so angry with me?"

Verna sucks in a breath. She is alive. Meaning Auranar. Unharmed, physically, or so she appears. Both are a relief. Upset... well, that is better than the alternatives... and yet it stings enough that Verna wonders whether she can consider it good. She half-crouches, half-drops to kneel before her. "I am not dead, and I am ..." that is more complicated in many respects "I am sorry."

She reaches for her, though hesitates and ends up merely resting her hands on the arms of the chair. "I was angry, but not at you. Not with you. I believe it was the relic. It affected me." And then some, though only recently became clear.

Auranar hugs the blanket, blinking back her tears with only a moderate amount of success. "If you're not... not..." It'd been hard enough to say it the first time. Saying it a second is beyond her, so she simply continues talking. "Why aren't you hugging me?"

More tears spill down her face. She's unable to reach out herself, terrified that she's right and that the woman before her is just an illusion made by her drunken state. Just that and nothing more.

That... is an excellent and entirely pertinent question. Verna does not have a proper answer. She does have a wholly logical solution, however. She rises up enough to correct that lack with an embrace that is one part eager, one part relieved, and one part flop. "I am sorry, dearest..." It is the proper logical response. Including the tears.

Feeling Verna's embrace turns Auranar into a melting puddle of tears. She can't hold in the worry, the _days_ of concern and the last thing they'd done is fight. She hasn't stopped thinking about that for a second. She wraps her own arms around Verna, the wine glass rolling into her lap as she clings to the other woman and happy-cries.

Make that two puddles. The Auranar Effect (tm) is well-documented. While oft by smile, it is not the only trigger. "I am sorry. I did not intend to part in such a manner." Even sniffling, she is still verbosely proper. "I was worried for you. I thought-" She pauses abruptly and depuddles with rigidity, though only pulls away slightly. "I am a danger to you, Aura. Still."

"I don't care." Auranar says vehemently, clinging to Verna like she's the last solid thing on earth. "You gave the.... the thing to Dolan right?" She looks at Verna, her wide dark eyes half lost. "Anything else we can fix right?"

Verna would not, cannot deny Auranar's embrace. She nearly melts anew to rest heavily against her. "I... no, I did not, before, but I believe he has it now." She gives a firm squeeze. "I endangered the mission... and we are to depart again soon. I am ... concerned, Dearest.”

Auranar scoots around in the seat a little, shifting the blanket and tugging Verna down to sit in her lap. Surely the chair will survive. It's not as if either of them is terribly large or heavy. "Tell me." It's the best she can do. Suddenly she wishes that her thinking was more clear. That she wasn't so inebriated so that she could help. But things are as they are and she can at least listen.

Verna does not object in the slightest and settles in heavily (so to speak) and comfortably. It was a pleasant chair, before; now it is all the better. An equally heavy sigh is exhaled, somewhat deflating her again. "I was not cured. I changed. I nearly abandoned them when I was needed. With the artifact. I could have harmed them, or the girl. Perhaps would have." A pause. "I lost control. I left. A fey found me and did... something."

"Whattya mean 'not cured'?" Focus on the important things. The things she can understand. Auranar is sobering up quickly though. The thought that Verna might still be a werewolf is certainly enough to drive one out of a drunken state. Moreso, the fae had done something. "What something?" Okay that was probably less coherent.

The last thing Verna wanted was to upset her; before or now, yet she cannot leave her ignorant of matters, blissful or not. She looks to Auranar's eyes. Firmly. Worriedly. "I changed. I wanted to harm them. Then I wanted to flee..." Not her choice of wants is obvious by her faltering tone. "The girl said that it was made one of them. Telamon seemed to understand, but I do not. I intend to speak with him more, but you were, and are, my priority." Looking to her, a sudden thought strikes with a frown and gasp. "You should seek the temple again, another perhaps, to ensure that you are not afflicted." Her frown firms. "And you need to arm yourself with silver, cold iron as well." While not an expert at fae, she does know some points.

"What?" Auranar tries to clear her fuzzy head, but Verna isn't making as much sense as she'd like. "One of who? I'm not arming myself against _you_ Verna!" She wraps one arm around Verna's back and with her other she tries to take Verna's hand.

It is not just the alcohol; much of Verna's verbosity and precise description is certainly lacking in her recent comments. Lack of information is one cause, but not the only. She shifts slightly in the chair to aid Auranar and keep her gaze. The hand is welcomed and accepted, and the wince does keep her from squeezing her dearest's hand in assurance. Determination. Need. All of the above.

"She believed that I was ... accepted by the fae, that I am now somehow one of them, and it is not a thing repaired by clergy." A matter to discuss with Telamon. Later. "Aura. There is a plague of lycanthropes. Silver is a wise preparation. I would see you protected from any and all threat. Every threat."

For a moment, one very long moment, Auranar is certain that she's heard Verna wrong. How does one after all _become_ fae? She blinks at the other woman and looks down, twisting her fingers and half ignoring Verna's insistence that she be protected from every threat. It's... it's irritating! She fumes silently. "Verna." Her voice is suddenly dead serious. "What happened to your hand?" She holds the other woman's hand up pointedly.

At least Verna is not bleeding all over the upholstery? Verna may well be about to offer that point as her mouth opens. Nothing comes out before she closes it, however. Instead, she reaches with her other hand into her robes, pats around a moment, and produces a handful of metal; her scales and puddle of broken chain, topped with an equally-familiar, now bloody, ring. She does not even lower her eyes from Auranar to look at them. "I feared that I would harm them... I did not wish to harm them. I do not wish to harm you. I lost control. It could happen again." It is not just 'concern,' and her choice of word is blatant in her gaze as well.

Auranar looks at the offerings and is quite suddenly entirely sober. At least as much as she can be. She leans forward, hugging Verna tightly to herself yet again. "I love you. I love you so much." She takes a breath and holds tightly to the other woman. "I don't understand all this, but I have faith. It's going to work out. It'll be okay."

Verna blinks at the sudden embrace. Startled, not upset in the slightest. In fact, she leans into it. "I love you, as well, dearest. I only want you to be safe... and delighted... and with me." In that order of importance, though she does not state it. "So long as that is so, I can learn to understand the rest."

"We'll figure it out." Auranar is sure of this. Needs to be sure of this. There's no other choice. She gives Verna one last squeeze and leans back. Still holding the other woman, but far enough way to look into her eyes. "We'll go to the temple first thing in the morning. Regardless of what you were told... We should both be checked out. Make sure that we are... what we think we are. Okay?"

Verna simply nods. She is a scholar lacking answers at present. She is a priestess with less than total faith at this moment. Auranar, however, she would never question nor doubt. Together, it seems they can accomplish anything (yes, she's looking at you, dead demon duke!). Apart... nope, she has had enough nightmares about that for this lifetime. "We will go to the temples in the morning, together."

-End