It is an oeuvre both baffling and electric, the work of a woman who touched, unnoticed, the highest corridors of power in Wildemount–and painted many, many penises.
Adorna, Iris. “Introduction (Unpublished draft).” J. Lavorre: A Catalogue Raisonné of Paintings, Drawings and Other Works. Nicodranas: Brenatto Foundation Publishing, 1441.
Caleb glances back over his shoulder, to the window. “It is, ja,” he agrees.
“Would you...would you like to go walk in it, with me?” Yasha asks carefully, like she’s afraid that Caleb will say no.
"Of course." He does not even have to think about it, which surprises him a little, but not in a bad way.
Takes place sometime during the break during The Journey Home.
The fighting outside…
Was that them? Had the others come after the people who had taken him, Jester, and Yasha? In his previous lucid moments, Fjord had wondered if they would. Molly might, he’d thought, if only because of Yasha. Beau too. She hid it well, but from the beginning she struck Fjord as the type to go running into trouble for others. He was less certain about Caleb and Nott. They might have finally cut their losses and ran, or not. Or the fight going on right now might not be them at all.
He almost hoped it wasn’t. He wasn’t sure they’d be up to it, even if all seven of them were there, free and in fighting shape.
(Or - Fjord grew up thinking it was wrong to love men, as wrong as everything else about him. He eventually meets some people along the way who help him see otherwise.
And who's to say you only get one soulmate, anyway?)
-----------------------
"You're still thinking about what to give him."
"Well, yeah. I want him to be not pissed off for once. Just for a week. Am I asking too much?"
"We're talking about Father here. So, yes," said the daemon, barely changing his voice tone.
Caleb sighs, focusing on the ground so he doesn't have to look Beau in the eye. “They took someone...very important to me. I was going to get him back whether or not I found allies, so I suppose it is fortunate I stumbled across you all. I am not sure how I would have fared on my own.”
Beau hums. “You must care about him a lot then, huh? I mean, I know you’re powerful, but taking on the Iron Shepherds by yourself? That’s a suicide run. Either you’re way too cocky, you’re much more powerful than you’re letting on, or you don’t particularly care if you survive. Which one is it?”
Her gaze burns into the side of his face.
“He is very important to me,” Caleb repeats. “I am prepared to do what it takes to get him back.”
He starts to walk. The silent darkness is almost suffocating; his feet make no sound when his boots brush the cobblestone. Uneasiness prickles across his bare arms.
A streetlamp flickers to life a few yards away, blinding and golden.
Caleb nods. “Of course. That is what friends are for, ja?” He smiles, awkwardly. “We are friends?”
“We are friends,” Fjord repeats with a slight grin. “I’d hope so, anyway, after, what, a year and a half?”
Caleb snorts, even as something settles in his chest. “Ja, fair enough."
That is, unless someone sleeps next to him.
“Jes, this is Caleb,” Beauregard interrupts. “He’s just here to watch.”
Jes frowns. “Caleb? Which one, your Caleb or Nott’s Caleb? I suppose I could guess, but I don’t want to be wrong and offend him or anything.”
Caleb clears his throat and holds out his hand. “Ja, hallo, my name is Caleb Widogast. I am both Nott’s Caleb and Beauregard’s Caleb.”
Jes points between Beauregard and Nott. “Wait, your Calebs are the same Caleb? Oh my gods, that makes so much sense!”
The firbolg frowns. "I thought you all knew that there was only one Caleb. Was it not obvious?"
1. Infernal: In which Jester can't find the words.
2. Halfling/Goblin: In which Nott learns a language against her will.
3. Common: In which Beau is taught and teaches in return.
4. Zemnian: In which Caleb pieces himself back together.
5. Celestial: In which Yasha defines divinity.
6. Orcish: In which Fjord finds his own voice.
7. Speech of Beast and Leaf: In which Caduceus speaks to the wild places.
Or: Beau accidentally breaks the concept of language privacy.
“What?” He blurts. Then, once his brain catches up with his mouth, “Oh. I— sure? What—”
Caleb shrugs, eyes fixed on the tile beneath their feet. “I suppose I am just in that sort of mood.” He glances back up, momentarily, eyes as piercing as always. “Here.”
He hands Fjord the second earbud. His fingers are warm when they brush Fjord’s.
Beauregard Lionett is fifteen when she runs away for the last time, fox at her side. She runs until she can't, until her feet are bloodied and her leg is broken and she simply can't imagine moving another step and that's when he finds her.
Fjord is sixteen when he walks out the front door of the orphanage and doesn't turn back. It isn't running, not really; you can't run from people who want you to go, so he leaves, in search of something better.
Jester is sixteen, too, when her mother helps her into a dark hooded cloak and kisses her forehead and tells her to go and she does, slipping past the gates and walks quietly away from home.
Molly is 2 years old when Gustav is arrested for murder. Yasha doesn't know how old she is; birthdays weren't a thing, in her tribe or here. But Molly turns to look at her with wide eyes and asks what to do and the only thing she thinks of is to run.
Nott is 25 years old when she drowns. She's been a goblin for 25 minutes when she decides she wants no part of this and runs.
Jester’s eyes grow wide with panic as Fjord starts trying to shout through the gag. The last thing she sees before everything goes dark is Fjord’s eyes locking onto hers as he struggles the get out of Lorenzo’s grasp.
Jester took this as an invitation to run her hand along the handsome curl of Mollymauk's horns, the jewelry hanging on it jingling lightly at the touch. The two gave Fjord a devious grin and Jester giggled. “I am not thinking we are pressing enough eh, Molly?”
Jester and Molly get Fjord to loosen up enough to enjoy a night with them.
She should go back to sleep. She probably could find another room to rest in.
She should NOT be pressing an ear to the wall. She probably shouldn't be turned on. And she DEFINITELY should not be touching herself.