RP:Following Up

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Meri makes good on her promise to find Lionel for a follow up conversation.

Cenril Docks

Lionel hurts. His skin is flushed, his right arm is slung over his chest in a copper-and-thread cast, and he’s lost another third of a stone since last Meri has seen him. There’s a dull cast where his azure eyes often gleam. Nevertheless, he carries himself with composure, stepping past various skiffs and galleons as he makes his way through Cenril’s docks. A maiden asks him if he requires assistance; blindsided that anyone should ever ask him that, Lionel stares at her overlong until she tugs at the hem of her dress awkwardly. However the conversation goes after that, Lionel has already forgotten. When a few hardy sailors grumble that he’s moving too slowly, the complaint takes several seconds to parse. When has Lionel ever moved too slowly? “Surely you jest,” he retorts, before being bludgeoned in the head with a piece of lumber. The ringing in his ears remains as he approaches the Tranquility. Evidently, Lionel’s irritatingly famous -- and occasionally infamous -- name doesn’t require everyday folks to recognize him on-sight. It’s an odd comfort to be hit in the head but Lionel decides he will wear it like a badge. As the sun dips low near the waterline, and tired members of Captain Brand’s crew give the wounded Catalian their nods and two of their beers, he awaits Meri’s arrival at their agreed-upon spot. He holds two beers in one hand, too, which is more difficult than it sounds.

Meri would eventually arrive at their agreed upon spot, somewhat near the agreed upon time. She was running a little late, there was a slight situation down at the stables. It took a little longer to get Kadence within a stall so that Meri could make her way toward the Tranquility. Kadence realistically could have been brought a long, but as much as Meri adores her horse, sometimes it's more effort than it is worth. The mare sort of gets in the way on the docks, amongst a few other reasons. Like, most people believe it is polite to pick up their dog's poop, right? Naw, best to leave the horse in the stables, where they're paid to care for those pesky details. Meri would arrive though, looking like she is in fairly decent physical health, unlike Lionel. Once the woman is near enough, the Catalian is given a harmless once over before blue eyes settle on his face. He's not greeted with a verbal hello. He gets a slow lift of a brow that is meant to demand explanation.

Lionel isn’t well-equipped for nonverbal demanding explanations but he can’t exactly blame Meri for the glance. He knows he looks like hell. “I look like hell,” he says, as if on cue from the heavens above. “But I’m back. I made it. I’m alive -- just like we agreed-upon.” He smirks. It’s a little messy with his slightly-discolored lips, but there’s enough passion in the Catalian’s face despite himself. Willpower has always been one of Lionel’s biggest traits. Often for the best; sometimes for the worst. There’s something in the way he’s carrying himself tonight that suggests he’s a man who’s les aware of his wounds than he ought to be. He’s applying too much pressure on his legs and he grunts as he leans against one of the wooden pickets by the sea. “How’s things on your end? I suppose I could tell you all about the Shadow Plane mission first. I fought him. Kahran, I mean. We tried to kill one-another. Naturally. Neither of us entirely succeeded. In any case, thanks to our mages and witches, we broke his dominion on the Shadow Portals. We’re still hearing scattered sightings of the green devils but it’s limited and scattered.”

Meri isn't well equipped for words in general. Her tongue still functions, that is not the issue. Thankfully Lionel has managed to spew out enough substance that Meri actually has to talk, his questions can't be answered by a simple nod or some other non-verbal gesture. "There is no rest for the wicked, which means you don't get to rest either, but you should be." Confirmation that he does indeed look like hell, just a little more nicely put. How were things on her end? She would revisit that question at some point. Meri's gaze shifts away from the battered Lionel and to the waterline, a thoughtful frown forming on her lips. It wasn't exactly pleasant to listen to accounts of the Shadow Planes, especially given her most recent expedition. It was unavoidable though, it was a fairly central location in a war that was pretty impossible to ignore. Can't just move from one city to another when Kahran would see them all burn. "It sounds like overall your mission was successful..." Short of not being able to kill Kahran. "Things on my end are fine." Yes, that was one of those 'fine's that did not really mean things were 'fine' but it was not the sort of 'fine' that was also an invitation to press the subject further. The million different ways 'fine' could be interpreted. Meri's usually straight-forward, so maybe fine meant fine. "I think we've managed to gather up the last of the skulls, that's the biggest news that I have to report..." A small pause. "So you wanted to talk more. Was there something in specific you wanted to talk about...?"

Lionel nods, although his shoulders sag for it. “I should be,” he concedes. Is he leaving it at that? It seems so. Ever the man of few words when it’s about himself and himself alone, maybe. He catches Meri looking askance but doesn’t push it; she did that often in their previous encounter and he understands her recent traipse to the Shadow Plane must surely be at the forefront of why. He shudders to think what might happen if she ever has to go back there again. Lionel, of course, is remarkably unaware she just did. “I’m glad things are fine.” His tone betrays the vaguest hint of doubt but he keeps his head up to maintain both their dignities. “And I’m glad to hear about the skull, too. With luck this whole Cenrili barrier fiasco will be behind us soon.” Lionel has never believed in luck except when the worst of it has reared its ugly head, but what the frak ever. “I did want to talk more. I wanted to offer you a job. I wanted time to figure out what that job might be. I’ll confess, I’ve not had the best time piecing together an answer. I didn’t intend to go comatose for a couple of days,” Lionel says with a painful chuckle. His throat reverberates dryly. It feels like sand. “Stealth has always been your strong suit. What about espionage? Would you like to do a little spywork? Or maybe the front lines aren’t too comfortable even if you’re gingerly stepping around ‘em. There are things you could do behind closed doors as well.”

Meri issues a short 'hm' to Lionel immediately after he confesses that he should be. Yet, Meri was not his mother and she herself has been prone to the same hard headed reckless behavior that Lionel is demonstrating right now. Not quite to the same extreme, but that is not the point. The point is, this pot is not going to call the kettle black. Just the reaffirmation. "You should be." A brow is lifted, the water no longer holding the brunt of Meri's gaze. It's back to Lionel. Shoulders are rolled in a shrug as the toe of her boot is scuffed against the decking of the docks. Would Meri like a job? "Luck. Right. Cal is of the opinion that Catalians do not have luck." At least not the sort of luck that is favorable. Maybe Lionel could argue a case for otherwise. "As for the job...If you have not had an easy time piecing it together, well...Your plate is full. The last thing you need to worry about is trying to create...anything...for me." The pauses in this sentence were numerous, Meri was clearly struggling for her thoughts. "I don't really know what you want me to say in response. If there was something I could help with, be it espionage or...something else, I'd be glad to help. There is no sense in over-thinking a place for me though..."

Lionel snorts. Like his chuckle, the snorting hurts. ‘Sometimes a great notion’, as they say. “Maybe us Catalians -don’t- have luck. But you’ve got to admit, I’ve survived more would-be homicides than a blind ancient dragon at an all-you-can-slice buffet. If that ain’t luck, I’m not sure -what- to call it.” Maybe his whole life’s been a lie. Maybe Lionel isn’t Catalian to begin with. The thought makes his stomach flutter and he isn’t even sure why. He scratches the stubble of his cheek thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t call it overthinking,” he counters. “You’ve proven yourself valuable again and again. Even if this were cold, hard logic, I’d be a fool not to move your proverbial seladi piece accordingly.” Seladi, in case Callum has never mentioned it, was a popular pastime among the poorer class throughout Catal. Incidentally, one did not move pieces around a board in seladi, but rather, they drew stones and waged bets. Lionel has never actually played seladi. “This isn’t seladi, though,” he continues, which is likely for the best since, again, he doesn’t seem to know how it’s played. “You’re my friend. You’re my family’s friend. You’re one of us. To frak with my plate, Meri, I want you by our side.” He reaches out his free hand for a shake. “Espionage division. Stealth team. I know a couple of women who’d be glad to make your acquaintance: Kara Thrace and a lass called Niix. Give it some thought, eh? Not sure how great the pay would be; Kahran’s gone and blown up half the world. But still.”

Meri and Callum admittedly have not spent much time discussing Catal. It seemed like one of those sore subjects to the guy, so Meri was not inclined to press beyond the few tidbits of information that she had gotten Cal to explain. It was one of those things, if he wanted to talk she was willing to listen. For the most part, it seemed like the stormmage wanted to focus on forward thinking rather than being stuck on the tragic past. “Seladi? What is that?” The way that Lionel was using the word gave Meri some suggestions as to what seladi might be. “Like chess?” Notion that Meri take the time to think things through is waved off and when Lionel begins to talk about pay? A look is leveled on the man, a brow is lifted, and then those blue eyes are rolled. It seems inured or not, he is not entirely spared from Meri’s sass. It is fairly tempered compared to past instance. “Lionel. When have you ever paid me?” If there was an instance, Meri cannot recall it. Maybe that one time in Venturil? Meri has a think over that, giving Lionel a chance to correct her if she is mistaken. “I’ll work with this Kara and this Niix.” Kara was a name entirely unfamiliar to Meri, but Niix. She feels like she has encountered someone by that name somewhere, or heard talk of her. Hmm.

Lionel may have already scratched his stubble just moments prior, but it seems to itch all over again multiple times throughout Meri’s recourse. He hesitates at the psion’s first question; what is chess? Could seladi possibly be like chess? “Meri, I’ve wandered across the ruins of Ishaara, I’ve fought pirates and demons in the titular Demon Archipelago, I’ve lived and suffered and grieved in Catal. I’ve cut through the borders of the Veltharn Union and seen the sunrise in Yangzhou. Nevermind Lithrydel! And never have I ever heard of chess. But if it involves moving pieces strategically, then it’s a lot like seladi,” he explains incorrectly, “so I’m willing to guess chess and seladi share a root somewhere ‘round the world.” They really don’t, though. Sundance, the barrel-chested Catalian dwarf who has sadly become the lone survivor of Lionel’s Siochain entourage, does a double take when he sees them standing beside the narrow of the Tranquility’s hull. “Lionel! As I live and breathe! I heard you were awake but you are walking circles for a man Lennier boasts was half-dead and then some!” Sundance’s laugh is thick and rich. “And you! Meri, aye? Well, merry met! Not my best joke, and perhaps ill-received, but I’m a grieving man,” the earnest dwarf nods his great beard regretfully, sadness taking his tone. “You’re not payin’ the lass for services rendered?” Lionel has always found it uncanny how much Sundance can speak in one turn. “Well, that’s no good at all,” the dwarf proceeds, shaking his fist and lightly punching his realm’s last prince in the shoulder. It hurts. A lot. “Aye, it be an awful lot like casting stones in seladi, you see. If you cast all the pewters and not a single red, how good are you? How much does he owe you, Meri Met? Might be I can scrounge up some… where did I put…?” Sundance turns, standing between them with his forty-seven inch width blocking one-another out entirely. Lionel clears his throat. “Hi,” he says plainly. “It’s fine, Sundance. Thank you. It’s… it’s fine.”

Meri lifts a brow lightly at Lionel’s adamance that he has never heard of such a game. Yet the issue is dropped. First because she herself has not heard of seladi, second because Sundance interjects himself into the conversation. There is confusion then the dwarf addresses her by name, leaving Meri left to try and place a name to his own face. She can’t, which leads her to believe that she has never met this dwarf before...and Meri is not super keen on stranger’s approaching her and knowing her name. Perhaps Lionel has grown accustomed to it, but Meri frowns and she frowns hard. The frown remains when Sundance tries to pay off Lionel’s debt. “He does not owe me anything, for we are friends and I have never asked of him.” Really she has only asked for the adventure, and she has gotten plenty of that. Meri clears her throat, blue eyes finding their way back to Lionel for only a few seconds, just long enough to wonder what it is that Lionel has done for Sundance for this dwarf to be willing to pay off his debt. There is of course that temptation to take Sundance for a bit of a ride, but Meri usually puts on a better show than that for Lionel. She’s a semi-decent woman. Maybe. Her gaze flies back to Sundance. “Honestly you just caught the tail end of our chat, not the beginnings of us arguing over a debt.” Her gaze goes back to Lionel pointedly, “Someone should probably be off to rest anyway.” What Lionel should do and what he is going to do are not the same though.

Sundance lifts a big, beefy forearm as he drags his hand to his forehead, evidently in deep consternation. Lionel wonders what could possibly have Sundance in such a tumult. But the tumult is tossed in two seconds or less; the dwarf bellows a laugh and smiles. “Oh, aye! Well, I’m Sundance! Because I’ll make the very sun dance if it pleases a lady!” Lionel almost spits. “You told me your mother named you Sundance after an old custom in Kenwick Village involving eclipses…” Sundance laughs right over him. “And I told that Esche of yours they call me Sundance because I do a jig in honor of the fallen at exactly high noon every damned day! He hmmed and hawed and gave me a lecture on sylvan customs along the Southern Sage! Heck’s bells, but that elf will believe anything, won’t he? Anyway, I rather fancy what I just told Meri, so I’ve decided I’m sticking with that from now on. Say I won’t! But she’s right, this lady is right as rain; you need some sleep to spark the zest in your feet! That’s what…” Lionel’s sigh is loud and voluminous. “Alright, alright. Listen. Sundance. It’s good to see you, pal. Scoot over a sec so I can readdress the person I was already speaking with. Yeah?” Sundance scoots. “Yeah. Well, hey! I have to be off, anyhoo! Great to see you, and you too, Lady Meri! Oh, aye!” And just like that, the dwarf starts humming a jig and heads back onto the ship. “Wow,” Lionel says dryly. “Well, the next time you see me I reckon it’ll be elsewhere. Kara’s squad is stationed at the camp by the Academy of Aramoth. Want to come meet the crew sometime soon?”

Meri has some mixed feelings about Sundances explanation for his name. Was a dwarf trying to hit on her...? It’s not a line of thought that Meri wants to spend much time on and those blue eyes turn up toward the sky as Lionel and Sundance go back and forth on the various explanations that Sundance is inclined to give for his name. Meri tunes all of it out, it is not until Lionel tells Sundance to scoot that she actually checks back into the conversation. A forced smile for Sundance’s benefit, but really Meri is eager to see the dwarf scoot. Lionel concedes that he probably needs rest but Meri doubts that he will actually go to get any. Talk of going all the way out to the Academy of Aramoth is met with hesitance. Frostmaw was not exactly her favorite place to travel and these days she was prone to avoiding venturing out that direction as much as possible. After a moment of consideration, this is inquiry is met with a shrug. “Yeah. Whenever you want. Just send word and I will head out that way.”