The Would-be Fiance of Cor'lana Lúpecyll

Log Info

• Title: The Would-Be Fiance of Cor'lana Lúpecyll

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: Ravenstongue and Telamon's apartment

• Summary: Telamon returns from investigating Ravenstongue's father to share his findings with her. It appears Ravenstongue's father is brown-nosing other elf nobility to regain some status, hence Ravenstongue being declared his legitimate child--but trouble comes knocking when Walhart C. Dorones, servant to the Meontraed family, arrives with his young master, Olyn Meontraed, and reveals that Ravenstongue has been supposedly betrothed to the boy. After a tense moment, arcane sight proves that it wasn't Ravenstongue who signed the betrothal document, but rather a body double. After the butler and child are sent home to their noble house, Telamon and Ravenstongue decide that they're going to get to the bottom of this... but first, drinks.

GAME: Telamon rolls diplomacy+3: (14)+11+3: 28

It's been only a day since the Lúpecyll family letter came in, but word is easy to obtain from the right people--and Telamon knows how to find the right ears.

What Telamon has obtained today from a chance meeting with someone who occasionally rubs elbows with Glórenacil is... Well, it's a cutting from the Llyranesi equivalent of a gossip rag from a month ago. It reports that the disgraced Lúpecyll family, which only obtained a token nobility title from Vailevan Lúpecyll's efforts as an adventurer for the father of Lady Ainasse Son'doriel, who also offered her to Vailevan as a means of legitimacy, has been trying to make amends for their disreputable behavior.

It appears Glórenacil has been approaching various members of the nobility asking if he can aid them in any way. He has not been approaching the major houses, but has rather been aiding smaller families like his own.

Meanwhile, Ravenstongue merrily sits at home, reading a book while curled up on the couch with Pothy. Pothy is just preening at his feathers, but otherwise is being a good bird.

More questions than answers. Telamon's feet carry him home, stepping inside with a cheerful, "I'm home, love!" Pulling off his boots and hanging his cloak, he pads into the living room proper, carrying a sheaf of notes wrapped in oilcloth to ward off the cold and wet. "The weather, as usual, is not much fun at all," he remarks. "But... I do have some bits and pieces. I'm just not sure how they fit together."

He sits down on the couch next to Raven, placing the bundle on the table in front of them. "Notes," he explains.

"Welcome home, love," Ravenstongue says with a smile as she snaps her book shut and places it onto the table. It appears to be something far less interesting than her last choice in books, bearing a rather dry title of Legal Codes of Inheritance Law and Illegitimate Children. "I've been trying to slog through this book for a while and I keep having to start all over from page 1. I think that tax code book that knocked you out in the library that one time was doing you a favor."

She snuggles up to him on the couch, tossing the blanket that she had wrapped around herself to also include him in the woolen cocoon. "Anything interesting?" she asks, peering at the bundled notes with curiosity.

Telamon furrows his brow. "I'm not sure. Your father's been trying to put out feelers with other members of the ... what would be called 'minor houses'. Presumably figuring that a smaller, less wealthy family might be more inclined to hitch their wagon to his."

He opens the bundle, paging through the notes, finding one. "Who was, or is, Vailevan Lupecyll, anyways? Is that the uncle that died? It looks like the mess didn't just splatter on your father's family, but his wife's as well."

"Yes, that's my uncle--that's father's brother, who was married to Lady Ainasse and died in mysterious circumstances," Ravenstongue says, her brows also furrowing as she looks at the note. "I'm not surprised that her remarrying to my father caused them to be disgraced. I wonder how widely known their affair was... In which case, why declare me legitimate? Wouldn't it be easier for him to pretend I didn't exist?"

She purses her lips in thought. "I was hoping this would clear things up, but it seems like it's just not that easy, huh."

Telamon frowns in time with Raven, leaning into it. "I'm reminded of a gnomish puzzle, where they take a picture and cut it up in strange ways, then mix the pieces and you have to reassemble it. We have a whole bunch of pieces, but it's hard to tell how they fit together." He sits back, expression clearing. "Well... I have an idea, but it's kind of out there. One of these smaller families may have insisted he acknowledge you before they signed onto anything. Not everyone is devoid of principles, after all -- I can think of at least three families, not including mine, in the Mythwood who would tell him to toss himself down a well if he didn't at least admit you were his daughter."

"In other words, I'm a bargaining chip for some kind of plan," Ravenstongue says. "I just don't know what that plan is --"

Knock knock knock. It's a polite yet urgent tap, the sort of door knocking that's done by someone who does it for a living or has been informed how to do it just the right way.

Ravenstongue lifts her head up and raises a brow. "Who's here out in this weather?" she asks, puzzled.

Telamon levers himself up. "It better not be someone selling 'adventuring insurance' again. That last one wouldn't leave till I threatened to call the city watch to save him." He shakes his head, "Then again, not sure anyone would willingly be out in this..."

He quickens his pace a touch, walking to the door. He unlatches it, but opens it about a foot -- his body half concealed by the door as he looks out. "Yes?" he inquires mildly.

There is a tall half-elf man, his face lined with wrinkles and his black hair jutting out into a thinning ponytail past his shoulders. A monocle hangs from his perceptive gray eyes, and he is dressed smartly in a waistcoat, dress shirt, and very well tailored dress pants that hang in a sharp manner from his form. He gives an effortless bow from the waist. "Good evening, sir. I wish to present Cor'lana Lúpecyll with her fiance, as was previously arranged with the good lady's father."

There's an elf child that stands behind him, almost half the height of Telamon. The child's mop of auburn curls, combined with his green eyes, freckled skin, and his finely tailored little lord's robes, make him look like a little porcelain doll. "Do I have to, Walhart?" he asks with a groan. "I heard the cooks were going to make elderberry pudding for dinner, and I don't want to miss it!"

"Of course, Master Olyn, we simply must. Your bride to be is waiting inside. -- Ah, you must be her retainer," the now-identified Walhart says, smiling genially.

For a moment, Telamon just stares, waiting for the punchline. Or perhaps for a gnome to come prancing out and declare 'You've been pranked!'. Then the gears of his brain start to engage again, and he says, "Ah... I think you've been sorely misled, friend. The lady in question is not on the market." He pauses, considering the old half-sil and the elf-child. "Alright. I'm not going to make you stand out here in this miserable weather. I think you'd best come inside before you both catch your death of cold."

He calls back, "'Lana, we have visitors." To give her time to change if needed. He regards the older half-elf sternly, once the two are in out of the cold. "I am Telamon Atlon -- Walhart, is it? And Olyn?" He looks the boy over, then arches a brow at Walhart. "Suddenly, certain things have become clear. If you would follow me?"

There's a quiet curse from the living room and the shuffling of feet. It appears Ravenstongue does need a moment to get changed--and to presumably have a real quick panic attack in the bedroom.

"Please, good sir, many things have tried to kill me in this lifetime, and none of them have took, much to my disappointment," Walhart replies, smiling politely despite his words as he makes his way inside. "Walhart C. Dorones, humble servant to Lady Melise Meontraed. The young master behind me is her son, Olyn Meontraed."

"Do you have snacks inside?" Olyn asks, his big green eyes peering inside as he walks into the house, his little gloved hands going into his front pockets. "I'm hungry. I haven't had anything to eat since tea time three hours ago."

"That matter may be handled later, Master Olyn," Walhart says, his monocled eye fixating onto Telamon. "What do you mean by the lady not being on the market?"

Telamon leads the two into the living room, and gestures for them to sit on the couch, while dragging a chair over and sitting down. "Meontraed, Meontraed... I know that name. Ah, one of the local houses here in Alexandria. Furs and spices, I believe?" He rubs his chin, and smiles at Olyn. "I know what it's like at that age. I was a bottomless pit too."

His gaze shifts back to Walhart, and Telamon is quite blunt, "I'm not her retainer, Master Walhart. I'm courting her and will be offering proposal quite soon -- and if you disbelieve me, the lady will be joining us shortly." He taps his fingers together. "You said it was... arranged with her father, hm?"

Both servant and little master sit on the couch, Olyn's feet dangling off the furniture. He pouts a little as he hasn't been given any snacks yet, but he spots the bowl of nuts on the table--Pothy's customary snack bowl--and helps himself.

Walhart does not stop his young charge. In fact, he's a tad more preoccupied with Telamon, as his grey eyes squint a tad, the monocle glinting fully as it catches the light. "You are completely correct, as Lady Melise's late husband, my former master, was a savvy businessman who specialized in furs. The spices were milady's idea once she took control of the accounts. But... I'm sorry--Mister Atlon, you said, correct?"

Walhart opens his hand and a flicker of shadows forms into an envelope in his hands. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, especially for a young gentleman of your class, but this envelope contains a notarized betrothal document between Cor'lana Lúpecyll and Lord Olyn Meontraed--containing Cor'lana's signature and the Lady's signature. You may see for yourself."

GAME: Telamon rolls spellcraft: (2)+10: 12

Telamon doesn't say anything as Olyn raids the bowl of nuts either. Although he makes a mental note to firmly dissuade Pothy from any territorial behavior when he emerges. Instead, he smiles congenially, nodding. "I thought as much."

His congenial expression slips a bit at 'notarized betrothal document', his eyes looking ...not so much hurt, as puzzled. Then they narrow. "I see." He takes the envelope, opening it and removing the document to read. "Fast work, considering Glorenacil had practically disowned her until a couple days ago, when he suddenly decided to recognize her." His eyes flick to the dates on the document, comparing them mentally to the ones on the legitimacy decree received the other day.

The date on the betrothal document is, in fact, from earlier today. Ravenstongue's father had worked exceptionally fast, it would appear.

Ravenstongue finally emerges from her bedroom, dressed in her blue wool dress, her hair styled in a braid, and her glasses on her nose--the standard look she always wears out in public. Except, well, she looks angry, and dried tear tracks are on her face. "I didn't sign a damn thing," she says, "and I want you out of my house. Right now. Both of you."

Walhart simply flashes a genial smile at her and says, "It is lovely to meet you again, Miss Cor'lana. Or are you telling me that was not you present earlier today when the documents were signed?" he asks.

GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (16)+11: 27
GAME: Telamon rolls spellcraft: (18)+10: 28

"'Lana, please." Telamon is trying to keep things calm. "I don't think--" Then he notices the shadow moving, and suddenly it's thought-to-action. His hand is pointed at Walhart, and his eyes shine with the light of distant stars. "Master Walhart, you will stop what you are doing or I will kill you dead where you sit." The genial expression is gone; the kindly young man is gone. Now it's Telamon the sorcerer, the starborn, the adventurer, and he is angry.

"Ah. So you noticed." Walhart sighs, and his fingers slacken. Ravenstongue looks down quickly to her shadow and notices it stops moving of its own accord, like a puppet whose strings have suddenly relaxed. "I'm not as spry as I once was in my old age, I am afraid."

Olyn, who has been watching all of this with glassed-over eyes, pouts a little. "Does this mean I can't have more snacks?" he asks, his big green eyes looking between Telamon and Walhart.

Ravenstongue's anger seems to evaporate a little once she looks at the elf child. She sighs a little. "Okay. Fine. Let's talk like normal people."

"It seems to me from my perspective, Mister Atlon," Walhart says, "that we are at an impasse. Cor'lana insists she did not sign a document, and yet I witnessed her doing so earlier today."

"And that's a lie, because I've been here all day," Ravenstongue retorts. She walks over to Telamon and peers at the document. "That's not my signature, either."

Telamon gets up slowly, sternly regarding Walhart. Then he moves away to pick up a document from the dining table, bringing it over. "To say this is all highly irregular is putting it mildly, Master Walhart. As noted here, Glorenacil only legitimized her two days ago -- we were quite bemused as to why, especially as it seems he has an heir on the way."

Sitting back down, he gives Olyn a gentle smile. "Yes, but you may have to share them. Pothy! Wake up, you slugabed!" He calls to the familiar, then turns to Walhart. "Did the...ah, personage you witnessed have a familiar? A large white raven?"

"A raven?" Walhart asks, brow raised above his monocle.

Pothy storms in, a furious white blur streaking the wind until he lands on the table right in front of Walhart and Olyn. Olyn claps his hands together happily as he sees the raven, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear. "Oh! How lovely! A raven! Walhart, buy it for me, will you?"

"He's not for sale, and I couldn't sell him to you even if I wanted to," Ravenstongue responds, crossing her arms firmly under her chest. "Pothy here is my familiar. There's only one of him in this whole world, and I've never met anyone else with a white raven. He goes everywhere with me."

Walhart studies the creature for a moment. "May I use a simple spell to assess your claim, Miss Cor'lana? Just an identification of your 'Pothy' as a familiar, and that he is bonded to you rather than merely a conjured creature." he asks.

Ravenstongue nods. Walhart's eyes glow blue as he looks over Pothy, and then finally at Ravenstongue. He leans back into the couch and sighs as he says, "Very well. I see the issue. It would appear that the woman that appeared with your father earlier today was not you, but a double. That... makes the contract invalid."

Telamon chuckles at the raven's arrival. "Besides, lad, you wouldn't want him. He's a glutton who thinks the world exists solely to give him food." Sitting back in his chair, he regards Walhart. "I apologize for my outburst, Master Walhart. Both Cor'lana and I have faced some very real dangers, and sometimes my... temper can be a little quick."

He frowns. "I admit, I'm... astonished at his cheek. It's almost sloppy. I can't decide if I should be angry, or offended." He meets Walhart's gaze. "Tell me, sir, when would the marriage have taken place? No offense intended to Olyn here, but he seems a bit young for walking down the aisle and exchanging vows."

"You are correct," Walhart replies with somewhat of a grimace about the whole thing. "It would have occurred the day after Master Olyn's twentieth birthday, the soonest that we could have legally done the ceremony. That would have been in eleven years from now, as Master Olyn is currently nine years old."

"Nine and a half," Olyn complains, rolling his eyes. "Everyone always forgets that. I'm bored, Walhart. Can we go now? I want elderberry pudding and then I want to play pirates."

"Just a moment, young Master," Walhart says. "We have to say goodbye to your ex-fiance. It appears you are not being married after all."

Olyn, who has hardly paid any attention to Ravenstongue's very presence, finally looks up at her. He looks at her for a long moment...

"Girls are icky," Olyn says. "You're icky, too. I don't want to be married, ever."

Ravenstongue puts a hand to her mouth to hide her little smile--Telamon can tell, of course. "Well, it was nice to meet you too, Olyn," she says.

"Please accept my apologies on behalf of Lady Melise, Miss Cor'lana," Walhart says, standing up from his seat on the couch. "We have been... forced into a financial situation as a result of the late Lord's passing, and your father promised a handsome dowry that he would pay in advance of the ceremony."

Telamon looks like he's desperately trying to swallow a laugh here, and it takes him a moment. "No worries, Olyn. You just have to learn some things as you grow up." He stands as well when Walhart does, and offers the man his hand. "I don't think there's any point in holding a grudge, Master Walhart." He pauses, considering, then continues, "If you need assistance, I would be willing to try and act as a go-between with one of the banking houses in the city." His lips curl up slightly. "At the very least, I could supply you with an introduction, to make up for the trouble you've been through."

"That is kind of you, Mister Telamon. I will relay this information to Lady Melise and we will be in touch if she wishes to make use of your offer," the stalwart servant says. "Come along, Master Olyn, we must return to the manor. The carriage is waiting around the corner."

"Finally! Elderberry pudding! I'll race you to it, Walhart!" Olyn says happily, his face lighting up as the two finally leave the building.

Ravenstongue just lets out a massive sigh as soon as the two are out the door, although Olyn's whooping and shouting for joy can be heard down the street--as well as his scream of anguish. "No fair! You cheated again! Stop using your magic, Walhart!"

"That... could have gone worse," Ravenstongue says, plopping down onto the couch. She scans every shadow in the room now, as though she expects one of them to start moving and finish the job.

Telamon keeps the smile on until the door is safely shut. Then it falls off, hard. "That son of a bitch," he says in an almost frighteningly calm voice. "That absolutely shameless son of a bitch." He is furious. "Is he mad? Does he not know the kind of hell his life could turn into if he keeps messing with you?" He slams a clenched fist into the wall -- fortunately, he's not strong enough to damage either.

After a moment, he stalks into the kitchen, and rummages in one of the cabinets... coming back out with a pair of cups and a glass decanter of dwarven whiskey. Sitting down next to Raven, he starts pouring one for each of them.

Pothy flaps a little into the air in surprise as Telamon slams the wall. He whistles something at Ravenstongue, and the half-elf just shakes her head at the bird, curling back up underneath the blankets.

Ravenstongue leans into Telamon with a sigh as he finished pouring the cup. "I feel like... My home got invaded, but instead of some fiend going through my underwear drawer, it's my father trying to mess with my life," she says. "Do you think he knows about us? Is he trying to get you away from me?"

Telamon slides a tumbler of whiskey over to her, before picking his up. He takes a sip, grimacing, before letting himself speak. "I don't know. Maybe. It's not like we haven't been discreet or anything. I mean, alright, we didn't pay lads to walk around with signs saying 'Telamon and Cor'lana Are An Item', but still." He takes a deep breath, focusing. Thinking. "He's not hurting for money, because he offered to pay the dowry. Interesting. Unless he didn't mean for this to work at all and doesn't care what Lady Meontraed thinks."

He leans into Raven again. "The more I think about it the less sense it makes. It's spiteful, sure, and a pain in the arse. Imagine if he'd gotten a better forgery done. At the very least we'd have to contest it -- that means legal fees. Probably have to retain a priest to truthsay the whole thing, too. But it just feels so... clumsy."

"It's inept. That's for certain," Ravenstongue says. "But we've established before he's not necessarily bright. He never thought to reach out to Grandfather to ask why he wanted me, after all. He just does the easiest thing to solve his problems--Lady Ainasse wanted a baby without the threat of having it whisked away by Grandfather, so the easiest solution for him was for me to just go to Quelynos and get out of his hair."

She shakes her head. "The question is, what exactly am I the easiest solution to as a legalized child and to be married off? It sounds like the Meontraed family is respectable, so perhaps he was hoping to spin 'my' marriage to them as a means for him to recover his status?"

Ravenstongue takes the whiskey and she sips it, cringing a little. "Eugh. We're getting drunk tonight, I take it."

Telamon takes another sip of his drink. "Yes, but there's dumb and there's really stupid, love. Imagine my father's reaction -- or worse, Grandfather's. Now imagine them both working together." He shakes his head. "This seems like a game of 'poke the owlbear' and for all the gods I can't grasp why."

He nods to Raven, smiling a little. "Now you're seeing past the initial problem. Who profits here? Why is it suddenly such an issue to legitimize you, and then falsify a betrothal document?"

"Precisely," Ravenstongue says, before she takes a sip of her drink. "Maybe Ainasse's pressuring him to save face and try to climb the social ladder. She's a Son'doriel--maybe he's not giving her a standard of life like what she grew up with. Maybe now that there's a child on the way, she wants him to... I don't know, maybe get back to a rich enough social standing to betroth their child to someone else as soon as he's born? I can't imagine she is happy about having me acknowledged, though..."

She sighs and shakes her head. "Gods. This is all way too much to think about. Just drinking for now, I think."

Pothy lands on the table... and then he stares at the peanut bowl.

It's empty.

He looks up at Telamon and Ravenstongue with a look of utter betrayal.

He leans his head against hers, warmly. "Maybe. You could be right. I really don't know much about her -- my father was rubbing shoulders with Mythwood nobles, not Llyranost. And a lot of those tended towards pragmatism." He kisses her cheek. "It's medicinal. I think we both need it..."

He then looks at Pothy, and sighs. "Sorry, Pothy. I guess the boy was hungrier than we expected." He raises his free hand, gesturing and murmuring, and the familiar flicker appears in the air. "Go to the cupboard, get the burlap sack of mixed nuts, and refill this bowl." The servant flits off, and Telamon takes a long drink. "To quote my father, 'Just so you realize, this means war.'. We can't let this sort of crap slide."

"I don't know much, either, besides the fact that she tried to slap me around before Pothy flew in and tore at her face," Ravenstongue says, a tiny smile on her face as she nuzzles her nose against Telamon's cheek. "And of course it's war..."

She plants a little kiss on his cheek, tumbler of whiskey in her hand. "I'd rather focus on love for the night, though."

Pothy's tail wags up and down as the servant is sent off to go refill nuts. He merps his approval, following the servant into the kitchen to supervise the magic entity's work.

"...Have I ever mentioned I'm a lightweight?" Ravenstongue adds with a giggle.

Telamon says with enormous dignity, "With all due respect, 'Lana, there's a reason I'm not pouring myself a second. I'm not exactly a heavy drinker either." He sips at the remainder of his glass. "I believe the term 'cheap date' got tossed at me at one point." His eyes twinkle, as he nuzzles up to her, happily letting his mind fog up a bit between her lavender scent and the whiskey.

"We need to act, not react," he mumbles. "Ah. I have it. What're you doing tomorrow? I think we need to pay a visit to the courthouse."

"Cheap date? When did I ever call you--was it the oruch girl?" Ravenstongue asks, puzzled and assumedly a little more confused on account of the whiskey. "Bah... Better to be a 'cheap date' instead of a passed out date."

She takes a sip of the whiskey, the last one in her tumbler. "Courthouse visit? What would we do there?" she asks. "File a lawsuit against him? I suppose we could, but..."

Telamon shakes his head. "Betrothal document. Before he can whip up a better forgery, we have the real deal. Signed, sealed, notarized. Maybe nail a copy to his front door." He lifts his head and looks into her eyes, after tossing back the last of his whiskey. "Awful hard to trade off your daughter if she's already taken." Yes, he may be a little buzzed, but his eyes are dead serious.

Ravenstongue is similarly buzzed. Gods know where she will be in a while when the full brunt of the drink hits her. "I agree," she says, her eyes twinkling. "You can do the actual proposal later--the document's for our protection. I imagine you don't have a ring that's been hiding in this house yet, if your conversation with your father suggested anything."

She puts her empty glass down on the table and wraps her arm around his shoulder, her hand hanging down and coming to rest on his tunic. "Maybe you could carry me out of the court house afterwards like we just got married. I think I'm pretty light."

Telamon kisses her again, before whispering, "Ring's ready, actually. I was due to pick it up tomorrow." He brushes back her hair, looking into her face. "Well, we'd clearly need to practice... I admit I'm not big and muscular like that knight in Princess's Lover. Be patient with me?" He grins slyly, and hmms. "That's what we get for both being fairly slender half-elves, I guess..."

"So you did read it?" Ravenstongue can't help but grin back. "Muscles are overrated anyway. I prefer you no matter how you look. Years from now, we'll be old and wrinkly together, and I'll still love you even then."

She leans in and gives him a little peck on the lips. "And you can't tell me otherwise. It's the two of us forever, no matter what. Starborn and raven child."

Telamon snickers a bit. "Well, I was curious. And then because Aryia made such a deal of it, I went and looked at the Crimson Pen books, and good gods were those bad. People paid money for those things?"

He kisses her back, and smiles. "Like I said. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, no matter what. Through cold, or stupid legal games, or dreams, or anything else." He hugs her to him, snuggling up. "It's scary, but exhilarating too. Like... heh. Maybe like learning to fly."

"Probably. Maybe they'll write one about us one day. After all, we are adventurers. Knowing my luck, though, they'll have just your pretty face on the cover," Ravenstongue says with a giggle. "Maybe they'll draw you with muscles."

She squeezes him a little. "Maybe we will get to fly together for real some day," she says. "Not going to lie, I've been investigating how to get wings since that dream. It just was... Well, it was fun. Especially to carry you with me."

Telamon just rolls his eyes. "And maybe they'll have you on the cover in one of those ridiculous 'sorceress robes' you see at the tailor's. You know, the ones that use half as much fabric as a normal dress?" Teasing her back, as they snuggle.

"Being able to fly is... one of those things." He focuses a little, sitting up a bit. "That sets adventurers and heroes apart. Suddenly you're not worried about tripping, or if you can find firm footing." He smiles. "Wings or not, you were amazing. And I definitely didn't mind being carried."

"Oh, I'm familiar," Ravenstongue replies. "Madame Sandy, my mentor, tries to tease me into wearing one every now and then because she knows it'll get a rise out of me. Although I haven't seen much of her lately since we've been so busy with our adventuring work."

She blushes a little as he calls her amazing. She snuggles in a little closer as he sits up, putting her head on his shoulder. "Maybe I should try and carry you out of the courthouse," she says with a grin. "I wonder if I could!"

Ravenstongue has never lifted anything close to Telamon's size in her life, but she'll certainly try. Pothy's look of fear as he returns from the kitchen suggests this.

Telamon smirks. "We should be introduced, I think. She may want to look me over -- and if nothing else, she'd be a sympathetic shoulder with these issues we've had with your father." At the mention of lifting him, though, he raises an eyebrow. "You do realize I didn't weigh anything in the dream, right? Let's... start small first."

Watching the servant pour Pothy a new helping of nuts, he looks at the bird. "Pothy, I know you slept through most of that, but if you've got any insights on her father's schemes, we're all ears."

Pothy stares at Telamon for a long moment. Then he whistles.

"I want to eat his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti," Ravenstongue translates with a straight face.

...Until about five seconds later, when she laughs so hard that she just can't stop laughing.

Turns out Telamon's girlfriend, soon to be fiancée, is an incredibly giggly, goofy drunk. "That's not what he said--I stole that from some book I read a while back," she says. "He said he'd claw his face up too."

Telamon grins at Pothy, and reaches over to stroke the raven. "Well, I can't fault your sentiments, friend. I'm glad you're here to watch out for her too." He snickers at Raven, though. "His liver? Why would anyone eat a liver, anyways? Sounds like that one I heard about carving up someone with a spoon, 'cause it'd hurt more."

He leans back in the couch, blinking blearily up at the ceiling. "I don't think I'm cut out for dwarven whiskey. Randolf's gonna be disappointed."

Pothy croaks, "Liver," mimicking Ravenstongue's voice. He accepts the pats happily and picks at the nuts.

"Liver is quite nutritious," Ravenstongue says. "Chicken liver, that is, as well as other types. I've ordered him chicken liver before and he wolfs it down--ravens it down? You get my point." She giggles again.

She smiles a little as Telamon feels the pain of whiskey. "Randolf will understand," Ravenstongue says, pawing at Telamon's cheek with her hand. Then she runs her fingers through his platinum blond tresses, looking up at him like he might legitimately be one of the most beautiful things she's ever seen. Then again, she's drunk.

"I think we ought to go to bed, anyway. Before I make you carry me to bed, that is."

Telamon nods slowly. "Aye. I think.. that'd be a good idea." He looks at her, touching his cheek, and he smiles. "There's not a day goes by, I don't thank the gods that I saw you. It's a blessing to be here, with you." He takes her hand, and kisses the palm, gently.

He slowly levers himself to his feet, and takes her hand as well to help her up. "Hell. I may have to give him the rest of that bottle, I don't think we're going to be able to finish it..."

Ravenstongue manages to make it onto her feet, holding onto Telamon's hand for dear life. "And tomorrow, you're going to be really stuck with your 'blessing' forever--unless you decide to run off on me," she says playfully. "Not that you would. Who else are you going to find that will drink dreaming potions and go through cloaker country with you?"

She gives him a kiss on the cheek, managing the tip-toe rise long enough despite her drunken state. "Tomorrow's a good day to celebrate," she says. "So maybe we'll find Randy and give it to him then. For now... I want a soft bed."

Pothy lingers with the bottle of whiskey on the table. He looks at Ravenstongue's empty glass... Gives it a lick... And then all his feathers puff up on his body. "Yuck!" he says, and he flies into the bedroom to his roost.