The Haversack Cleanup

Log Info

• Title: The Haversack Cleanup

• Emitter: Telamon

• Characters: Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: Ravenstongue and Telamon's house

• Summary: Telamon's trying to clean up his haversack, which is filled with all sorts of knicknacks. Ravenstongue helps by providing moral support while Telamon sorts through things he bought before he first arrived to Alexandria. They discuss their excitement for Yule before they're interrupted by Jyndei's arrival, meaning the two half-elves have to warm up the little faerie dragon before he loses a pretty little wing to the frost.

Lúpecyll-Atlon home, afternoon.

The snow continues to fall outside, perhaps a little less exuberantly than it did last night, but it's just not a great day to go gallivanting around unless you like that sort of thing. Anyone not out on business -- or building snowmen -- is inside where it's warm and cozy.

Telamon sits at the kitchen table, his haversack set in front of him. He regards it a bit sourly, before shaking his head. "Well, time to get to work on this. Gods, I hate trying to organize things..." With that, he checks the pencil and parchment next to it, before opening the haversack and starting to rummage around inside.

There's a mischievous grin on Cor'lana's face as she creeps out of the bedroom, closing it softly behind her. The reason why is readily apparent: she's stolen one of Telamon's tunics and wants to see how he'll react to it in that classic feytouched fit of whimsy she has from time to time.

However, once she sees that he's trying to sort out the contents of the haversack, curiosity takes over, and she ambles over to him quietly. "Bag too full?" she asks.

Telamon glances up, eyebrows rising in astonishment at Lana's attire, but he puts the pencil back down so he can wrap an arm around her waist. "Yeah. I need to clean it out. It can hand me what I need, but there's a fair bit in it." He smiles up at her. "I hate chores, but these days... it might be serious." He catches her hand, bringing it to his lips, before letting go. One arm still around her, while the other reaches in to find...

...a bit of finely crafted leather, with a pocket. "Huh," Tel says as he regards the sling. "I forgot I took this with me when I came to Alexandria."

Cor'lana curls right into him as Telamon wraps an arm around her, smiling wider for the close gesture. She looks down at the sling and raises a brow. "I don't think I've ever seen you use that," she says. "I can't even think of a situation nowadays where you would--unless you were robbed of all magic."

She does look at him mischievously again, however. "I could easily picture adorable little you getting into mischief with a sling, though."

Telamon grins. "It was something I practiced with as a child, and I guess I never wanted to leave it behind. Plus, as you say, I really wouldn't need it unless I couldn't use any magic." He sets it aside, along with a small pouch of sling bullets.

Next are a couple wrapped packets marked with a frowning face and a bottle. Tel laughs. "Ah. This is what's called 'alchemist's kindness'. It's good for hangovers and mild colds. Father always suggested I carry a little, just in case. You mix it with water and drink it."

"I don't think we've ever had to deal with much in the way of hangovers," Cor'lana replies, thoughtfully... and then she cringes. "No, nevermind. I forgot about the Masquerade. We both got pretty drunk that night. I think I had some alchemist's kindness the next morning?"

She smirks a little. "Either way, I can't really complain for the hangovers, so long as I wake up next to you every day. I imagine you have had more experience with it, however."

Telamon continues to pull things out of the haversack. Small things, but there's a number of them. A pair of wooden sticks treated with some kind of tarry substance. "Smokesticks," Tel explains. "Sometimes, you need a quick escape." A vial marked with a skull-and-crossbones, covered by a red circle and bar. A small packet marked, 'Gavroon's Marvelous Sneezing Powder'. A couple vials of a violet concoction, labeled in Tel's hand, 'For nausea'.

"Gods, I really did have a lot of stuff in here," Telamon says wryly. "It's easy to pack up so much stuff when you have one of these things."

"Are you sure you're not a packrat?" Cor'lana teases. She combines it with an affectionate hand raised to his hair, patting down the white-blond tresses gently. "You know, with how people tend to look at you, I bet they think you have all sorts of fashionable things in your bag. I suppose if I ever have anyone go, 'Cor'lana Lúpecyll-Atlon, what's your husband's secret?', I'll answer, 'He brushes his hair constantly with a special handcrafted brush imported from the Jade Islands.' They'll never find it, of course."

Then a fit of mischief takes her. "I've never actually braided your hair, have I?" she asks. "There are some elven braid styles that you'd look fetching in, you know." Her violet eyes twinkle as she's clearly imagining him in them. Uh oh.

Telamon grins up at Lana. "Honestly, one of the reasons I never went in for braiding my hair was that it was too much trouble. Easier to just comb and brush as needed. That was why I wore my hair short when I was young -- it was less worry." He gives her a squeeze. "But, we can experiment. If it doesn't work, well... just undo the braids again."

Next out of the bag comes a finely crafted knife, in a classical elven style, sheathed in a well-made leather scabbard. Tel chuckles, drawing the blade and inspecting it for a moment. "I think I've drawn this thing all of once in anger. Magic is just more... reflexive, for me." He sets it aside, pulling out a small leather pouch that clinks. "Surely that's not coin--" he says, opening it. A rueful look appears on his face. "Oh. Caltrops. Why do I have caltrops?"

"Doesn't work?" Cor'lana huffs a little. "Telamon, you're... You're the most handsome man in existence, at least to me. You could wear anything and you'd manage to make it look good. The only way it wouldn't work is if you didn't like it." She's certainly very opinionated, but there's a sort of quiet pride that's in there--not like someone showing off their spouse as a pretty trophy, but a wife who is so in love with her husband that she'd sing his praises to the end of the world in pride that he picked her to be his bride.

She quirks her head as she sees the knife. "I think I remember you drawing the knife?" she says. "But I don't remember when--"

And then Telamon announces the source of the jingling. Cor'lana blinks and then snickers. "Caltrops? You know, those could still be useful. I'd love to see Zalgiman howl in pain."

Then she thinks for a moment... And she facepalms. "Oh, I wasn't even trying to make a joke."

He smiles, that gentle sparkling smile that he's always used around Lana. "I think you might be just a touch prejudiced in my favor, love." Telamon gives her another squeeze. "Not that I'm complaining. But like I said, we can always try it out."

More rummaging in the haversack. A coil of spidersilk rope. "Yet another thing I picked up because I was traveling," Tel remarks. "Still good, though." A simple compass, which Tel checks before putting down. "You'd think with a compass I could avoid getting lost, but having the wrong map kind of messed things up..."

Then two jars of... something. "...What is this?" He picks up one to examine it. "The Lord Doctor Edizahn's Gear Remedy and Lubricant? Why do I have this?"

Cor'lana snorts a little as she looks at the compass, but she continues patting down Telamon's hair affectionately. Seems like this is just her thing for the moment. "Well, all a compass can do is tell you where north is, right?" she says. "If you've got the wrong map, all you would know with a compass is that if you were in the right area, you would be going north."

She raises a brow at that. "You don't think someone slipped it into your bag as some sort of silly joke?" she asks. "Or... maybe some sneaky vendor at the market hoping you'd try it, or give it to another prominent adventurer for them to endorse? Either way, total mystery. You don't have gear that would need that, would you?"

Telamon uncaps one of the jars, revealing a grayish... goop. "No. I... wait. I remember now. When I was shopping for what to take with me, I told the storekeeper I wanted to try and carry a little of everything just in case. He gave me a discount if I picked out enough things." Recapping the jar, he puts it to one side. "Gods. I'm lucky I don't have a set of woodworking tools or a cork vest in here."

Last to come out is a case of vials, which Tel's expression tightens at a bit. "Silversheen. Verna gave it to me. I really should ask if she wants it back." And finally, a pair of wax-sealed packets, marked with a tiny campfire. "Tindertwigs," he identifies them. "Sometimes, you need to make a light even without magic." And a short wooden baton with a leather cover on one end. "Oh, it's my everburning torch! I thought I'd lost it."

Cor'lana takes just one look at the gray goop. She bites her lip at first--and then she snickers, unable to contain the giggles that spill out of her. "I'm sorry!" she says. "I just--I'm picturing you so bright-eyed and eager to go at this poor man's shop, asking him for one of everything. How heavy was poor Raspberry's load? That poor creature. Not that I should be allowed to talk, because I came with a small selection with books on an airship and other belongings from Rune, but..."

She sighs, calming down from her giggles. "You might want to hold onto the silversheen for a while longer," Cor'lana says. "I mean, the werewolves aren't gone. They're still out there. We just have... even more to deal with now. Oh, but that's good you found the torch, too!"

Telamon shakes his head. "It wasn't all that heavy. I mean, I didn't bring the contents of my closet..." He just looks at Lana, before laughing and hugging her. "In any case, I think I'm going to put some of this stuff in storage. Not all of it, but some of it. Simply because I don't need it."

He draws back to look at her again with a grin. "So, any particular reason you're wearing one of my tunics? Not that I mind, since when I wear it, it'll be like you're hugging me all day."

Cor'lana hums happily as she's hugged, wrapping her arms around him and leaning into him as though he's the pillar of her existence (which, in some ways, he is). "At least you'll have more room in the bag for other things," she says. "Like... the sweet little presents you bring me from time to time, or you-know-what for Pothy." Thankfully, the bird is fast asleep in the study.

She grins impishly back at Telamon as he asks the question, although it's combined with a slight blush on her cheeks. "Well, I overheard the other day from some ladies at the market that they like wearing their lovers' clothes because they were bigger and roomier," Cor'lana recounts. It's true, the tunic hangs off of her petite form, but not enough to be comically oversized. "You're a bit broader than I am, but not by much, so I was curious about how comfy it'd really be... And how you'd react to me wearing your tunic. I didn't think about it being like I'm hugging you, though!"

Telamon mmhmmms. "That tunic is going to smell just a little of lavender, all day. And I love it." He reaches up to stroke her hair, and grins. "Ah yes, presents. Yule's right around the corner, too. I can't wait. Our first wintertime season as the Lúpecyll-Atlons."

He tilts his head. "Well, all I can say, my dear, is that you are welcome to my clothes, assuming you can fit into them. However, I think I will pause on taking you up on it in return. I don't think I'd fit into your corsets, for example." His eyes twinkle merrily.

Cor'lana snickers. "I think I'll just stick to your tunics," she says. "Who knows? Maybe one day I'll greet you and that's all I'll be wearing." That's a threat, and the best kind of threat, to boot, judging by the twinkle in her eyes and the delight in her voice. "And don't you dare even try to fit into my corsets. I don't need them stretched out!"

She puts her hand on top of his hand that's in her hair, lovingly stroking the back of his hand. "Our first Yule together," she says. "That's right--I sort of confessed as it was winding down, didn't I? Maybe your gift to me that year was saying yes to us." Her voice is so soft and sentimental on that last sentence, grateful that it happened.

Telamon's eyes are gentle as well. "And your gift to me was confessing your feelings." He takes a deep breath, enjoying the closeness. "I'm glad I said yes. Then, now, and always." Their hands interlocked, as he rests his head against her. "Making you happy... knowing I'm yours, and you're mine... even with everything that's happened I wouldn't change it."

The moment is suddenly broken by an insistent tapping at the kitchen window, drawing Telamon's gaze. "What in the name of the seven shoes of..." He can't quite get to his feet, but he can see the small orange form at the window.

Telamon knows a certain look well on Cor'lana's face: the one where she looks like she's about to melt into happy tears, usually on account of something loving and warm that's said to her, although the other usual culprits are Pothy doing something sweet and particularly happy moments in certain Theatre District shows. Indeed, there's happy tears welling up in her eyes as he finishes his thought, and she opens her mouth to reply...

And then comes the tap, tap, tap at the window. Cor'lana blinks, which releases one tiny tear from the violet wells that she brushes away quickly. "Is that... Jyndei?" Cor'lana asks. She reluctantly breaks away from Telamon, helping him up from his chair before going to the window and opening it. "Jyndei, what's wrong?"

"It's cold out here!" The high-pitched voice of the little faerie dragon is aggrieved as Jyndei scrabbles inside, shaking. "I forgot it was wintertime in the mortal realms! Ack!" The orange-scaled little fellow shakes off his wings, bits of ice and snow falling off.

Telamon gets to his feet, trying not to laugh. "I'm sorry, Jyndei. Here, hang on..." He crooks a finger, and the unseen servitor zips off, returning with a heavy wool blanket. Carefully, Telamon wraps the shivering little dragon in it. "Next time, wait till spring to visit."

Cor'lana quickly shuts the window behind Jyndei, frowning deeply in that "poor baby!" manner that she usually wears when something minorly unfortunate has befallen Pothy. (Which happens somewhat frequently. Perhaps Pothy does it for the sympathy and the Pothy cuddles that always result.) "Jyndei, do you want me to run you a warm bath?" she asks. "I bet it's not this cold where you live in Quelynos, poor thing."

She looks to Telamon and nods. "He might not have realized what season it would be here due to how time moves oddly in Quelynos," she says. "You were lucky to only be gone three days that one time."

Jyndei quivers, all wrapped up in the wool blanket with only his nose peeking out. "If it's not too much trouble, my lord and lady," he says. "I'm so sorry to cause a fuss..."

"Enough of that," Telamon says in his 'okay, stop being ridiculous' tone he occasionally uses. It's not harsh, but it's surprisingly firm and tends to bring self-pity or condemnation to a standstill. "You are an honored guest and a welcome friend, Jyndei. All I would ask of you is to respect my wife and myself." A pause. "And Pothy, too. Obviously." He cradles the blanket-wrapped dragon in his arms, and looks to Lana. "Please do, love. I don't think he's frostbitten, but he probably does have a bit of a chill."

"He's right," Cor'lana says with a smile to Jyndei. "We want you to be comfortable in our home. Just because I'm my ancestor's descendant and some call me 'Lady' doesn't mean I demand every guest to show up adhering to some arbitrary list of standards. If I did, I don't think anyone except for Telamon would be allowed to live here, let alone be a guest here." She grins at Telamon, of course, letting him think on the implication of her statement as she exits to run the bath.

She re-emerges only a few moments later, holding a towel in her arms. "I've got a warmed towl for you, Jyndei," she announces, "and the bath is nice and warm. Prestidigitation is a handy trick at times."

Telamon deftly carries Jyndei into the bath, letting the little dragon slither out of the woolen blanket and into the warm water. The faerie dragon makes happy little nonverbal sounds, almost catlike, as he paddles around in the warm water to thaw out.

Tel, meanwhile, dries the blanket with a cantrip, and passes it back to the servitor to fold and put away. He peers out the front window before walking back to join Lana and Jyndei. "The snow is tapering off, but there's a lot of it out there. The children will have a wonderful time building snowmen tomorrow."

Once Jyndei has sufficiently warmed up from the bath, the little dragon shakes himself off, and happily climbs into Lana's spell-warmed towel. "A thousand thanks, my lord and lady," Jyndei trills. "May your kindness bring you naught but good fortune and happiness."

"The children?" Cor'lana asks, grinning. "You mean that Pothy will want to go outside and play. You know how he loves to roll around in the snow. I mean, I suppose that he is a child in... a rather odd way, but only sometimes in attitude."

She observes Jyndei paddling around and... Well, she has that 'I am watching a cute animal doing very cute things' goofy smile that Telamon knows quite well, too. Once he's in the towel, Cor'lana pats Jyndei on his small orange head--just a little. "And may you have the fortune to arrive in warmer weather next time," she says, although it's in good-natured jest. "At least you didn't arrive in the middle of that awful whiteout storm."

The trio return to the living area, where Telamon settles Jyndei in on the couch, still wrapped up in the warm towel. "Just take it easy, Jyndei," he instructs, before turning to Lana with a nod. "That whiteout was brutal. About the only good thing about it for me was winding up in the temple of Eluna." He snorts. "Weather not fit for anyone."

He snickers at the mention of Pothy, and notes, "Oh, I'm sure Pothy loves the snow. But I saw some children the other day playing in it too. They had three snow men built -- not sure what they represented but they were very impressive."

"Maybe they were just three snow men," Cor'lana replies with a grin, sitting down next to Telamon. "I... can't say I ever had the opportunity as a child to build any sort of snow people with other children, but I did occasionally make snow men by myself and with Mother. And I made snow angels in the yard--Pothy would make them with me, too. He was sweet like that, you know? I think I got through childhood because he was the one friend I did have."

She looks down at little Jyndei and smiles. "I'm not sure how old you are or how long faerie dragons live to be, but maybe you'll get to make some nice memories like that with the children that Telamon and I will have one day. A little orange faerie dragon, a little white bird, and the little Lúpecyll-Atlon children."

Jyndei has burrowed happily into the nice warm towel, but he pokes his nose out again to speak. "I would be honored, Lady Lúpecyll, to be a friend to your children when they hatch." He pauses. "Oh. Are born. Pardon me."

Telamon looks like he's about to fall over, and after a moment, he manages to gasp out, "Well, Lana, look on the bright side, you won't have to sit on a clutch of eggs when the time comes." He's desperately trying not to laugh his head off.

Cor'lana similarly bites her lip to keep from laughing, which she somehow, somehow manages. "Oh, sweet and dear Jyndei," she says, patting him on the head again like he's a little cat--he does, after all, have such catlike mannerisms. "Yes, born, not hatched."

She looks at Telamon with a wide grin. "Gods--do you remember that lamia that accosted us moments after we had our first kiss, Tel? When I tried to get her to not charm you by claiming you were my 'clutchmate', and then she asked Mikilos if elves hatched from eggs? And then Mikilos had the gall to say that maybe there were exceptions for 'corvid-inclined spellcasters'?" Now she's laughing, although shaking her head in the process. "What a mess that could have been."

Telamon just snorts. "And that, love, is why I invested in counters against charms. Not because of you, but because of that obnoxious lamia." He makes a raspberry sound, before leaning down to pet on Jyndei, who's looking up with wide curious eyes. "Still... hopefully she's found something more productive to do."

Tel glances over at the kitchen table, piled with random adventuring gear and tools. He sighs. "I should clean that up. I don't like leaving things out like that. Too untidy. Mother would always give me a stare if I didn't at least try to neaten up my room before lessons."

"Hopefully," Cor'lana echoes. Then she looks at Telamon with a very, very smug little grin. "I just remember how you turned red when you came to your senses and told me you didn't intend to rush our relationship along to wedding bells right away. I remember thinking to myself... I know we'd only just had our first kiss, but I knew if you'd really wanted to marry me right then and there, I would have said yes once I was certain you weren't joking, and I'd never be able to shut up about how I'm such a good kisser I made a man propose to me after just one kiss. Me! The girl who'd never even held hands with someone else my age. Even if it was said from a charm, what an ego boost it was, Tel."

She takes a glance over to the kitchen table and nods. "I'll help you tidy," she offers. "Put things away into boxes to sell later and to store away."

Cor'lana hops off the couch and goes to help Telamon up--but it's a ruse, as she leans in and whispers into his ear, "Maybe you'll get to take your tunic back from me when you pull it off me later." Then she bounds away.

It looks like Telamon has more than ample motivation to get that kitchen table cleaned and organized. On goes life in the Lúpecyll-Atlon household.