Closed Penitence

[Laszlo]

Winter 18th, 513 A bell before sunset. Sakana smirked. "Adorable." "What?" Laszlo took the parcel from Sakana with both hands. It was heavier than it looked, for being just a small box wrapped in brown paper. It felt like a package of rocks. Or precious metal, that would make more sense given Sakana's profession. The alchemist shook his head dismissively, stepping away and seating himself on one of the long wooden benches in his sitting room. He picked up an open book, bound with decent quality wadj, and began writing something. "Just the way you lit up when I said that delivery was going to the forge." Whatever Sakana wrote, he immediately crossed it out. He dipped his quill and began a new line. "Isn't there a new hire there? Pretty girl from Denval. Eaven?" Sagging, Laszlo sighed and glanced at the door. Sakana was ever observant, and Laszlo was caught. Still, the younger Ethaefal found sweet, if empty solace in comforting denial. He still wasn't sure what he thought of Fia. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Ah, of course not. Off you go, then." Sakana didn't look from his writing. He just lifted his hand and shooed at Laszlo with the backs of his fingers, still holding onto the quill. "Remember to collect payment." With a final nod, Laszlo snuffed the urge to sigh as he turned around and made for the exit. The moment passed before he could think of a clever enough retort to counter Sakana's playful mockery. He cursed himself as he left the mansion and reentered the chilled streets of Lhavit. A recent snow had fallen, leaving a fresh layer of white to line windowpanes and edges of rooftops. The leaf bare trees planted in gardens in the center of the streets became lovely and ghostlike, branches turned white and sparkling. Already the warmth given off by the skyglass was melting the snow into puddles, making Laszlo grateful for his boots as he stepped onto the bridge back to the Zintia peak. It was a relatively short trip to smithy, making this one of Sakana's easier deliveries. The only drawback was that he was expected back at the lab with the blacksmith's payment. Well, could be worse. A to and fro delivery to the Twilight Tower would have soured his evening. Moving about with broken ribs wasn't difficult, but hours of walking would exacerbate things. At least the black eye was done away with. People would stop staring (other than how they usually did). A gust of heat from the forge struck Laszlo pleasantly as he opened the door into the smithy. He stepped into the structure for the second time, still looking as lost as he had during the first. With a flick of his hand he knocked back his hood and gawked at the different works of metal on display. There was a brief exchange of courteous lines as Laszlo delivered Sakana's parcel, and received a satchel containing payment. It might have been suspect to hand a messenger loose coin, but Laszlo was an Ethaefal and by now a known associate of Sakana Dai. It became easy to forget that being what he was provided certain benefits, as well as apprehension and scorn. Before leaving, Laszlo lingered. "Is Fia Eaven working at the moment? I'd like to say hello, if she isn't busy."

[Fia Eaven]

The apprenticed smith stared at Laszlo for an uncomfortable span. He said nothing, just ran his tongue over his teeth. Without turning his body from Laszlo, he finally yelled through a doorway into the back room that held the forge itself. A rhythmic clanging pealed from the dim, proving work was being done. "Fia!" No answer came. "FIA!" The iron song stopped and the apprentice continued with a smirk. "Something shiny for you here!" "Me iron's cooling!" a feminine voice yelled in return, "Be a dear! Bring it back!" The apprentice grinned and made a sweeping motion with his arm toward the open doorway. It radiated heat, and blue gray shadows swelled just over the threshold. The iron chimes had begun again, thinner and more rapid. "She'll be hard to miss." The forge proper was kept from skyglass and barely lit. A hearth lorded over the room and tools were hung in ordered rows on the walls. Several anvils of various sizes encircled the glowing red mouth of the hearth. Fia was beside one. As promised, she was hard to miss. Her dress's skirt was pulled between her legs and gird in her belt showing her stockings. As always, her hair was knotted with strands breaking free. She was rapidly turning a thin piece of lividly orange iron over the horn of the anvil with a set of tongs. Her other hand wielded the hammer, using quick, short strikes to bend the rod into a crook. "What you got for me, dearie?" she said without looking away from her work, "Another mighty kitchen knife needs--" Her eyes raised and sweet astonishment livened her. “Laszlo!” His name was illuminated with delight. There was a sweeping charm seeing him divorced from the usual setting and in Ethaefal form, no less. “Priskil keep me." She laughed, "Shiny indeed." If her hands weren't so occupied they might have tried to straighten her looks. Instead she finished the task at hand, mumbling an apology about the metal losing color. When satisfied with the curve, Fia thrust the hook into a bucket of water. A great hiss and plume of steam followed, she turned her face away out of habit, then dropped the piece on a worktable. The hammer found a loop in her belt, next to a rag and the tongs their proper place on the wall. Her surprised joy had not tapered, it had only been bundled and steadied. The rag dabbed her face, pink from more than hearth heat. "What brings you about?"

[Laszlo]

With a nod of gratitude, Laszlo stepped hesitantly deeper into the smithy. His pace was reluctant and sluggish, as if he were afraid of getting lost. The hot air was thick with the smell of burning coal, stinging his nostrils, and yet almost pleasant in a way, like fresh ash after a campfire. With much of the smithy's place and edges stained in soot or letting off smoke, the Ethaefal easily stood out. He was a beam of sunlight lancing through a mineshaft. Fia wielding a hammer was a quaint sight. In their home, she could be such a dainty, ladylike thing—if rough around the edges. When she shied away from Laszlo's evening form, she could look so vulnerable and weak. In the forge however she was a new animal, placed happily in its element. Laszlo observed her with interest, half fascinated by her manipulation of glowing iron, and half intrigued by the unique way she was wearing her dress. He couldn't stop himself from smiling when she said his name. Of course, it was never his name, but he had always liked the way she said it. It made him pleased to have picked it. "Good evening, Fia." Laszlo reserved the rest of his intended greeting, allowing her to focus on the task at hand. He was glad to watch, too. Despite his usual aloofness and passive nature, the Ethaefal was still new to the world. It was the first time he had ever seen a blacksmith work. There was almost boyish fascination in his calm, golden eyes as he watched the red-hot metal instantly boil the water it was dipped into. As the steam cleared, Laszlo was still standing beyond it. "Ah." He had lost his earlier thought and grasped to find it again. "Actually I was making a delivery to the forge today." Laszlo hefted his payment satchel as proof. "But since you were here I thought I'd stop and say hello. Am I interrupting?" With a quick gesture from his hand, Laszlo indicated the hook. "That looks difficult." After a cursory glance around the room, once toward the exit, Laszlo gave the second half of his intentions. "I was wondering when you were finished today. I thought we'd have dinner and talk about my eye. It's looking better, don't you think?"

[Fia Eaven]

"Not too difficult," Fia answered cheerily. When Laszlo continued, her forthright happiness was coiled. Yes, he was looking better, which was wonderful, but she had hoped for more time. A thing Laszlo would never suffer for lack of. His life was the steady hearth and hers the spark that would rise and perish after a brief dance. She hadn't the bells for more wishing between them. Instead, Fia chose to think of his sly cheat in the bargain and smile. "Oh, it is looking well, and you're not the teensiest bit smug about it neither. Priskil keep me if I ever made a wager with you. I'll see some new talent." As she looked through the blue dim at an uncommonly warm pair of gold eyes, Fia imagined imminent futures. Futures Laszlo had yet to hear. It stirred in her the overwhelming urge to usher him further into her life before Tanroa stepped between them. "A meal with you before dusk rest sounds grand..." Her eyes dashed across the forge and Laszlo's boyish interest was met with girlish enthusiasm. "...But let's try something first." She returned her rag to her belt and trotted over to a broad selection of hammers. Several were larger than the one that swung from her belt, suited for bigger arms and broader shoulders. One was raised in both her hands and carried to the Ethaefal. "Care to be me striker for a bit? 'Tis simple enough. I'm going to tap a spot on the iron with me hammer and you're going to hit the same spot with the heavier hammer. Nothing too wild, so don't slide your hands about as you swing." Airily assuming Laszlo found this idea as charmed as she did, Fia pressed the hammer to the Ethaefal's chest. He was left to fumble with it while she picked out a pair of good gloves. A striker wasn't absolutely necessary for the item, but it would give Laszlo a taste of a smith's work. A longer strip of iron was partially thrust into the coals, the perfect hue filling the submerged tip like water. Clasping the darker side with her gloved hand, Fia gingerly brought the thick rod to an anvil, where she rested the vivid part on the anvil's face. "We're going to flatten this reddish end. Called 'pulling'." She looked at Laszlo, making sure he could hear her. "I'm going to tap tap on the spot with me little hammer and then you're going to strike where I touched. So, tap tap strike, tap tap, strike. Give it about twenty strikes or so." She grinned, "Fair?" Her little hammer beat out a sprightly tap, tap and she looked expectantly at the Ethaefal. If she knew his history of coordination better, she would have already left for supper.

[Laszlo]

"What? I don't—" The satchel of mizas was left to drop unceremoniously on the floor as Laszlo scrambled to catch the hammer in both arms. It was heavier than he expected, despite the way Fia had carried it around with familiar nonchalance. It was merely a tool to her, part of her trade. Not a splintering shaft of oak brandishing a solid metal block on one end. This thing was brutish. Looking up from the hammer, which he now grasped with both hands, Laszlo waited for her to laugh and signal the end of her trick, but instead she was explaining the task at hand to him. Though he listened, he couldn't completely erase the incredulity from his features. It must not have been obvious enough. Twenty strikes? With this? When Fia smiled, the expectant look on her face erased his doubt. "You're serious." Laszlo looked over his shoulder at the other smith. "Are we even allowed to do this?" He felt like he was about to break something. Hopefully it wouldn't be Fia's hands, or any body parts in general. Did he ever tell her about the time his carelessness nearly made him fall to his death in Kalinor? Well, he could either strike now while the metal was hot, or uselessly stand around and feel doubtful while he lost his opportunity. "Right." The hammer came down approximately where Fia had tapped. The power of the blow had been arrested by Laszlo's attempt at precision. It wasn't entirely awful. Pulling away the hammer and readying for another strike, he waited for Fia to tap again. The second strike came a little more forcefully and accurately, much louder than the first and with an impact Laszlo could feel through his arms and in his still sore ribs. His next few strikes became a little more confident, and to Laszlo's relief, the metal was gradually flattening. "This is not—" Clang. "—my trade of choice—" Clang. He laughed before the last strike. Clang. "But it's definitely cathartic." Fia did not tap again, only dipped the metal into water. Feeling brazen, Laszlo twirled the hammer in his grip. It occurred to him, as he set the hammer on a nearby bench, that someone illiterate might not be familiar with certain words. "There is a certain appeal." Laszlo grunted mildly and held his chest. Though he was feeling better, he was barely beyond his first week of healing. While Fia was busy with her work, the Ethaefal leaned on his hand against the table for a few moments, regulating his breathing. He was trying to subtle about it but he'd overestimated his flexibility. Straightening, Laszlo stooped carefully to pick up his satchel. Already his jacket was becoming uncomfortable. Despite the winter weather outside, it was roasting in here. "I hope you don't mind a trip to the Sharai. I have to drop this off at Sakana's mansion. We can have dinner after. Wherever you like." For the past few days, Laszlo had been arguing with himself about what to say to Fia. He'd prefer that she stayed living with him, and he knew it was not to simply replace the void Abalia had left. She had a unique charm of her own, and she was reliable, honest, and spirited. Her apprehension around his night form was gradually lessening. Laszlo wanted Fia around. Perhaps his approach would be a little forward but… well, strike while the metal was hot. Once Laszlo and Fia stepped back into the cool open air, he slung the satchel over his shoulder and pocketed his hands. "I've been feeling a little bad about reading the letters between Persei and Gwyneth. Didn't you say you knew her?" Knew her some ten years later, but did not know an other. It must have been why she left. "Then again, it seems like some secret, forgotten moment in their lives. I'm almost a little privileged to witness it."

[Fia Eaven]

Laszlo was too focused on not dropping the hammer to see how dearly Fia's eyes were keeping him, and she knew it. His distraction gave her a veil. She would miss him, but she always knew it would end. They were in the long stretch of mourning together, pulling from one another reflections of the comforts each had recently lost. For a span of stolen days, she was allowed to breath and pretend. Yes, the Inn patrons were her actually her guests, yes, she slept in her old bed still, yes, they would always be like this. Eventually, Syna would sink on the moment and Fia would not be graced in the borrowed rose of dusk anymore. She would stand stark and gray: utterly human and fairly simple. Their uncommon, twilight fellowship was not fashioned to endure. It did not make it any less dear to the smith, but she was not so foolish as to demand light make itself a firm foundation. The veil was hastily pulled away when Laszlo looked at her. Fia recovered easily and said in quiet tones, "I don't mind." She scrubbed best she could with the water at hand and ungird her hem. By the time, they stepped out, she looked presentable enough. Winter air whisked the the flush off of her and fell refreshingly along the back of her neck. Her cloak lay over her arm until the warmth of the hearth was nipped from her skin. Laszlo remarked on the letter as her cold fingers fumbled with the clasp. "Aye, I did. It does feel like eavesdropping. I'm a bit bashful over it at times, but the letters were given us for a reason." Fia looked aside at Laszlo, mostly catching his hair. "I think if more people knew what we all wrote in letters we might be kinder to one another. Sometimes I make stories for others, especially when they're cross. Maybe that fellow was angry about how long making the hinge took because he's been robbed of sleep over watching his ailing wife and babe. Steal a man's sleep and you steal his good humor." She shrugged under her layers of wool and cotton. "I know sometimes people are mean just cause they feel like it, but I like me versions better. They help me do the right thing. Maybe one day I won't even need the story." Her smile was lightly self-deprecating. "Not there yet." Fia paused to stamp her feet a little, shaking snow off her boots and trying to remind her body that her toes were still attached. "I appreciate you reading them to me, by the by," she said while resuming the brisk walk. Reading the letters had become a small ritual, one that kept Fia peaceably indoors with a Symenestra. Laszlo read from the sofa and she sat on the floor, both facing the fire. Reasons to leave the apartment or retreat to bedrooms became scarce until they were gone. The Symenestran voice lacked the bright edge of the Ethaefal's as it read. It was diminished like moonlight, and whenever it bordered on gentle, Fia had to suppress an unnerving feeling of familiarity. Despite, she had begun to tie the subdued tones to fairer feelings. If she had another season, she might have even grown fond of the violet colored voice.

[Laszlo]

"You know I don't mind." Laszlo suppressed a shiver as he shouldered a brisk Lhavitian zephyr. He freed one hand from a pocket and pulled his collar shut. Already he began to miss the thick, char-scented heat of the forge. It was difficult to adjust to the biting winter air again. "Even if you could read them yourself, I'd still share them aloud. I think a voice gives them more meaning." Smirking, he cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Besides, it would be odd if we both sat and read them in silence." Silence pervaded as Laszlo let their exchange fade into nothing, losing himself in thought over what Fia had said about her methods of compassion. It was not unlike how he rationalized forgiveness for the heinous things the Symenestra did. Merciless though they were, Laszlo was intimate with the smaller, yet more significant facets of a Symenestra's life. They kept families the same as anyone else, fretted over how to impress women, resented their parents while continually seeking their approval, created art, sang, danced, and sacrificed to preserve their culture. Laszlo sighed. He had one foot on either side of a bitter struggle between predator and prey. Whether he leaned toward one side or the other could change from day to day. Knowing someone like Fia, a woman in direct opposition to his friend Duvalyon, helped to remind him that peace could never be made between these two sides. Laszlo could never rationalize the desperate measures of the Symenestra to Fia, nor could he ever convince Duvalyon to change his views. The Ethaefal had to resist being pulled too far in either direction. The only way to find peace in himself was compromise. It was always compromise. "I think that's a good way of looking at things," Laszlo finally mused, revealing the circulation of his thoughts. He glanced at Fia beside him. "There are more dimensions to everyone than we can see. I used to be more blind to that, before I went to Alvadas." Even Mikendril had a family, probably a wife. People he loved, needed, and protected. Alternatively, there had been much more to Seven and Victor than met the eye, but for the worse. Then there was Abalia. Laszlo had tried to ignore her, but he could not forget that he had witnessed that shift in her life. "A year ago, I was… a little less kind." The pair of them passed beneath the pavilion that sheltered the glimmering, narrow skyglass bridge that stretched between peaks. The coursing wind that haunted the Misty Peaks was fiercer and more focused here, unhindered by the city structures. It pushed between the pillars of the pavilion, wrapped their cloaks against their bodies and legs, and took command of any untied hair. Hurrying their pace made the short journey easier. Upon reaching the other side, Sakana's manor was quickly visible. Laszlo nodded forward. "There. Sakana is another Ethaefal. He teaches alchemy to students in his home." Here was a true Ethaefal, centuries-wise, infinitely patient (when he chose to be), educating mortals, a public city figure, and living a relatively peaceful life. He even had a younger Ethaefal running packages for him. The grand structure loomed further upward as Laszlo led Fia to the door, letting her inside first. The main hall opened up in front of them, spacious, but only lightly decorated peculiarly empty. This was where the students were allowed. It wasn't meant to be flashy. One of Sakana's stewards doing the last of the day's cleaning glanced up at Fia, wide-eyed with surprise, then saw Laszlo in the next moment. Placated, he returned to sweeping. Laszlo laid a hand on Fia's shoulder. "This way." After arriving into the sitting room, Laszlo left Fia's side and placed the satchel on a desk. Another horned figure stood at a long table at the other side of his room, his back turned. His coloring was similar to Laszlo's, but with his hair groomed much shorter, and he was dressed in finer clothing more that conformed to Lhavitian styles. "Thank you, Laszlo," Sakana said without turning around. He appeared to be busy with stacks of wadj in front of him, traced with uniform lines and glyphs. "Of course." Laszlo drew back to Fia's side, smiling gently at her. He indicated the elder Ethaefal with a cant of his head. "This is Sakana Dai. He's a real Ethaefal. Over four centuries old." Sakana quaked with a silent laugh. "I'm not an exhibit on display, Laszlo." His voice was curled by a peculiar accent, like an archaic lilt reminiscent of older Common. He spoke with both a touch of reproach and quaint amusement. "I tell my students this." Putting down whatever he was dong, he finally turned around. His chilled blue eyes set themselves on Fia. "Oh." With a grace more reminiscent of Laszlo's evening half, the older Ethaefal crossed the room and stepped around the desk. He never once glanced at the satchel, and in fact never seemed to notice it was there. A sly glance was given to Laszlo before Sakana bowed his head respectfully to the young woman. "The new blacksmith, I presume." Managing to keep himself from rolling his eyes, Laszlo nodded begrudgingly. "This is Fia." "It is my pleasure to meet you, Fia." Without a modicum of shyness, Sakana took Fia's hand and kissed it politely. There was nothing amorous about the elder Ethaefal's demeanor. He was simply professional and polite. He regarded Fia like a woman of a high caste. "You arrived in Fall, yes? Perhaps it is late coming, but on behalf of Lhavit, welcome to the Diamond of Kalea. I hope it has treated you well." With a final nod, Sakana peeled himself from the two of them and returned to his work. "Keep an eye over Laszlo for me. He does get himself into trouble, I hear." Hidden in the prodding remark was a polite dismissal. Sunset would happen soon, and Sakana did not like being seen after sundown. Considering Laszlo's own predicament, it was difficult to fathom why. He told himself that in four hundred years, perhaps he would understand. "Shall we?" Laszlo offered his arm to Fia so he could lead her back to the exit. Attempting to stop himself from worrying, he began to wonder how much Sakana had heard. "You never mentioned where you wanted to go."

[Fia Eaven]

Less kind? Fia lifted her head and puzzled over the idea before discarding it in a swell of warmth. A temper maybe, but not unkind, she assured herself. If Laszlo knew the stubborn etching she had made of his character, it would have either horrified or comforted him. Sakana's mansion was as impressive as his age and just as intimidating to the blacksmith. Laszlo's hand on Fia's shoulder pulled her from trying to smile at the steward in the foyer and make conversation. Given longer to herself she might have wandered back to the porch again. Mindlessly fleeing the meeting. Laszlo swiftly guided them into remembered patterns, until Sakana was seen, at least in part. Every mote of him bore the marks of divine blessing, rivaling the careless Ethaefal at Fia's side. Sakana was neatly attired, but the garb was paltry paired with the sense of ambiguous longing his natural form inspired. Fia felt like she was watching her last sunset. Four-hundred years, an unfathomable number for any breathing thing. Such ages were meant for stones and monuments, dumb unyielding objects that did not absorb the weight of eras. The enormity of the Ethaefal's life experience turned Fia frustratingly mute, like a child pulled before an imposing relation. She wanted to speak prettily and prove herself better than a well-scrubbed laborer. What would Gwyneth have said? The ever elegant woman who charmed so easily through letters. Something bright, concise and beyond the range of Fia's vocabulary. When Sakana gave her a designation, Fia easily assumed Laszlo had mentioned his latest stray in passing. The elder Ethaefal's questions and requests were probably cast down without the need for an answer, but the human was apt to make some sort of impression for Laszlo's sake. "Thank you, kindly, yes." Sakana kissed her hand with grace, lowering ornate horns for the privilege of a closer appraisal. Color touched Fia's cheek before being hastily cooled. When told to keep an eye on Laszlo, she slipped into an instinctive reply. "Pair of them, much as I can." It sounded more forward than she intended, waking the rose under her skin again. She was almost glad to be dismissed into the mundane street. Well, as mundane as Lhavit could muster. The human hesitated at Laszlo's offered arm. It was out of step with his frequently casual presentation. Perhaps the elder Ethaefal's formal style had influenced his younger brother. Fia proved she was not a complete stranger to a man's attention by delicately slipping her hand through and curling it around his elbow. "You're in a rare mood," she observed with soft curiosity, but was quickly diverted by another purpose. When Laszlo asked her where they should eat, she easily named the tavern outside of which he had earned his bruises. It wasn't sunset yet, nor would it be when they arrived, but as they sat and supped Syna would withdraw. Fia wanted someone to vouch for the amethyst-eyed Symenestra if he should ever eat alone again. "You will be like that someday," she said when Sakana's mansion was shrinking behind them. "Carrying around the weight of a star. It's almost hard to look at."

[Laszlo]

"Am I?" Laszlo offered a nod to Sakana's steward as they passed him by again. With Fia at his arm, they returned to the chilled Kalean winter outside. "I suppose." Meandering flecks of snow had begun to drift toward the earth, barely noticeable until white flakes began to adhere to their clothing. It had been three years since Laszlo had experienced snow this way, delicate and peaceful. Alvad snows were usually unnerving as they defied the world's laws: they could be hot, or green, made of feathers… Kalinor of course never experienced snow. The Unforgiving was usually dusted (or blanketed) with it, but it was never pleasant. It usually meant a more difficult path. The last time Laszlo had seen snow falling silently onto a sleepy city was in Syliras. He could remember one particular moment when, still plagued with confusion and desperation, he stood at the docks one gray, early morning and watched large flakes of snow settle onto the vessel that would take him across the sea. Three years ago… had it really been that long? Fia's answer as to where she wanted to eat struck Laszlo out of his idle thoughts. Not believing she was serious, the Ethaefal regarded her with an incredulous look of surprise. He'd asked a simple question and had been expecting a simpler answer. "What, really?" He lifted one eyebrow at her, almost chidingly. "Why would you want to go there? It's hardly a place for…" Laszlo paused, unsure how he intended to end that statement. The Shooting Star Inn would have had been better dining and a warm environment much more conducive toward his intentions. A perfect place for Laszlo to be honest with a woman. "It's a miserable place, Fia, you don't want to eat there. The food is terrible anyway. Probably." Her next remark comparing Laszlo to Sakana made him soften his voice. The severity in his features loosened and became thoughtful. Then he pretended to look mildly amused. "Ha, oh perish the thought. Knowing me, I won't survive half that long."

[Fia Eaven]

Fia swatted Laszlo's arm with her free hand. "Lud, don't say that, Laszlo. You're going to take fine care of yourself and be right noble." It was a bittersweet subject, so she was able to gracefully leave it behind. She felt suddenly grateful to have met Laszlo in his youth. Had he two hundred years under his feet, they would have been looking at each other politely from across a chasm. This snowy stroll arm in arm would have been a mere fancy she entertained between washing her face and pulling on her boots. Even standing over touchstones of grief in her life, she saw the mercies afforded her. "First you tell me not to think you refined and now you're turning your nose up at a common meal. You only peck at things like a sparrow anyway," she grinned, "If'n it's awful, I'll be the only one to suffer." She stuffed her free hand in her cloak pocket and turned her face forward in a jauntily stubborn way. "Like me Da said, if'n you're the cook, you eat the burnt piece." Sensing his reluctance, Fia used her conveniently placed hand to tug him toward the proper path. "You've been there plenty. No need to get delicate on me account. We're not going a courting." Laszlo gave one final argument that fell on blissfully deaf ears. Gone was her normally accommodating nature; Fia had a purpose in mind and it was for Laszlo's good. When they arrived at the tavern, the smith chose a table in the middle of the common room. She had already been forced to shift chairs about so others could pass them to reach the soothingly quiet corners and sheltered edges. She was proving herself as driven as the sledgehammer she'd pressed to the Ethaefal's chest in the bell prior. "What do you normally get when you're here?" she asked Laszlo. "A pint..." confusion shifted the Ethaefal's features, "...what else?" "A pint?" She had expected something a little more...complex. "Will do, then." She was up and toward the taps before Laszlo could lift a hand. Her Ethaefal was proving more homespun by the day. Which image was she supposed to tie to her childhood stories of men who fell with the stars and rose with the foam? Was it the impenetrable Sakana or the horned man across from her who wanted beer for supper? "Two pints and a moment of your time," she said to the bartender. Laszlo couldn't hear much of the conversation that followed, but it seemed to concern him. Fia was layering her speech with smiles and sweeter tones, obviously asking for something. The Ethaefal was gestured toward once. Perhaps she was merely indicating the table her meal was to be brought. When Fia returned with pints, she made no mention of what passed between her and the man, only sipped her beer slowly. "Lud, it's bitter. How can you drink this?" oocGot permission to write Laz's dialogue!