Closed The Butterseal Ordeal!

[Skidril]

Second of winter, 513 AV Winterflame Hold Lunch time Baking and poaching, boiling and brewing, roasting and grilling…under their roof you could’ve easily overeaten on the smells alone. Natives to the hold were used to leading scented battles all the way from the arvintas, down the common room and out the door. Anyone else would’ve been met with a nose crippling mixture that intoxicated the sense of smell for a long while. It was an old Winterflame myth which said people cried upon entering the hold not because of onion evaporations to the right, but for not knowing such sublime smells beforehand. The downside of all this was but one – you could never really get used to lesser foods. This was a problem for the two that sat huddled over a single bowl to the corner of one table in the common room. Neira didn’t even seem to be hungry, but her duties were ways off, so she stuck around as company. As she rested her head on his shoulder, the man did his best to multitask. He liked having her usually, but at the moment she only got in his way. The man knew better than to say anything, so he kept himself occupied with a mix of blowing the hair away from his face and pushing the bowl away discreetly. He’d get the spoon up and then down again every once in a while, but this meal was hardly the point. Unlike Neira, he still had work before nightfall. Worse yet, he needed to rest his left hand so the callous tissue would have a chance to settle some. It had been years since his hands last felt sensitive; such was the nature of the job after all. Yet, working on the carvings for Oren’s whaler took its toll on all the engaged workers. “You know” she did her best to sound soft “your birthday is coming up. Have you arranged for a day off yet?” She meant well, she did, but her words still made Skidril cringe. “Ellok broke an arm while etching into the mast, so we’re a couple of hands short” and then as her head rose to give him a more demanding look, he’d cut her off “I’ve spoken with Mell, but it doesn’t look promising” then he’d let one hand wrap around her, soothing even before she had a chance to react “There’ll still be time for us. I was born come nightfall anyway. So you could say my birthnight will remain ours” her nails dug into his skin a bit, displeased, but she played along. “That’s not the same. I’ve spoken with Avaria, and she tells me you dislike your birthdays!” it didn’t sound like an accusation yet, but he knew full well where she was heading. If she spoke to Avaria, then she knew some of his darker doubts about living here… it all really depended on how much his sister told her before she felt like breeching the trust among them. On that front he was a bit worried, his sister was too kind to know better. “If I could I’d have spent each waking second as close to your side as you’d have me” hyperbole obviously, but she liked some pathetic lines tracing her ears at times. “I just really can’t make it sooner than nightfall this year. And… well hey! Maybe you could come visit me at work for a bit? I can’t promise my full attention for more than a couple of chimes, but it might make us both feel better?” She soothed herself by resting more comfortably on his shoulder, but she was far from persuaded. He had no doubt she’d in fact be checking with all the people he named seconds ago if he was really busy. Running his digits through her hair, he kept the palm away. Nothing killed intimacies like her hair glued to the blisters at the root of his fingers. There were things he wanted to ask her at this exact moment, but he decided he’d better leave them for the birthnight, as he dubbed it. Skidril didn’t have the drive to ruin the moment.

[Emmadalor]

While the two were speaking, the main door to the Hold opened, and a strange figure came inside. At first, it looked like a small pile of furs, but as Emmadalor crawled along the wall away from the cold air of the outdoors and toward the roaring cookfires of Winterflame's kitchens, she began to shed layers. At the end of the trail of discarded furs was a rather pathetic-looking creature. Scraggly, unkempt hair cascaded down her back, partially covering shimmering, transparent wings which fluttered weakly as she unwrapped them from her body, causing her to wince. The there was the reason the top of her head only came a couple of feet above the floor: instead of legs, she bore only a seal-like tail, ending in a scarred stump due to the missing flippers. She moved by dragging herself across the floor with her arms, revealing that she was missing several fingers as well.

She was headed straight for the cook-fire, the warmest-looking place in the hold. Dragging herself forward a few inches at a time took a painful toll on her hands, which still felt the effects of the frostbite she'd suffered a season earlier. As she was forced to put all her weight on her sensitive hands, the tender nerve-endings screamed, and her face contorted into a silent mask of agony. That was in addition to the wince she produced each time her injured wing twitched, sending a fresh lance of fire through her back.

Of course, this pain was not much different from what she had to endured every day. She wondered if this were divine retribution for her past misdeeds? It was a comforting thought, if only because it would mean someone cared enough to punish her... and because it was comforting it was also unlikely. This was just bad luck, the results of her having had the misfortune to be born into a cruel and uncaring world. Sometimes she wondered why she still bothered existing....

A muscles in her stomach shifted uncomfortably, highlighting its empty state. Lately she had been too afraid of leaving her furs to expend the energy necessary to feed herself, but her body would no longer allow her to subject it to the suffering her soul endured. That was why she was here today, in the hopes that she could obtain something to appease her stomach enough that she could return to her moroseness for another few days at least.

[Skidril]

Even though Skidril wasn't a man that preferred surprises, he welcomed the opening door as one for his own getaway. Neira surely meant well, but there was no way for their communication to end in anything less than sullen commiseration. Still, people coming in and out was a regular business, so it took a few heads turning before them to truly appreciate the newcomer. Furs shed to the wayside, the oddity that emerged first made most people scratch their heads before nodding to themselves. Apparently the creature's presence here wasn't a thing of complete obscurity, but the pair weren't the best informed people around. Somewhere before his mouth fully gaping in surprise, Skidril still managed to recognize the rumor spun by his sisters. As much as he knew and cared for both of them, he still didn't believe a word of their story until this exact moment. Something in him wondered what was the creature doing inside their hold... her purpose was pretty clear, he thought anyway. This was the place to be when your mouth started watering over with need, but it was still customary for outsiders to eat inside the Commons. Even with the warmer parts of his blood still mulling over what to think of the stranger's appearance, he was still Vantha enough to wonder if the obviously wounded creature needed help. However, Neira was more of a Vantha than he. Going over to the thing by the cook-fire, she darted herself what most would consider a bit too close for pleasantries. "Could you use some help?" As she propelled herself all the way to the fire, Skidril neared just enough to acknowledge the creature's gender fully. It was a female, but the species still eluded him fully.