RP:Petty Like A Fox

Part of the A Few Fox Tales Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Summary:Lanlan returns to his keep after discovering the Truth of what Valrae did to him, and proceeds to confide the whole sordid affair to Ina. Ina, already an envious little goblin, takes it very poorly.

The Keep

Following the emotional altercation at Cenril’s manor, Lanlan is misery and woe, the incarnation. Though he’s quiet when he arrives at the castle at 1 reverie court, there’s no hiding it. The negativity radiates out of his body in the form of midnight colors long and scraggly arms, rippling veins and hooking claws at the end of gnarled fingers. They rake across every surface as he gauntly strides through the hall. There’s no damage to the already-dilapidated castle. The scarring isn’t real, but the screeching is horrendous nonetheless.

Why was he friends with them? Why did he ever want to be? They either hold him back or break him down, and he didn’t know which was worse. He chooses not to recall, in this instance, how Valrae helped him become archmage, betting her own reputation. No, he forgot that strategically. He didn’t need them or anyone. The world did though.

He paces a few circles, creating a horribly echoing cacophony before it suddenly stops and becomes as quiet as death. Then he appears just inches from Ina’s door. He draws his swift star-studded walking stick and double-bumps the ruby cap of it into the door.

Inas' fingers carefully slid over the ivory surface on the table, searching for any discrepancies in the material- some imperfection or roughness that would need smoothing over. Design was not a traditional hallmark of her works, not in an artistic sense, and yet- she'd felt some small pang of inspiration hit her when she'd considered the intended recipient of the phoenix blade. Valrae, Lanlan's erstwhile colleague- The peer who hadn't failed to believe in him, when others had doubted.

As though that set her apart. As though that were something special and unique to her. It was an ugly thought, but then- it only matched what she was crafting. After all, to call the foxkin inspired, would be to ignore how closely she embodied the worst traits of her emerald hues- how she'd wiled away the better part of several days building a menagerie of grotesque sketches and crudely designed monstrosities - her workspace overtaken in a claustrophobic chaos of pettiness.

But it galled- that Valrae could be his companion, could sit alongside him at the guild and follow alongside him without a careful array of false faces. Of the rules, and propriety that Ina needed to respect while playing the part of Aya.

Perhaps that's why there was only one item amidst the whole which was even close to passable. The basket hilt she was now holding, the Ivory having been painstakingly whittled down into the rough outline of tangled vines, the most detailed elements being the thorns. No doubt pretty at a glance, but an impediment to an amateur. And the foxkin could hope.

It almost made the careful work that she'd put into the piece, and the long hours that were still to come, a palatable prospect. Almost. But -nothing- was getting done now. Not when the castle had started to shriek to the high heavens, some ghastly sound rippling through death-cursed corridors- and leaving her questioning whether some wretched phantasm was off to stalk students and keep them tamely sleeping in their rooms. And then came the rap-tap-tapping at her door, of some visitor, perhaps- what a snore. "Lump, ...Sic 'em if it turns out ta' be evil. Or like, avenge me. I guess." Lump, bless his soul, remained indolent in front of the fireplace, his face cozily tucked into the midst of the blazing log pile. Leaving a frumpy, aproned Ina to beckon a ghastly phantom into her parlour. Or an archmage, if he'd so deigned to offer her something -other- than a heart-attack.

Lanlan offered no sign nor explanation of the ghastly sound Ina heard when at last the entrance was offered to him. In fact, he seems to be utterly serene. “I’ve done it, Trish,” he says triumphantly. “I’ve shed my last weakness. It was something that was long overdue, and it was painful. Like I had to bloodily hack free a piece of myself.” He was always able to be more upfront with her, because she accepted him from the very beginning. But perhaps it was that very fact that caused him to take her for granted. There was no heart to win over, since there was no damage to be mitigated. As far as he knew.

And behold her latest triumph! A true masterpiece in the form of a thinly bladed, masterfully crafted sword. Did he appreciate such things, truly? No, in fact. But he can recognize when a feat worthy of a recording has been performed, and living in the moment was a very efficient way to mask the pains of the recent past. “And who could this treasure be constructed for hmm? I must say it’s been many years since I held a sword in my hand, and perhaps longer still since I ever thought of using one.” He tangles his hands behind his back as he leans in to inspect it closer. “Though I daresay I’d be much more inclined to begin again if I held a thing such as this.” He leans back and nods. “Well done, Trish. Truly. Who did you say it was for again?”

Ina lights up with a distinct sense of relief at the appearance of Lan, enough so in fact, that she moves to carefully take his arm (by the sleeve) and invite him inside. Albeit, after a vigorous bit of hand wiping on her apron so that she didn't muss up his clothes. As he talks, she gives a fleeting glance out into the hall, checking to see if any uncanny polter-whatevers might be gliding into the gloom- but soon withdraws back into the room when none are found, affording the archmage with her undivided attention. "Are Ja alright, though?" There was a serenity in his face, perhaps, but the process seemed anything but- and had her fidgeting in place as she tried to get a better idea of things.

He was already moving on, however, away in a momentary mania that saw him sifting through the chaos of her workstation to find the only thing of value. "Ya might wanna mind the digits on a closer look- those ain't fer show. " A part of her feels almost protective of the weapon, the finishing touches far from made, but she manages to refrain from intervening with his exploration of the item until he's withdrawn. "If ya -want- one, I could crack out the measurin' bits, n' give you a once over." It's a fun thought honestly, and almost has her skittering away to go look, until he inquires after the weapons destination. "Ah." Her tails flick in either direction, but the disturbance never reaches her eyes. She's on her best behaviour, here. "Ya'd ... spoken highly of yer- " She's stumbling for the correct word to apply here, something she masks with an overdramatic slide back towards the table, so she can lean out it in an over-exaggerated fashion. And hopefully plant her hand over one of her earlier doodles, which may have been her attempt to picture Valrae as a goblin. It was going to find its way into the fireplace real soon, courtesy of some legerdemain. " You know, colleague. Our Resident Witch-In-Chief." Okay, she could stop laying it on so thick now.

Lanlan’s face cracked a little when Trish asks if he’s alright. A microsecond of visible remorse. A jiffy of anger. “I am!” Who was he pretending for here? Himself? Only himself. He had to pretend to be fine for it to become true. “Don’t worry I’m not touching it, I don’t want to make it…upset. I’m surprised it’s so calm. Well done again.” He considers her offer to make him one. Or pretends to, while he turns away and looks up in thought. “I was wondering when you would ask me,” he says cheering himself up with the relief that she did. “But I knew you would! But a sword? I’m not sure. Something more…” he splays one hand out toward a window, catching a glimmer of starlight on his finger to scribble into the open air with. It spells out ‘Refined’ in big swooping letters.

“But measure away, I’ve nowhere to be. No burdens to look after anymore.” Not other than the Mage’s guild and…the mage’s guild. Dramatically, he drags his hand up woefully to his forehead and falls back, where he’s caught by an airy translucent cloud. He floats on his back with his eyes closed as she goes on to explain the sword’s recipient. The closer she gets to admitting it’s for Valrae, the darker and denser the cloud gets. He opens his eyes just to look at the caricature, violently, before crumbling it. “The perfect portrait,” he spits. But it wasn’t Ina’s doodle he crumbled, it was Valrae. Hopefully, the foxkin wouldn’t take offense. “And what did she do to deserve such a work of art?” He rotates upward again and hovers over to the sword, darkened tendrils of wispy cloudstuff stretching toward it menacingly. “If it wasn’t you who made it I’d cast it into the sea,” he says. “Did you know she betrayed me? Murdered me?” Of course she didn’t. He wasn’t even sure until recently. “To save that monster. That monster! You know the one.” He rolled away, flitting through the air on his poofy levitation spell. “It’s fine, I’m done with her. Both of them.” He wishes. “Once that putrid unhallowed excrement is purged. And I figure out how to deal with this…bond. Thing.” He closed his eyes again and buried his eyes in his rubbing hand as he tries to smooth out the wrinkles of his recent life.

Ina might have missed it, if it was anyone else, but Lanlan is perhaps the one person whose feelings she is careful to navigate. And the compensation of emotion that follows . . . They are who they are, and the rigours of maintaining the facade correctly are not lost on her.

But he's in the moment, and she'll accept it- because whatever it is that lurks beneath, this is distracting. It's providing something to focus on to make the fiction a reality- a rebound or refuge into the mask. And if it meant falsifying a bit of the enthusiasm she might normally hold for playing the part of the eager couturier, so be it. She'd find her stride- as he found the words to express himself.

That said, there's still a certain degree of awkwardness when he catches her in the act of disposing evidence- the attention to detail required for illusions sussing out her attempts at torching her artistic interpretation of Cenrils mayor. The -relief- that's felt when his bitterness is aimed at the subject, and not the artist is palpable. "...I didn't know she'd hurt ya." comes the quiet response, an awkward admission that sees her turning on her heels to begin sifting through her workspace.

"I thought she was- important to ya'. So I was tryin' ta- ..ta be useful to ya. Make everythin' easier." Though maybe, that wasn't entirely true- as she glances again at the weapon's hilt. Her fingers flex into the mounds of paper that had been committed to designs, and she takes a moment to try and process her motivations, even as Lanlan begins to tally up the woman's sins.

It's a bit too much- the first hints of vulpine claws starting to shear through the civil guise she's so careful to cultivate, and making a further mess of things, "She'd a' gotten' an express delivery of an Arsonry Kit if I'd known."

It's only after a few measured breathes that she can slip back into the character she was trying to be- procuring a hooked strip of marked fabric from one of the tables, so that she can hop over to Lanlan, trying to distract herself with the process of getting an accurate measurement of his limbs, even as he tried to sort his own troubled thoughts, "I'll fix it so it's a fitting prize fer her, don't worry 'bout that, Lan." She slides around, one end of the hooked fabric placed at his sleeve, even as she stretches it out to figure out the proper length of his arm. "A new cane maybe, given yer official office? Or were you thinkin' somethin' a bit more subtle? I can work with ya' however ya'd like." A mental note is made of the numbers, even as she begins to cycle through the other numbers she might need, both for this, endeavour, and any other possible future projects. And perhaps, she might just double-check. For thoroughness sake.

“I didn’t know she did either! She only told me because she had to.” He could understand why of course. Their friendship was fragile. The crime was in letting him believe all this time that it was his doing, even if he never actually admitted guilt. But it wasn’t only his mistakes that needed to be overcome like everyone seemed to think. Everyone, he thought, including Valrae. “It was chaos, there was no way for me to know.” Now it sounds almost like he's compensating for something. Denial, for instance. “I should’ve known,” he admits just as quickly as he realizes. And right after that, he realizes something even worse. “She’d do it again too. I was an acceptable casualty. Worth nothing more than a spell component – a piece of string, a prism, a rock.” He could’ve went on moaning, but Trish changes a bit, it seems to him.

Just a small amount of venom in her voice, he thinks. A tiny stinger, but all of it for Valrae, and all of it on his behalf. It seemed particularly poignant since he hasn’t known her to even be capable of malice. It’s enough to interrupt his thoughts and he leans over on his floating cloud curiously. “She would have?” He asks and waits for her eyes to tell him, not quite staring, not prying, but seeing if they’d offer anything up with a little prompting. “Hm.” In a moment she’s buried it again. And he rolls back over onto his back while she takes his measurements. He seems not to notice this as much as the new riddle.

Eventually, she’d come to his hand furthest away from her though, and there she’d find a small box, tied closed with a little bow. Once she finds it he’d explain. “I got these for you after the bazaar a while ago.” He doesn’t explain that he felt bad for being cruel to her before then, or why he’d taken so long to give it to her. Inside were two things, or maybe three. The first was a primitive wood carving of a snake. Its wise and appraising eyes and pursed mouth resting on a wavy cylinder of etched coils. And then a pair of gloves; black leather on the outside, seeming to be very mundane. But inside was a crowd of runes all designed for one particular purpose. To learn the potential of a magical item. Only one, but it could impart perhaps some insight on how to make it, or even snatch the power from the item completely. It doesn’t feel bad to have someone on your side who doesn’t even know all the facts.

Ina's boisterousness briefly finds itself muted, an awkward silence hanging between them as the whole of his attention falls on her- as he prompts her for an answer to those pangs of mercurial malice that slip to the surface. An answer she's uncertain she can give, not for a lack of sincerity, but for the sake of it. Before she can start to flush properly, her attention flicks down suddenly finding a great deal of interest in the process of measuring his waist- "Ja heard me." There's still an underlying fierceness there, but without a sense of indignation to bounce off, the vixen allows it to settle- slowly regaining the pace she'd been establishing.

It also means that if he decides to try and meet her gaze again, she's braced for the moment- insomuch as tactically crossing her eyes counts.

Still, awkward defensive mechanisms aside, she does find her way to his gift- looping the fabric about his arm so she can instead take up the items she'd offered up. "Ooo." The carving was a curiosity to be sure, and she couldn't resist slipping her fingers over its details, searching for any little oddity that might help to identify it. That said, blindly intuiting can only hold her attention for so long, and that's when she takes up the gloves- donning them with all due haste. Admittedly, said haste comes less from an understanding of their mechanisms, and more from the simple opportunity they provided. And yet, though her hand briefly lingers between them both, she lowers it all the same, before offering a deliberately exaggerated pantomime of a curtsey, "Ah, such gen'rosity. Whateva' did I do ta' deserve it, boss?" Beyond being the best, Inner Ina exults. This may have done worlds to restoring a crooked facsimile of a grin to her face, even if it does occasionally waver.

Lanlan can hardly hide how flattered he is to hear that Ina would set fire to Valrae’s life for harming him. It makes him feel suddenly dreamy and rested, and he can’t resist checking on her again, some curious glint in his eye. That’s when he sees hers crossed and goofy in anticipation. “Ha!” He guffaws once and suppresses it joyously before closing his eyes. Somehow it seemed like she taught him a lesson with that look, he doesn’t know what he learned but it somehow makes him feel only good things. He’s proud when she dons the gloves so quickly, assuming that it’s a compliment to his taste. “I don’t think you did anything in particular,” he says for why he got them. “I was just there and I saw them and I thought of you. And I thought you might like them. I got some for me too, see?” From a hidden compartment in his sleeve, he draws out a similar pair of gloves, and a peacock figurine clearly carved in the same style. Suddenly he wondered if the gift was diminished since he also got it for himself. Was it less special?

“You know, I was thinking about the day we first met,” he says, his tone hinting at something perhaps meaningful and profound. “Sometimes I think about that day.” He rolled over on his cloud and pushed its voluptuous pillowy poofs down with his hands so he could peek over them at Ina. “We’ve been working too much I think. Don’t you think?”

Ina takes a few more moments to flex her fingers in her newest fashion accessory, before she actually remembers that she should be maintaining at least some air of professionalism, hopping over to the desk to begin jotting down the measurements she'd taken. Though, it'd be a while yet before she actually bothers to look at those numbers closer in order to figure out the proper math for whatever weapon would wind its way into his hand- or impromptu visits to a certain seamstress. Still, that refuge into professionalism can only last so long, and thus she finds herself wheeling around to once more face him- her arms outstretched to other side as she balances on one foot. "Well." The grin she offers might have come close to reflecting his own, though she manages to get a hold of it, "S'nice to be thought of, honestly. 'Specially given I have that bad habit of slippin' between tha' cracks." One gloved hand plops over her chest as she begins to make an overdramatized swoon, though she seems to catch herself midway, tilting around to try and find purchase on his nimbus.

Or fail and flail, if it's nowhere near as solid as it looks. Frankly, she's going to be a bit more off-balance when he actually gets wistful on her, "Oh? Oh." She might actually try and overcorrect to look aloof, or cool- which doesn't really work when you're grinning, "S'at right?" And despite all the dreadful things happening about in the world, and Lan's responsibilities in the grand scheme of things, she can't help but agree, "Yeah! Things've been too serious. We should figure somethin'. Like- a getaway! Jus tha' two of us." There's a pause there, as she bites down on her bottom lip, and then quickly adds, "Like crimes, so then we can do a literal getaway, Ch'yeah. Thas' what I meant."

Lanlan poses proudly as she flexes the gloves, which seem to fit perfectly. Of course they did. “I bought them from my friend Inks. Iintahquohae. Maybe you’ve heard of her? I bet I could introduce you. If you want.” He waits a beat for the name-drop to inspire the awe he expects. “You might get a particularly nice benefit out of those,” he says as he hands her a note explaining their purpose. Ina would be able to replicate the enchantment from a magical object, absorb it in the gloves, then replace it on something else. Possibly expanding her potential when she crafts things, he thought. She finishes the measurements and laments how she is sometimes forgotten. It feels particularly heartbreaking to him because it’s true. He doesn’t deny she hasn’t been at the forefront of his mind lately. “One of the terrible things about people is how we seem to care more about the bad things than the good isn’t it.” Somehow he made it about himself a little.

Best of all, he manages to catch her casually with a hand, stopping her from falling through the poofy nimbus cloud, and seems to effortlessly lift her up into the air. Magically of course, and in a second, another cloud burgeons under similar to his own. He gives hers a gentle push, sending both their clouds hovering away in their weightlessness, bouncing off their opposite walls before listing lazily back into each other. He smirks, and concurs. “Yeah, we should. Hmm.” He turns onto his back again and holds his peacock idol aloft. Various threads of magic are channelled from his hand into it, and it comes to life in full colour. It wasn’t nearly as big as a real peacock, but it compensates by having a long trail of ethereal beauty chasing after its brilliant tailfeathers. “We could go to Larket again,” he says, letting the enchanted peacock act on its own. It seems happy to explore the confines of the room, leaving long silver, blue, and green ribbons behind it that gradually fade away. “Or maybe Chartsend. Where do you want to go Trishy?" A thought spontaneously occurs. "Oh! You know, we never talk about family, which is fine. But... Tell me about yours. Maybe I can meet them." Then he considers a pile of Trishes and Ayas and second-guesses himself. "Probably only for a little while though."

Ina kicks her legs off the side of the cloud, basking in her sudden acquisition of a bumper-card adjacent nimbus. After the excessive amount of time spent fussing with her project, the current distraction is much needed- coaxing her to sprawl deeper into the magical ball of fluff- and to simply spectate the trail of colours that springs into being- a localized rainbow, sans pot of gold. "Hmm. Well. The Larket gig was -good-, 'n maybe we can work a scheme ta' get a foothold there? Somewhere central ta' it all means we'd be positioned fer' when opportunity knocks. Chartsend is sorta... far- unless ja' thinking purely a vaycay, 'n all." Already, her mind begins to sift through possible bits of mischief- like introducing the locals to a Ponzi scheme flavoured distribution of Anti-Witch related 'goods'. But something else also flickers through her thoughts, perhaps a bit closer to her other calling, "Though, if ja had a mind ta' visit Vhys, our gold might go a bit further if ya wanna have a prolonged stay ..." And there was a bit of heist related business she could pull him into once they figured out the time. That said, further contemplations on the matter are cut abruptly short when she realizes the question he's posed, and she rolls over on the cloud so she's on her belly, both her tails flicking in agitation as she tries to get an idea of where he was going with that, "If ja lookin' ta' meet tha' rents- I don't think we're that far, yet." There's a lopsided grin, and yet, despite the correction he makes shortly after, there seems to be a sincere interest that has her teasing falter, "I doubt ja -could- meet most of 'em. Or would want to. They're drifters, 'n dangerous ones at that. S'why I tend ta dodge the visits I get from even my cousins n' tha' like, even if they're tha' more well meaning sorts." A part of her wants to clarify, but at the same time- even the elaboration feels like it might become too much, especially with his own request to keep things short. "Maybe my grandma, if she visited. She's...alright, if not a bit stiff. But otherwise, tha' best shot ya'd have at meeting any of 'em n' coming out fine would be my sister. She's tha' down to earth sort. Which es, uh, prolly why she futzed off on her own with some guy ta' settle down. Somewhere." And doesn't even write. She really -ought- to figure out where the hell she went. It didn't quite sit right with her. "Tit fer tat, though. I gave you somethin' of mine, s'yer turn. N' then we can figure out where ta go, so I can, uh- finish up on my lil project, 'n give ja my undivided attention." Which is definitely not her scheming to shoo Lanlan out of the room in case he winds up having a meaningful reconciliation with Valrae.

The peacock, after finding nothing else to do, or maybe after being quietly summoned back, returns to Lanlan and returns to wood. He runs his gloved thumb over its grooves absently while Ina weighs the options. “Larket looms ominously it’s true. It would be good to have a ‘friend’ inside in case anything came of it.” To offset the enemy if rumours are true. “Chartsend isn’t the type of place I’d go only for fun, too sunny. But there’s something I don’t like about those people.” It was their carefree, happy culture. They didn’t deserve such a thing while he suffered so particularly. “Ah! Vhys…” A place he would rarely think about, so secluded and far away. Probably not many thought too deeply about the place. “I’m sure we need something from them, even if I wouldn’t know until I got there. Elves have a way of acquiring things they don’t need, and I wonder what they’ve been hoarding to themselves these past few years with no one to unburden them. We don’t need to decide now. I’m sure we’ll receive an omen to answer us, now that the question is out there.” Essentially, their whims will guide them.

Then he’s mostly quiet. Ominous warnings of dangerous drifter types isn’t the response he expected (though it’s infinitely more informative than what he did expect) and he feels a little put off by them. Is he not a very dangerous man and not to be trifled with? “Don’t worry Trish,” he says with a sigh. “I would protect you if they ever came around to collect whatever it is you stole from them.” Of course, it’s the sister who truly piques his interest. Someone perhaps tangible that he could even one day meet. He leans on his elbow and gazes over some cumulus. “Then we should meet her,” he says conclusively. “We should find her, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard? You share the same blood, the same…other things, I’m sure. Yeah. Where was she last time you knew?”

He slumps back down into his cloud when she expects him to divulge his blood. “I might have a father, who would be back in Sage Forest if he exists,” he says rather boredly. “He wouldn’t know me though. He thinks his son died. And I’ve heard of my mother; heard I got her eyes. Dead, it seems. I haven’t looked in a while, though. Hm.” He continues sinking into his cloud until his legs gradually punch through the bottom of it, and he lands on his feet. “Alright, alright, I’ll let you have some space to finish up here,” he says, as he finds the door again. He never found much about the Lady (or matron?) in the times he looked, but that might say more about his resources back then than about her elusiveness.

Ina takes the gradual of gravity affecting Lanlan to be an indication that her own seat would soon dissipate, and takes that moment to swing her legs over the side and hop to a stand, dusting a few errant wisps of fluff from her person. "We'll wing it~ Def." And yet, as casual as they might be in regards to their future plans- she can't help but notice the pensive pause that ensues, or what she perceives as a sort of exasperation at the burdens of her past. And worse- he assumes that she'd stoop so low as to...okay, well, if it was funny enough she might- but, she still feels the need to feign being offended, especially given, "That ain't tha' case. S'more because I got Auntie's knack, but derelicted from my duties. Or trainin'. Whateva'"

She pauses there, gently patting out her tails in an effort to smooth out the hackles that had inadvertently risen in irritation, a motion she continues for a few moments in order make it look casual, "Should we? I'd taken her not writin' me as a hint to buzz off fer' a bit." Not that it had actually dissuaded her, "She -used- ta' be Kelay bound, but she definitely ain't there now, given that's where I used ta' be,"

She huffs at no one in particular, before moving over to the worktable, to once more take up the blade she'd been working on. "Maybe we can go huntin' round yer family tree too. Since if ja got any long list siblings or cousins." The swords scooped from the table, if only to be haphazardly swiped through the air, with all the enthusiasm and recklessness of an untrained idiot,. A motion which actually serves to cut her hand on one of the thorns protruding from the hilt, though she maintains a brave face as she salutes towards Lan's departing figure, "Long lost family pets? ...We'll figure it out. Talk to ya later, in any case, boss."

*A surprisingly nice looking letter, albeit powdered in a combination of baking powder and soot*

Dear Dark Forest Dame, Or Tessa. Am I supposed to use titles? I can- though tryna figure out if I should say Patron, or Matron, in retrospect- seems like it should be saved for people who have unresolved issues.

I'm not judgin', that just ain't fer me.

Anyways. Hi! It's Trish, though ya' probably could tell.  I know last time I'd made a small request in exchange for that 'item of interest' that I'd fired your way. While I get it can take a while fer' invoices ta be processed- and I admit my own travel habits probably complicate that, a recent occurrence has led me to wanting ta' balancin' our account- and in a way I feel is probably a decent deal.

Basically, 'n not ta gossip- but I found myself needin' ta put someone in their place. Which is a whole story fer' another time. BUT. To that end, i was needing a little info. Either on something that basically equated to 'Frogs fer days', or a curse somewhere along that line that I could bake into a little somethin' somethin'.

Much appreciated~ Trish. Obviously. Because I already wrote my name in earlier. P.S. The tourneys' been rad, and I'm sorry I haven't made more merch. P.P.S. We -should- talk merch. P.S.S. (Is this how it goes?) Lemme know if ja need anythin'.

The Note Back

Dear Trish,

There's no need to be so formal 'Tessa' is fine.

I will gladly write a Custom Curse for you, but we have to come up with a name with no more than 3 spaces(-'s may also replace spaces), making the name no more than 4 words long.

Example: Froggy Curse of Frognation

After the “Endless Frog Rain” curse is written on a scroll it can then be utilized a few different ways. If by “bake into a little somethin' somethin',” you mean literally bake into something, then I can use this scroll to create an alchemist extract that I will turn into a potion for you but it might cause “Endless Frog Vomit” instead.

I won’t be held responsible for that, but I’ll do it for you if you insist.

Tessa~

P.S. I told my Master of Coin to go ahead and waive any trade restrictions and permits for your merch. You're welcome. P.S.S. If you drop Kanna, my co-host, a line, she can advertise something for you.

P.S.S.S. If you hear about any magic artifacts and the like, send a letter my way. I’m always buying.

P.S.S.S.S. Also I might need your help fatally pranking the vampire houses. They're too smug. Thanks in advance.

More Fox Mail, Neat

Dear Tessa,

Does 'Stress-Induced Frog-Vom' work?  I looked through a Thesaurus Rex for a bit, but Effluence had some. uh, some meanings ta it, that I wasn't good with. Wasn't gonna take tha' chance. 

Still, I think this one covers tha' bases. Which, uh speakin' of. This is less literal bakin' and more. Well, okay, it will literally be baked, but more inta something forge-like than, food-like. Though, if tha' potion might react poorly ta-heat, I can find a way ta properly apply it. 

Would a Patina work?

Pff Responsibility. I'll be fine.

~Trish

P.S. You are too good ta' me. P.S.S. (I Guess. You sure you don't add more P'S?)  Anyways,  -Too- good. Gosh, I gotta find dat girl. I had some samples I wanted ta see distributed for tha' next match.

P.S.S.S. I may have somethin' for ya in time. Just been lookin' after some acquisitions in tha' interim.

P.S.S.S.S. I'd say tell me more, but we both know people are nosy. So, Call it a date- over tea n' toast- because boy, i wanna hear who ja gonna roast.

P.S.S.S.S.S. But actually, not tea. Please. Anythin' but. I may have botched somethin' in tha' kitchen, and I jus' need sweets.

{PC|Lanlan}{PC|Arlyeon}{PC|Quintessa}