RP:Aldonza

Part of the Laugh Now, Cry Later Arc

Summary: After joining the Titans of Winter tournament in an effort to bring more awareness to Cenril’s ongoing plague, Jaxson appears in Cenril injured. To both of their surprise, his magic had led him back to Valrae. While she does what she can to heal him, they both part in the early hours of the morning with him still in need of a proper healer.

Cove

The rising cliffs curve back inward just north of the barrier, forming a peaceful horseshoe shaped inlet cordoned off from the outside by rock and wave. The waters quietly pass the breaking jetty, rolling back and forth with gentle lapping movements that have smoothed and cooled the surrounding sands. Sparkles of light catch and dance delicately upon the tranquil sea as the breeze brings with it a salty mist. This calm relaxing spot makes this a favoured hideout for young lovers of all races...An immense crimson-sailed structure bobbing and swaying in the waters to the east appears to be a ship. At the end of the jetty is a tied ferry, anchored with a rope to a thick wooden pillar branded with a strange symbol. This is the only visible means of access to the vessel painting a silhouette on the horizon in the morning's light, though other moorings suggest smaller boats might be used now and then. The area seems to be a lot more busy than usual, without counting them; a fleet of ships appears to be settled on the horizon. They could merely be fishing ships, but something tells you they aren't, and if that is the case, you can almost guarantee that their long nines are trained on this position.

Valrae || The moons rose high over the dark, quiet cove. The cursed wind that howled through Cenril had turned the already quiet beach into something even emptier and, in Valrae’s opinion, a little lonely. But that’s exactly what she’d looked for this evening. Wrapped in a wool blanket the color of fresh garden sage and surrounded by twinkling witch light, the woman sat with her knees pulled to her chest on an oversize beach blanket as her dark eyes watched the endlessly churning waves. Dark, crashing water that beat without end against the sand and rock. It was beautiful and powerful and opened the yawning, aching part of her chest that held a deep understanding of just how small she was in the great, wild world. Her family’s book of shadows sat open at her right, the pages held down in the glow of her emerald crystal skull. Beside it, she had a leather bag large enough to carry a small library and a bundle of forgotten, untouched fruit wrapped in cloth. Her heels were discarded to her left, along with a soft pink scarf and long coat. Unnecessary to her now, as she’d charmed the air around her into stillness and warmth. Her hair was a mess of wind tossed, golden waves that hung wildly down her shoulders. She’d left her face bare, not bothering with her usual kohl or lip paint, and her cheeks and nose were still rosy from the brisk wind she’d walked through to get here. There was a stillness about the witch as she watched the sea, her face dark and intense, as if the place where the sky and ocean met held any answer that could quiet the storm of her mind.

Jaxson 's arrival is preluded by the gathering of mystical energies, which seem to start building up in the form of little flashes and sparks popping up here and there across the cove. This gathering of arcane magic is a phenomenon easily recognized as a transportation spell to a well-educated practitioner of magic. Within moments the energy collapses in upon itself, resulting in a very sudden eruption of force in the form of a wave that washes over the area, followed by a quick and blinding flash of light. In the wake of this appears the Ravencroft heir, his form smoldering from the energy of the spell. He stands for a moment, his back to the witch as he seems like he tries to get a feel for where he is. He turns around and the wizard and witch meet eyes. Instantly that charming smile is brought up, though he has a curious look as he says. “Why here?” More to himself than anything, evidence that he is just as surprised the magic brought him to her. But none of that matters as Val would then quickly see the man’s body is riddle, beaten and bleeding. Two sizeable shards of wood protrude from out his body, and he collapses from the sheer exhaustion of the magic he has used in such little time just as much from the amount of blood he has lost. He falls to both knees, saying only. “Damn…” before falling right flat on his face before the Red Witch in a heap of absolute mess of man.

Valrae || The baby hairs on the back of her neck tingle a heartbeat before the flashing show of magic warns her that someone would soon appear. Her golden brows furrow for a moment, her hand sliding from underneath her blanket to grip the smooth, cold surface of the emerald skull. When Jaxson’s spell reaches its crescendo, the force of it pushes back the blanket she’d wrapped herself in and sends the tangled waves of her hair away from her face. She hears the sound of her book’s pages fluttering underneath the skull and sand kicking up around them. The witch lifts a hand to shield her eyes from the light, blinking in surprise as a familiar, masculine figure finally makes its appearance. Before she can speak, Jaxson’s voice reaches her ears. ‘Why here?’ he’d asked, and because her eyes were still adjusting to the notably lower light of the moons and her witch light, she thinks he might be asking why *she* was here, instead of why *he* had appeared here. Valrae doesn’t return his smile, her own face painted in the clear lines of confusion. It took her a moment to notice his body was beaten and blood. The extensiveness of his injuries only became apparent to her when his knees hit the sand only a few paces before her. “Jax-” Before she finishes his name, he’s face down. Lucky for him, he landed enough on her blanket that he didn’t add ‘mouthful of sand’ to his already long list of problems. Panic spears through her chest. “What the-” Overhead, a seagull calls and drowns out that last word. The witch stands quickly, tossing her blanket aside. Sand squished between her bare, pink painted toes as she stumbled to his side. “What happened to you?” She whispers, reaching out to help turn him over. She would move him, with his help or with the aid of a quickly murmured spell, so that he was fully onto her beach blanket and wrapped in the warmth of the spell she’d already cast there. He was bleeding. There was a burn on his otherwise flawless and perfectly handsome face. The most obvious and serious of his injuries came from the shards of wood that jutted out of his body. Her stomach churned to look at them. Without thinking, a spell to dull pain tumbles from her lips. She wasn’t a healer, and never claimed to be one, but she knew enough to ease the worst of it and help take the edge off. “Those are going to have to come out,” She warns him, leaving his side to rummage through her bag.

Jaxson is in very clear pain, as well as obviously waning in and out of consciousness now but fights hard enough once Val’s velvety voice hits his ringing eardrums. Still wondering why, he was here, a look of confusion matching her own forms on the man’s paling visage as he first asks. “Val...?” Mainly to ensure he wasn’t hallucinating all of this. Then, as she asks what happened he recalls his fight with the drow Mesdoram, and a clarity hits him as he begins to fight back against the impending threat of passing out. “Ah. Oh, you know just a casual fight with some drow in the swamps.” He says, playing down the severity of this entire situation, adding in so she gets a better understanding of it all. “The Titan of Winter tournament. I entered las minute.” He pauses, mainly due to it being hard and painful to breathe properly at the moment. “Figured it could be more eyes to the plight of the city, as well as funds to your efforts and campaign for mayor.” He stops, having tried to move, sending shooting pain through his body. He adds in the quick joke. “You should have seen the other guy.” Before chuckling at his own comment, ending only in more pain for the magi. “I used a spell, thought it’d take me home to be honest, but it seems… seems the magic thought to take me here for some reason.” He notes magic can have a mind all its own. Maybe there was some unknown force trying to make this meeting happen?

Valrae appears at his side and presses a cool hand against his unburned cheek as he calls her name. Her free hand works to unscrew the lid to a jar of goldenseal. When he answers her, the witch’s mind races through all the possibilities for why he might be fighting drow in a swamp. Was he part of an underground fighting club? Surely not, he wouldn’t talk about the fighting club, that was one of the rules… Right? Could the drow he fought be Lanlan? She had no doubt the illusionist had enemies across the land. It would be an incredibly small world if that were the case though. Just as her mind was spinning out of control, he offered her a real explanation and her eyes find his face again. “You joined the tournament? For Cenril?” She couldn’t stop the affection from leaking into her voice. Her hand splays out on his chest as he attempts to move. “Hold still,” She murmurs, nearly rolling her eyes at what she saw as a typically male stubbornness. For all of his joking, his injuries were serious. Well, at least they looked it to her. She laughs as he mentions the other guy, “If he’s much worse than you he might be dead.” Did they allow killing blows in the Frostmaw tournament? She didn’t know. Her hands move again, one of them resting on the crystal skull so that she can draw from its power while the other hand finds one of those shards of wood sticking out of him. “Well, I’ll have to assume the magic has a sense of humor because-” She pulled the wood from him quickly and without warning. “I’m not a healer.” The witch tossed aside the wood and moved on to the other one. He would be ready for her this time, but she tries to make quick work of it as well. With both objects no longer in his body, her slender hands make quick work of undressing him from the waist up. She doesn’t pause to ask, only works. As she dresses the wounds with what little herbs she has on hand, she talks. “So, was my speech behind the dining hall that moving, Ravencroft?” Her tone was teasing even as her voice shook. The tangy scent of herbs mixed with the iron of blood and brought a new paleness to her face. “It must have been convincing enough, considering the trouble you went through for… for…” The thought trails off. “I can try to heal this with magic, which is a gamble, or I can stitch it.” Her dark eyes find his face again. “Dealers choice.”

Jaxson watches the woman work as he seems less likely to pass out and even regaining much of his clarity now that the sheer exhaustion of using so much magic is starting to wear off. He knew the wooden shards were going to be a real bi---, issue, so he was prepared for that. It wasn’t his first rodeo; he was a veteran after and had been spending much of his time afterwards as a mercenary to support his travels. Seemed once he left home his family’s wealth did not follow, and a man’s got to eat, right? Either way the pain is great, but his body is currently numb enough that it doesn’t hurt as badly as it looks, and it looks damn bad. He catches the flush of her cheeks and quickly looks away as if preoccupied by the piece of wood now laying next to him, saying easily enough. “Yeah… I just... I just thought that last we spoke we saw -they- “He was speaking about the fat-cats they had to deal with when they met. “Didn’t do enough, and I want to show the people I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is…or, well, rather my life I guess.” He didn’t know if killing was allowed either, but he sure felt that murderous intent Mesdoram had with each blow of that impressive sword of his. “People deserve to see it, and If I can do that then.” He grunts as she undresses him, their eyes meeting once more in the pale moonlight as he says. “Its all worth it.” Here, she’d ask about healing or stitches and the man shrugs as he is joking says. “The magic brought me here, so I guess I’ll trust in your judgment.” He’d assume many things in life, and used rational thought to figure out most things, but he also has a very strange belief system that fate, and karma do exist and are forces beyond even the greatest mages control. If his magic chose him to be brought here, of -all- places he could have been taken, then he’d trust it and he’d trust Val’s choice. “Though if you got a drink in that bag of yours, I’d give you my kidney for a swig.” He was parched, from blood loss as much as the toll using magic does on the body.

Valrae wipes blood and the poultice of herbs from her hands on the green blanket she’d discarded beside them. “Water first, then you can have some of the whiskey. I’ll let you keep the kidney… For now.” She reaches into the bottomless bag and pulls a thermos of water out. She passes it to him before fishing her small sewing kit out as well. It wasn’t exactly surgical, but magic and the herbs she used would help keep everything clean. Her hands didn’t shake, not for this part, even if everything else inside of her did. “So, the charity auction didn’t move enough coin for you and the next logical step is to risk that pretty face of yours for a little more?” She tries for humor as she works, keeping her eyes on the neat stitch work she was making in his flesh. Her stomach turned again, from the visual and from the imagining she could do of the pain he might be in. When it’s finished, she leans back and cleans her hands again. They shook now. “I think your ribs are broken. I don’t trust myself with that, but you’ll hold together until someone with some actual skill can get their hands on you. I’ve stopped the bleeding bits.” She turns her face away, back to the darkness of the ocean. She’d cleaned most of the blood from him, but it stained his clothes, her blankets and the white dress she’d worn. When she turns back to him she’s stopped trembling and the color returned to her cheeks. Her eyes his, then trail to the fresh burn. She leans over, her hair creating a golden curtain between them and the world as her hand reaches out. The witch smelled of blood, herbs and the dark, sea scented night. With her free fingers pressing against the emerald skull, Valrae whispers a spell that heals the worst of the damage there. She didn’t know if it would still leave a scar, but it would be a shame to ruin too much of his face. “Well, on behalf of our people. Thank you.” She lingers for a heartbeat, her eyes searching his own. “Now about that drink…”

Jaxson is caught up in the moment of it all, the night air, the sounds of the ocean’s waves crashing against the shore and the incredible pain he is still in. Still, through it all he smiles, nodding his head as she hands him the water, taking the thermos and taking a good chug of the refreshing beverage in thankful bliss. You never realize just how dehydrated you are until you actually drink -water-. Such a revitalizing element, so much so that the man ties it with air in rank of importance to human survival. (Not that the magi thinks less of any element, he knows they can be rather emotional if you show favoritism). Either way, here the wizard’s eyes are torn from the just absolute stunning creature that is the Baines woman to the very interesting skull she seems to be coaxing magical energies from. He’d not say a word, though come on woman chilling in cave with magical skull? If there are ways to die, by the hands of a beautiful woman is top three for sure. But thankfully the man’s imagination and worries are put to rest as the witch’s touch brings with it a healing surge to the gash upon his cheek. Her inquiry about the auction not being enough gets the reply. “No. They never do enough.” Quickly and matter-of-factly enough to show he has a serious opinion on that whole matter. But he doesn’t delve into politics because, well her slick comment about him being pretty catches him off guard. Did -he- blush? I don’t know if he currently has enough blood to be able to, but if he did, he may just have. He nods to the mention of a professional healer getting to him. Broken ribs, he figured the moment it happened. Damn. The thanks she offered for everyone is noted as well and appreciated but hers carries a little more value to him in this moment. At the mention of a true drink his eyes visibly light up. “Oh please, don’t tease.” Here, he’d take the time to look around properly, and can’t help but ask. “Did… did I ruin something by dropping in like this?” He hopes not, he never intended to, but it sure looked like she was in the middle of, well, something before he popped in like he did.

Valrae cuts him a playful look through dark lashes. “I won’t this time, but only because you’re injured.” She looks away and is back to fishing in the bag. It takes her a little longer to find the flask. She takes a long, healthy drink for herself before passing it to him. It’s good, expensive whiskey. It spreads warmth across her chest and down to her bones. She watches him again while he drinks, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Relax, the only thing you ruined tonight was maybe our clothes.” She settles back on to the blanket, her hand finally moving away from the skull. “I come here sometimes to think.” She couldn’t say why. Maybe it was because if she traced back all the lines of her life, all the choices she’d made, it always seemed like this was the place where everything had begun. The one choice that led her to Larket, to prison not just once but twice, and to her first death. The one choice she’d never been able to regret. A lifetime of memories haunted her here, dancing like shadows over the sand. In that way, maybe she came here to run from the loneliness that yawned like an open grave before her. “I thought about what you said the other night,” She turns her face to him again. Absently, she reaches for her case of cigarettes. It lights on her inhale, the small magic tingling like fireflies in the air. She offers him one on the exhale. “About an event that means something? Well, there are people in the West End that need food. We’re working on a food drive. It will make rounds in the papers, we’ll collect dry goods and shelf stable products for families that are struggling.” Sweet clove scented smoke mingled with the night air. The witch shrugs. “The money that the charity brought is helping some rebuild homes. It’s not a bad start. It’s better than what help we were getting before. And I’m sure the attention you’ve brought from the tournament will kick up some noise with foreign aid.”

Jaxson doesn’t miss the tease about the teasing, but the distraction of the liquor pauses his silver tongue as he watches the witch down the amber liquid like a seasoned pro. He likes her even more now. He’d try not to show his love of the hooch too much (it’s a vice he has for sure), but he is appreciative of the offering, and so thankful she has good taste! He listens intently to her explanation of why they were in the place, and figures that is more than a good enough answer because, truly, she doesn’t owe him a single damn thing let alone sharing some valuable insight into her life. He knows not to pry too much, least not too early. People tend to do best when coaxed out of their shells on their own terms and at their own pace. So far, this woman seems to be living up to what he has heard. Hell, to be honest the fact his grandmother despises her is enough to convince him she’s a saint, but every day she seems to prove time and time again she really does care. Now, Jax has known cons to go deep, years and even decades in the making before the “gotcha!” moment happens, but his gut is telling him this woman really cares about her work and about the city. Of course, her handing him a cig on top of it all, let alone his preferred type? Uh! Where can he get his own? Then he remembers. She is taken already. Reminding the man, he can window shop but, this relationship would probably stay professional. Still, flirting was innocent enough, aye? Her mention of the attention he is kicking up reminds him of the rumor mill from the auction and he jokes. “Imagine if they saw us now? Clothes torn up, mysteriously nestled in a beachside cove, drinking and smoking?” There was still pain, but the drink was helping, so the drags he took of the cigarette were not horribly painful. “Oh, speaking of rumors, I think you showing up with my prize money from today should inform them all where my support falls, right?” He’d let that settle a moment as he’d reach for the coat, he had on that lies nearby, reaching in and taking out a more than sizable pouch of coin, and hands it to the woman as he says. “Here is my donation to that food drive then, as well as your campaign, Mrs. Baines.” He’d smirk as he says. “They’ll lose their collective minds over this one.” Rich heir gives away prize money to help the poor? What was he doing? Does he not know the game? Oh, yes, they’d all squirm in their mansions, clutching pearls as they see he has clearly chosen side that isn’t theirs.

Valrae is oblivious to Jaxson’s thoughts and lost in her own. She wonders if meeting him here like this, his magic taking its own will and placing him bleeding in front of her to both of their surprise, was another beginning to an end. Would her attempts to bring change to Cenril end as violently as Larket? Somewhere inside of her, she assumed the answer was yes. The witch searches herself to find any regret, any fear, but she finds none. If there was some string of fate connecting her with Jaxson Ravencroft, she’d tug on it until she found the end. What choice did she have now? She’s pulled from her thoughts when he speculates on the headlines they’d cause if someone were to catch them here now. Val’s head tilts back in a laugh. “The headlines would read something like, ‘Ravencroft heir attacked by unhinged mayor elect’ probably, or if they’re feeling particularly salcous they’ll say ‘Witch seduces handsome billionaire’ and the article will speculate that I have a blood fetish and I’ve used my magic to spellbind you.” The witch watches him reach for the coin he’d earned in the fight. A frown bows her lips. It felt wrong taking gold from a man who was bleeding but she couldn’t articulate why. “It’s Ms. Baines. I’m divorced. And you should call me Val,” She answers instead, placing the gold beside them. “And we should get you to a healer. If we make it soon enough, they might have enough time to write something up for the morning paper.” She wasn’t exactly sure how she would be getting either of them home though. She doesn’t move to stand though, instead pushing her bag aside to lay next to him. Her hair falls around her like a golden fan as she looks up and takes another drag from her cigarette. “I come here when I’m lonely,” She admits, after several heartbeats of comfortable silence. “Or when I want to remember things, when I can’t remember who I am.” She turns her head to look at him now. “I used to sleep here when I was young, when what I made at the docks couldn’t cover a room and food.” She doesn’t say it outloud, but she assumes someone from the Ravencrofts might not know what those choices felt like. Which made the mystery of him and his seemingly genuine desire to help those who might be all the more confusing to her. “Why do you want to help?” The simple honesty of the question surprised even herself as it fell from her lips. “I mean, from the outside you already have everything, right? I know people where you come from can be altruistic, kind even, but I haven’t met many from Cenril in either of my lifetimes.”

Jaxson has already begun the recovery process for his fragile heart after having resigned that Mrs. Baines would be forever out of reach due to the depressing fact of her being married or otherwise taken. This of course was rooted in the near nonstop rumors of her being the mistress, even wife, to some man known as Hudson. His grandmother had given him the earful when he came back from the auction, as word of who he had spent his time with had reach the matriarch even in her bedchambers that night. She had sent him in her stead to simply serve as the face of the family, maybe bid on a thing or two to remind everyone of the power of old wealth, and then get used to the duties he should be doing now that he is back. Simple. Easy. But within moments of being there he had “been whisked away by the seductress, disappearing into some backroom closet”. Yes, the sheer rage his dear mee-maw rivaled that of any rampaging dragon, and she scolded him like he was a child for what seemed like hours. Every rumor, every dirty little detail, hell Margaret Ravencroft was probably the biggest fangirl of Valrae Ivy Baines the wizard could imagine with how much she supposedly knew. And, yet with every minute the witch shreds those rumors with every passing moment, the layers of filth that some many wished to heap upon her falling off like dying petals to reveal the true beauty of the blossoming flower beneath. And then she cleared the air. I. Am. Divorced. This man reaches to the absolute inner depths of his very soul to find the willpower to maintain the poker face needed not to expose his pleasure at that bit of news. Come on! Obviously brilliant, breathtakingly beautiful, skills in magic but also great taste in booze and cigarettes? I mean the guy has a pulse ya know? When she lays down, he is almost brought back to his teenage days, it’s a refreshing series of memories. He listens to her explain why she came here, and it made sense. This is her little hideaway, a place she centers herself. Good choice, tbh. She mentions her upbringing, and he feels the sting of the judgment (even if not directly meant) that is supposed to obviously exist between the pair. What people seem to forget is that even those born into wealth can still be human, even if many of the super-rich do all they can to erase the fact they’ve any sort of soul. “Because I know it would be what my mother wanted.” He starts wit, clearly adding in. “And since she raised me to care for my fellow man, I’ve grown to avoid the pitfalls that ensnare many people in my family’s position. She worked hard to raise a man, not a monster. And I refuse to allow coin to every be worth more than my soul.” He pauses, looking out towards the sea as if remembering something. “Too many people gladly sell their soul for shiny metal coin, forgetting the real value in life are the memories we make, the smiles we share and the joy we can bring each other.” He shrugs, shaking off a thought that crept up in his mind as he says. “Sure, gold is nice, but I didn’t start living until I left it all behind and spent my early adult years out at sea and other parts of the world.” He looks at the woman again, his intense blue eyes locking onto hers as he says. “I guess I was just lucky to have had the mother I did, or else I’d be the “Lord Ravencroft” my grandmother wishes I was.” He’d leave out the comment of being exactly like his father. The perfect example of a true Ravencroft man, through and through.

Valrae remains unaware of whatever her words did to sway Jaxson away from her public image. It was true enough, rumors surrounded her like shadows. There was the affair with Hudson, that somehow grabbed more attention than the crimes she’d been convicted of in Larket and even the confirmed fact that she’d been raised from the dead. Sex sold, right? Still, sometimes it felt as if her life's accomplishments would always be overlooked for news centered around a man, even if the most noteworthy part of that story was that they’d shared a bed. The witch watched Jaxson’s face as he answered. She noted that he spoke of his mother in the past tense and quietly filed that away for now. He mentions the soul and quietly, she wonders if she’d traded hers for what she had now. Working with Hudson had never cost her any sleep. Even when he’d been dealing in dust and moving money through several business fronts, she’d helped and took what she could without remorse. The hungry, cold girl that would always exist in her most hidden heart allowed it. Maybe she convinced herself that whatever moral wrongness she’d committed in those acts served to carry her to the next good that she might do, the same mental gymnastics she used the night she and Uma helped spell a girl to take her place to die for Larket’s satisfaction. “You spent time at sea?” She asks, brows winging as he mentions his time away from Cenril. She finds herself surprised by him, and a little embarrassed that he keeps knocking down her images of a soft, privileged and sheltered life. If anyone could understand that looks and rumors were deceiving, it should be her. “Your grandmother sounds like a hag.” Valrae finishes her cigarette and adds as an afterthought, “No offense.” The witch rolls to her side, pushing up to lean her head on her hand. “Goddess bless your mother then, Lord Ravencroft.” Her lips tilt into a teasing smile and she punctuates this with another swig from her flask. The comfortable quiet returned again, she let it hang around them as she watched him in the low light. “Do you really think memories are the true value?” Her question was genuine again. “I have plenty of things I’d rather forget.” She looks away. “What made you come back?” Valrae had asked herself this question a thousand times before. She could have gone anywhere when she’d started her new life. And for a time, she had. She’d been in Xalious for a while, but like Larket it had never been quite the home to her that Cenril had. Now matter how many times she turned it over in her mind, she didn’t have a true answer. She could say it was for change, for the community of witches she’d help build, but was that the answer? As she waits for his, she quietly wonders if her prying might lead her to some deeper understanding of them both.

Jaxson has never been safe from the rumor mill that seems to dominate the upper class with such a voracious hunger to devour every facet of their lives. His entire childhood was marred by the -countless- rumors his grandmother had been a part of some still lingering to this day as she was the Elizabeth Taylor of her day. Men threw themselves at her, women dreamed of being her. She found her way from powerful man to powerful man until she “found her true love” in the wizard’s grandfather, Lord Benedict Ravencroft. Their reign in Cenril’s’ upper class are things of legend, the pair made moves that shook the very foundations that the city was built upon, and never apologized for a single damn thing. Its why when her son married some woman who worked in a flower shop, the matriarch nearly lost it. To this day Jaxson swears his grandmother hated his mother for existing. Maybe its because she “ruined” her grandchild, as she never allowed the crone to dig her talons into him. Jaxson could see his mother fighting back against an aging mother-in-law like some valiant knight would a dragon. “Don’t insult hags like that!” Jests the magi, showing he took no real insult (and knew his grandmother wouldn’t either, as she’s been called much worse). She asked about the sea, and he nods his head as he says. “Started as a deckhand, where I stayed for a while. I enjoyed being out there, on the water.” Memories of the calm, and the wrath, the sea can show floods back. Its where he found his love for Selene and Zaytor, though of course he has a special place for Xalious in there too. “After a while, going from port to port, I found some work with a group of mercenaries. My skill with magic, and having served in the military here in Cenril, served me well.” He smiles, remembering his band of brothers. The adventures they shared, as well as losses, shaped most of his twenties. His brothers in arms were his family for the last ten years, before word of his parent’s passing reached even the far corners of the earth to find him. “I only came back to settle my parent’s affairs, much to the chagrin of my dear grandmother.” Yes, his mother had somehow convinced his father to sign papers that demanded all the family assets go to him, unless he signs them over to another living family member. So, with naught but a flick of quill against parchment could he take full control of the Ravencroft legacy or sign it away back to the clutches of the eagerly awaiting talons of Margaret. Its still an issue that needed proper resolution, but he had been finding every way imaginable to avoid it, like say, joining a tournament where contestants try to main and murder one another? Sounds about right. The she asks about the memories, and reaching back to thoughts of his mother, he says. “I’d trade everything of value and every ounce of power I could ever obtain in countless lifetimes for just a day with my mother.” He states the tone he uses leaving no doubt of his seriousness. “But all I can have are the memories I have, and they are worth more to me than anything the entire wealth of the Ravencroft family could ever buy.” He hopes that answers her question. As for now, he simply takes a drag of the cigarette and a swig of the liquor, falling back into that comfortable silence once more himself.

Valrae laughs at his defense of hags. “Fair enough!” She chimes, falling back into silence as she listens to him. She watches how his face moves as he answers her, how his eyes darken or come alive when he speaks of his mother or the sea, his time in Cenril’s guard. Little pieces of the puzzle that he presented her fall into place, allowing her a fuller image of him as she files them all away greedily. It was refreshing to hear someone offer up so much of themselves without flinching. Without any obvious hesitation or omittance of time. Sure, he could be hiding something still. What really could she know of a man from two stolen conversations. Even so, Jaxson Ravencroft might be the most honest man she’d known. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She’d known Lionel, for a time. He was a squeaky clean of a hero as they’d come, wasn’t he? Valrae searches herself and wonders if he’d fall into the same archetype. The shining hero, the morally correct man that looked at her as someone to save. The kind of man who was charmed by the mess of her until it was apparent she’d never quite live up to the standard her martyrdom suggested she would be. Not that she assumed they would be so close, but his focus on the election, the moves she made in the city, spoke of a surety that they would be entangled in whatever political web she’d wrapped herself in now. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She whispers, after a time. She’d meant the words but they felt empty. Val was no stranger to death, to mourning, and knew that they would offer little comfort. There would be few in Cenril now that hadn’t felt the touch of death on their lives. The thought ached in a very soft, fragile place in her chest. She rises then, the tangle of golden waves following like the tail of a kite as she rises. “Let’s get you home. We can’t feed the masses if you’re locked up getting sponge baths all day from a pretty healer, hmm?” She reaches out to pat his shoulder before tidying her things.

Jaxson does not know why he feels so open with her, a comfort that has come so quickly and yet is so unexplainable. Maybe it was fate? Or maybe just the extreme blood loss into drinking? Who knows, but he does tend to wear his heart on his sleeve, and so far, it’s worked out for him. Or at least he’d say it has. As they chatted the night away, he had almost forgotten the absolute desolation Mesdoram had ravaged upon him. Note to self, drow like to stab people with -all- the sharpest things. A mental side note dings in his brain, reminding him drow do this to family all the time. Did Mesdoram think of Jax as family? More investigation would have to go into whatever potential was there, but for now the man was more than content to share this seaside retreat with Val for as long as she’d allow, but she was right. It was time to feed the monster, as well as go back to being the adults they needed to be. “Sponge bath? Pretty nurses? Oh, do sign me up.” He jests, adding in a quick. “I think you’d pull of night nurse quite well…” Before he is immediately punished for it by Karma himself as the very real pain of broken ribs reminds him of the rather severe damage he still faces. This is how he knew Karma was indeed a female, she always takes their side. But, with the same resolve that he had to win the day against the drow, he used it to rise and even manage to help the woman gather her things before they’d venture with what little bit of darkness was left. It was the wee hours of the morn; they’d have the smallest window ever to avoid being seen. And even though he’d gladly stand by her side at any moment, he knows her life is filled with a constant barrage of slanderous lies and vicious attempts to tear her down, so he says. “I think it best that the rumor mill goes unfueled tonight.” He smiles and ensures her that he is ok as he says. “I can make my way to the healer, and you shouldn’t risk exposing yourself to more headlines. Let alone this sanctuary.” Here he’d offer the lady a bow, taking her hand if she’d let him and placing a simple kiss upon the back of it before he says. “I thank you for your care, Val. And I look forward to the food drive.” And, with a quick verse of arcane magic the wizard vanishes into the aether in the same manner he appeared. The magic remnants of his spell fall into the sand at Valrae’s feet, and from the sand spouts forth a beautifully colored lily. As if someone had splashed pink across white in a brilliant burst of color. A gift, and a spell he learned from his mother so many years ago.