RP:Regency Revealed
Part of the Welcome To The End Of Eras Arc
Summary: In the aftermath of Kasyr's return, Iintahquohae reunites with her sire and wheels are set into motion for Vailkrin's new era. Kasyr delivers some very unexpected and unbelievable news. It's fine.
Blood Fountain
This historic fountain has been magically restored, though with differences. The outer wall stands three feet high in a perfect circle, and a central pedestal rises a foot above that. On this have been raised two figures carved of pure white stone, a noble Lord and Lady of proud bearing, both obviously vampires. They are dressed in elegant robes, the embroidery depicted by fine, spidery engravings on the stone itself. Around the outside of the pool are carved, in slightly less detail than the statues above, depictions of all the races that may be sired, each in a vampiric form. The pool is already filled with bland but nutritious blood, the pipes creating a hypnotic spiraling motion as it flows in a clockwise direction. To the south a dimming path leads to high and ornate iron gates, beyond which may be glimpsed the tops of tombstones glinting below the bright moon as well as several larger buildings, and to the north seems to lie another hub of activity for the citizens and visitors of Vailkrin, to judge by the stream of nobles,commoners, traders and ruffians alike that are constantly treading to and fro.
Kasyr is tired, though it's more a state of mind, than any real sort of fatigue. Ever since his speech, he's been doing his best to ferry denizens and refugees alike towards safe points, whether it be the graveyard, the castle, or the estates which have been reclaimed and offered their aid. Some, too, have decided upon the perilous trek to the forest- either to seek sanctuary with the necromancer guild, or the Blackwells- with only the brave and foolhardy striking out into the woods themselves in order to claim an encampment. It's this last development that the Kensai is currently navigating- if only because of the hazards posed by both the creatures native to the woods, as well as the corrupted skeletons still lurking. A task which is now being delegated to a squadron of castle Guardsmen. "I'm not -asking- you to dive head first into the forest to play nursemaid. I am -telling- you to place patrols near the forest, so they have support -when- they need it." He probably should have said 'if', but the woods aren't kind, even at the best of times. Still, with the population surge due to both the attack on Trist'oth -and- all the undead Caluss had accumulated until that point, space was currently an issue. And that was another issue- his call to the other heads of houses had been answered, and he still had yet to answer the Lady Ventra's question. -What- was it again. . . . "Right. No. I can't promise you a timeline for the streets to be clear, or when things will be back to normal. We still need to take a- Census, Oui. To find out how many sentient undead there are. How many -want- to continue on as they are. How many of the corpse are irreperably corrupted, or -should- be laid to rest." Identifying features or the ilk - was possibly something to consider, but the sheer number made it a horrific endeavour to contemplate. "That said, I will do my best to help facilitate the repairs to your estate." It did help to essentially have longterm investments in Vailkrins construction sector, due to partially legitimazing certain shell companies Ginger had established, oh so long ago. ...Discreetly ordering some vassals to reclaim Torradors assets to better fund the restoration -also- helped. It was in the midst of these mulings that he realizes he was being observed, "Lord Asharam. Un plaisir." He supposed. The man -was- wearing the jacket that Inks had made for him, which was probably a good sign.
Iintahquohae couldn't have tuned out Kasyr's voice if she tried. In truth, she's really only half listening as his voice rattles the windows of her shop's upper floor, where the seamstress tugging on a sweater before stepping out into the street to track her sire down. How her shop managed to stay upright is an outright miracle or sheer stubborn will. Either way, she'll accept the good luck. Her employees have shepherded survivors in, but they're clueless on how else to help from there. They're a clothier and a jeweler, not a clinic. The cheap fabric can double as bandages, she guesses. Stairs are taken two at a time down to the shop floor, vulpine ears momentarily pressed flat against her skull in effort to muffle some of the noise. It isn't working. It's fine. Probably. What she half-listened to Kasyr said sounded fine. By Vailkrin's standards. Question is, was Kasyr fine? ...By Vailkrin's standards? Or their House's standards? Were the two even considered one and the same? Whatever the case happened to be, the seamstress wove and shoved her way through the mess and people, dead or alive, that filled the streets. An odd sort of thrill accompanied her that she couldn't quite place. It reminded her of the first time she took a walk in Vailkrin. Her human days. The thought stays long enough for her gaze to turn skyward briefly, brown eyes narrowing a bit as if she were checking for any new holes. Her footsteps are automatic – honed in on roughly where Kasyr just happened to be, but the seamstress had to slow down at the sight of a chair leg peeking out of some wreckage and give it a sharp tug to free it and casually carry it over her shoulder. For memory's sake. Once her sire was within view, a glance gave her enough to deduce that he's a little busy for an outburst from her. The typical, predicable thing to do whenever Kasyr took off and returned would be for Inks to beeline for him, but instead she'll actually help first. The fastest way to clear a street of undead should be rolling them away, similarly to that one time Kasyr chucked her into the forest, but that may cause more harm than help here. So the seamstress works her way up to the top of a pile of debris and corpses, stabs her chair leg into it so she could collect it later, and swaps it for what must be a poor victim's leg, with some of the femur exposed that she managed to wrench free from the pile. That'll do for a very shoddy handle for an equally shoddy staff. Her voice couldn't carry across the entirety of Vailkrin like Kasyr's could, but she could make a bone-rattling shriek loud enough to get some attention from the undead around the remains of the fountain that might heed her magick'd call and ridiculous, flourishing waves of her 'staff'. The foot flops uselessly in the air, but some undead heads (and headless parts) were turning her way. Now wasn't the time for elegance or fancy words. Only power and easily understood commands. ...And a point with her leg-staff southward. “GRAVEYARD. HOOF IT.” It won't be a swift, orderly march, but it'll clear the way a bit. Eventually. They're slow.
Kasyr can feel a presence bubbling at the back of his brain, but- he can't fully heed it yet. "Azakhaer." Derrick didn't look pleased, no doubt due to the Kensai's lack of availability- though his tone liked that wryness that tended to accompany his otherwise dry admonishments. "You should know that since your sojourn to the isles- "..Right, the alibi. He really needed to thank Khitti for maintaining that. "-House Trintus has managed to re-obtain it's independence through our tireless efforts. Something which also pertains to Lady Colette Nasar's absence, given she's currently being held for the ransom of the Trintus Heir- and -worse- besides." To the point that Derrick didn't seem keen on publically disclosing it. Great. Kasyr can already feel a degree of strain in trying to maintain his neutrality. "House Ladaeth fares worse. In the midst of an engagement with the incoming forces, their magic failed them- leading to the loss of their patron, and a good deal of their experienced warriors. For all intents, the house is fallen." Finally, some good news. And it was made all the more pleasent by the seemingly smooth manner in which the undead seemed to be trickling through the area now, with the majority just trundling forward, while the more cognisant fall in line. "..Oh. One Moment?" Kasyr's actually registered Inks voice at this point, and her current vantage point- offering her a wave that turns awkward midway through. Still, he does make a brief beckoning motion, before turning back to Derrick. He doesn't fail to note the brief flicker of sardonic amusement he'd been expecting. "...You were saying?" Professionalism -is- a hallmark of the Asharam house, so it's not long for him to continue rattling off details, "While you seem to have ascertained the fall of House Torrador, given your current efforts-" Was that disapproval, or annoyance at Kasyr having seemingly parsed it before his network had. "There was another notable loss. House Alnwicks eldest made every effort to stave off the onslaught, but seem to have succumbed. While there -are- survivors, they are currently...ill equipped. Especially given the severity of the damage to the estate. A large portion of the manse seems to have sunken into the earth, due to a collapsed passage." There's a flicker of something on the Kensai's face, but he does his best to suppress it. "I appreciate the details. I'll extend my hospitality to them- their lordship had been a friend."
Iintahquohae ;; “Keep moving, c'mon,” murmured the seamstress. Should she shriek again to get more undead to shuffle along? Probably, but before she bothers trying she catches Kasyr's wave and his motion for her to head over. She'll shepherd the undead along later, but in the meantime... “You. And you.” She points out two armed vampires that looked like they belonged to Trintus while climbing down her debris pile, not without plucking her chair leg free along the way. The soldiers stop, regarding the seamstress with a healthy amount of unease considering her decision to dual-wield a broken bit of furniture and a limb. The limb is handed over to one of the Trintus soldiers, impatiently shaken when it isn't taken from her grasp right away. When it eventually does change hands to the puzzled soldier that decided to grab it, she motions to the undead shuffling southward. “Keep waving it at them so they'll go to the graveyard – and follow them.. Sort 'em if you have time. Fresher ones go to Larry.” He'd need them. Nightshade Avenue and Hemlock Way were disasters. “Thanks,” whether they listened or not, Inks heads for Kasyr, Derrick, and she can't help a grin at his choice of attire. If it weren't for the state of things, she might say something. Instead the seamstress listens while not so subtly sidling over to Kasyr until her elbow bumps his - a non-verbal hello. “Ikara and Maya are safe,” Inks interrupts for Lady Ventra's sake, and that's about all she can say when it comes to accounting for who from which house is alive. “Was the Corpse overrun? We could gather survivors there too...” Really she wanted to clear the streets out as much as possible and roll right into cleanup and repairs, but that'd be too easy. Or maybe the castle might be better? Even if she didn't voice the suggestion, her gaze bounces between Kasyr and Derrick, uncertain. It's rare for her, but Inks finds herself struggling to not look a little upset over House Torrador falling. They'll need to find something to do with anyone that might be displaced.
Kasyr affords a faint smile to the seamstress as she draws near, and an affirming nod at her report, "...I imagine the wards have long since been undone due to the mishap with the tree-" That comment seems to elicit something from Derrick, but the Kensai doesnt give it much thought, "But the building itself is sturdy, and at the very least- it should be comfortable as a means of gathering for some of the more ...fragile residents." As long as they weren't so fragile steadman's temperment would fell them. Either way, her presence is fortifying, and helps when he finally turns back to the other lords present- noting their own attempts at directing their vassals and contributing to re-establishing some form of order. Even the Markans had chosen to answer the call. They were almost all here, save for the conspicuous absence of the Maharan's, and Colette who now languished- . . . Kasyr gives a sidelong glance to the lord Asharam, "Do me a small favor- pick through the Nasar and Ladaeth estate thoroughly. I want every bit of evidence I can find for the trial." Still, that wasn't the most important thing anymore, was it? He'd called, and they'd answered- which meant the only thing left to do, was speak one last time. He cleared his throat, and began to speak- the words amplified, though only so it could travel clearly through the fountain courtyard, "I want to say thank you. For long months, I've struggled to prepare this city for this moment- and there may have been some hesitantance, perhaps due to the disinformation campaign orchestrated by the Blackwell Master of coin, many of you still chose to heed my warnings, and to lend me your faith." He pauses there, eyes skimming over those faces present, looking for signs of disapproval, or animosity, "Many of you chose to follow my lead, as you once did before- and offered to lend me your support, so long as I proved worthy of that trust." He takes in a breathe,unnecessary but comforting, holding it until the ghost of discomfort sits in his chest, "And now I ask you once more to follow me into the breach. To help me take up the crown again, and to help us find our place in the world again. A world that has forsaken us. Enacted embargos, sanctions and any penalty they can levy- because of a mad godlings vendetta. Because of the actions of an errant Spear, an ambitious cultist- an inability to differentiate our people from the disasters that thing wrought." He pauses here, allowing the words to sink in, and the emotion to cool in his voice, "I ask for your support, so I can help save this city, and restore it's glory." As the impromptu speech comes to a close, the Kensai awkwardly nudges inks elbow right back, a sidelong glance trying to gauge her own thoughts on his spiel. Perhaps if he'd -actually- had a plan, there could have been a draft.
Iintahquohae pulls a face at the thought that the Corpse's wards are gone. “...We'll fix that,” she quickly interjects, the instant she catches Derrick's reaction. She won't elaborate on -how- they'll fix it, but given the speech Kasyr makes following her words, fixing the Corpse's wards would add a few points toward reliability for House Azakhaer.. She doesn't let her mouth fall open too much at the words the Kensai says, but she does give her sire a very long look. He's serious about this. Taking it all back. His nudge is wordlessly responded to with a quizzical look. Her turn? The seamstress found herself more articulate in writing rather than speech, but she figured she may as well tack onto his words, though they carried considerably less power behind them. Only those nearest would hear, particularly the heads of houses that remained nearby. She's fussed with numbers in ledgers and pored over maps and regional papers for long enough that she suspects she has a decent grasp on how to correct a bit of this. “I'll personally see to it that this is repaired – improved,” she almost repeats his use of the word 'glory', but parroting her sire seemed a bit much. What Inks said, she hopes, would be enough from her for now. She already took great strides in getting Vailkrin's economy back on its feet, and she could do it again. In time. Figuring the majority of onlookers' attention might have scattered to getting survivors to safety, the seamstress' head leans down a little toward Kasyr's ear. “What kind of crown do you want?” She isn't teasing, but expression shifts to one that is clearly amused at the thought of plopping some fanciful jewel-encrusted metal on his head. “...And d'you think a tiara might suit me, considering I get to reprise my role as blood princess? Or...sanguine sovereign?”
Kasyr isn't sure what he expected, but it was certainly not Derrick clicking his tongue, and adding, "Don't abdicate this time." That sounded awfully close to approval, but the Kensai doesn't have too much time to think up a retort, before he's approached by Marcus- the Trintus lord providing him an earnest handshake, "I look forward to the fight ahead." Thankfully, that sums up the people who actually seemed enthusiastic about the matter- though there is a few small claps. Then again, the crown had always been a thankless position, and given it was the more level heads which remained- perhaps the result wasn't as surprising as it otherwise could have been. ...Also, spending several months setting up his hub in the castle probably signaled this as more of a matter of time, then a surprise. Kasyr offers an awkward smile to the man, and a dry, "Not too soon, I hope. That said, could I ask you to take over the oversight of this location? I need to convene with the, " Would she be a Lady Azakhaer? What formal title- " Dame Azakhaer about the logistics of this situation. I'll be looking to get a census made about this- I actually have someone who enthusiastically promised their aid, in mind." That said, the swordsman deftly takes the seamstresses hand, and moves to shuffle himself clear of the location before something has time to go wrong. That, and so he can snort at her remark without breaking his facade of being momentarily above it all. "One that isn't heavy- but I think that's the secret wish of every ruler. Looking forward to a life of luxury, par chance?" This latter comment accompanies a faint gesture at the somewhat more desolate than normal landscape of the city.
Iintahquohae took a step back while the lords turned their attention to Kasyr. This was his wheelhouse far more than hers, and she wanted an excuse to observe their surroundings. That contractor gargoyle is going to be invaluable for a fair bit. The title Dame Azakhaer received the same amused look she made at the notion of topping her sire's head with a crown. Easier than her mouthful of a name, so she'll take it. Before she can say anything, Inks is led away, and she finally breaks into more of a grin than her earlier, terrible attempts at keeping one hidden. “I'm fresh out of working elerium along with everywhere else across Lithrydel,” she clicks her tongue, feigning disappointment. “I'll think of something light – and yeah, of course.” Playing clean-up crew was something she missed the last time Vailkrin went upside-down, so Inks might as well try to find some fun in it until they reached the luxury part. She stoops to pick up yet another mangled limb in her free hand, dropping the chair leg to finally leave the thing behind. “I'm thinking something just a -little- less gruesome. Something much more grand. Maybe a little less blood.” Just a little. They still needed to eat. “Larry showed me some colored glass that might be nice for windows...” Her words trail off, uncertain which of the two of them were taking the lead. She decides the castle might be best to make it look better than it likely looked now, and begins to pull the Kensai in that direction. On the way, she has to ask. “Where did you go this time, anyway?”
Kasyr smirks at her literal solution to his comment, and her enthusiasm in the wake of the disaster, "I'll trust your judgement more than mine on this. I'm more proficient at breaking things then building then, quand meme." Which might also explain his past track record with empires, too. "Really, the only thing I was thinking- was just a bit more, er- inspired." Really, he's as lost as her insofar as how to continue the conversation, especially given that she hadn't been looped into just how much his choice had nearly cost. And while some part of him is tempted to be reticent, he'd been making a point of being more honest with her. He owed her that much, at least. "Let's. This is a conversation we should have inside. Maybe over a drink, or three."
Iintahquohae lets go of her sire's hand and moves a few steps ahead of him, primarily to give him an awkward once-over whilst back-walking. “If you're going to have the crown on your head all the time, maybe something like -” her fingers tap the circlet S'erok made her that managed to keep her curls somewhat in place. “Rubies and garnets are out,” she isn't sure what had her blurt that. Something in the air, maybe. “Amethysts are too purple -” She'll find some fancy stone to decorate his crown with later, given Kasyr's answer to her questioning his absence. “...That bad?” She returns to walking alongside him, right for the castle. Part of her thinks she should sniff at him to see if he's reverted to being a human again, because that would be bad news to her, but she resists. "Did you at least get anything good out of it?"
Kasyr is appreciative of the sense of normalacy that accompanies the seamstresses observations, simple concerns that he'd have room for- now that his life was not dominated by divine conspiracies. Just normal ones. "Well. . ." God, this was going to be terrible to explain. Really, the only consolation here is her abrupt shift in topic, since it meant he could at least showcase some of the fruits of their labour. "Vailkrin's safer than it was- er, present crisis not included. Et well, I can do -this- now." One hand is languidly drawn clear from his pocket, if only so he can snap his fingers in a motion that is as unnecessary, as it is theatrical. It also serves to likely distract from the look of concentration that appears on his face- as the space between where they were, and his room in the castle neatly folds- collapsing together like some peculiar collage, before snapping back into to what it was. "..Maybe a little moot given your sword trick, but, I'm still trying to get the hang of the rest." The added perception, and shift to his speech -had- been helpful- but as for the rest, her guess was as good as his. A thought reflected in the shrug he provides. "I did want to apologize though, before just- dragging things on, ou pretending everything es fine."
So he isn't mortal again. Good. Vailkrin's safer, also good. “So nothing bad-” Before Iintahquohae can finish, she's whisked away to inside of the castle, and has to resist the childish exclamation for Kasyr to do it again. It seemed -better- than her seam-splitting trick. Considerably more stable at least. “It's like you're folding – Can you see the seams when you do that?” She wanted to press for more, but tried to refocus. Vailkrin first, magical experimentation later. “...Well we have to play with it and see what else it can do,” but not yet, thinks the seamstress, given his suggestion that they're going to need a drink or three for...whatever Kasyr is withholding. It may be his room, but she wanders around with a familiarity that might appear odd to prying eyes. Particularly anywhere he kept his clothes. She digs through a dresser drawer with the knowledge that a bottle or two might be stowed away, and holds up a bottle of bloodwine by its neck. Her features soften a little at his apology. That can't be why he suggested drinking. “It's fine,” Inks says, dismissively. It's the truth, too – burying herself in Vailkrin's clerical work was leaps better than moping. The smart thing before uncorking the bottle might have been to take a swig before passing it over to Kasyr to brace herself for bad news, but doesn't. She's a big girl. She can handle it. Hopefully. Her arms crossing over her chest once the bottle is out of her hands is the most obvious indicator that Inks is protecting herself from whatever the worst might be.
Kasyr might have looked slightly evasive when she states 'nothing bad', but he doesn't clarify yet- instead just soaking in her reaction to the transition. "Not.. exactly? It's like an awareness and just -being- where you're aware of. It's -very- specific to here, though." In a broad sense of here, anyways. "I think insofar as things to play with, your trick was more fun." If you don't mind destroying the fabric of reality. In either case, the logistics of that bit of nonsense was certainly more fun then what he was preparing to say. Which is why he's more than happy to take the swig that Inks passed over, before he begins to search for some sort of cup or chalice stashed away in his wardrobe, "So, I'm figuring you likely gathered that my absence wasn't simply an expedition to the archipelago, like my official agenda stated."
“Odd.” Iintahquohae is tempted to try thinking of a place an seeing if she can pop the two of them into existence wherever that might be, but the specificity of it being 'here', whether that meant the castle or Vailkrin as a whole, made her a little wary. She's fine with staying indoors for a bit. “Mine is pretty fun,” she admits, even if it's a little fussy. His note was remembered partially for her annoyance that he didn't let her tag along for an archipelago trip, and partially for the seamstress overthinking whether or not something might be hidden in the agenda that he didn't make her aware of. It was nice to have her suspicions kind of proven correct, even if she had absolutely no idea where Kasyr went or what he got up to. “...So where'd you go instead?” The first question, followed by an admittedly immature second question,“And why couldn't I go with you?” Inks isn't mad. She's just disappointed.
Kasyr is almost grateful that his absence -hadn't- been discern as readily as the others, perhaps in part due to the tether that kept him bound to Lanlan and Valrae- and yet, whilst it was plausible it provided him an avenue to muddy the truth, "I pursued what was in the book. The one we'd gone over together." He let's that one sit in the air between them, with only the sound of two chalices being filled to otherwise breach the silence. One is offered to the seamstress, the other clutched onto so he had something to shift. "I could have transcended my mortality- but, right as I was about to do so-" He'd squandered that possibility. Or rejected the temptation. He still didn't know how to feel about it. "I resolved to make a different choice. I provided a space for Daedria to settle into the heart of the city- to convert it into a massive temple in her name." She was still waiting for an answer to his question, and as much as he wanted to take a large drink, to draw things out longer, he knew he couldn't, "But it required a sacrifice. Et I burned myself up to do so. So thoroughly that I didn't have a way back, not on my own." The glass is set down, his body already bracing for something, "I needed this place- I needed you, to be safe. Et it was the only way I could figure out, that -would- work."
“Ah,” the casualness of Iintahquohae's tone was meant to act as a mask for her concern, but it isn't working well. That wasn't a normal book by any stretch, and she's grateful when a chalice is passed to her. She doesn't drink from it yet, almost mirroring her sire in the sense that she held onto it for something to fiddle with. Her brows raise as the suggestion that Kasyr almost actually died, if she's understanding him correctly. He didn't die, he's right here. It's fine. She takes a slow, unnecessary inhale to settle herself down, and quickly shakes the notion of someone else she cared for passing on to focus in on Daedria's role in this. That likely explained the odd shift Inks felt. It didn't make much sense to her, but Vailkrin -felt- different. “So She's just...around?” Her free hand rests itself on the dresser, as if she were capable of gauging whether or not a deity was -in- the wood. Obviously the seamstress can't detect something like that, but maybe Daedria was in there. Or something. Clearly Inks is a little out of her depth, but she takes a drink from her chalice and while doing so, keeps her eyes locked on Kasyr. “I'm safe,” she assures him, appreciative that he'd consider her well-being a priority. “So not the archipelago at all.” Did the gods ever touch down in Lithrydel anymore? Inks has never seen one. “You went to Perdere?” That didn't seem right. Daedria probably had a place in Praemia, but she wouldn't know. The only plane Inks wandered around in apart from the mortal plane was the dream plane. “Or,” she lifts her chalice skyward a little. “Have you ever met Olric?” She's trying to keep it light. It probably isn't working.
Kasyr is actually a touch relieved, because as much as Inks seems shaken- the reaction seems altogether muted. And the relief only extends when she begins to question the shifts to their particular stretch of Lithrydel, if only because it gave him something else to focus on, "It's complicated- but, you could think of Vailkrin like a very large temple to her. ...If you squint a bit." That is a -gross- oversimplification, but it would suffice for the moment, "Je m'en doute- rather, I believe that you'd be hard-pressed to meet her in person, though." As the seamstress takes a sip from her glass, the Kensai merely runs a finger along the rim of his own, something starting to bubble up from the back of his mind. It comes in fragments- the memories of Praeia he shouldn't quite have, fitting together like broken glass- and filling his chest with a curious sense of longing, that almost fit lethal. Perhaps it was the unconscious knowing of that place that helped to fuel his death wish? He shakes the thought away, to the reason he returned. "I...don't believe so." But was that true? How many memories were missing, from every prior death- why were some retained this time, even if they were gapped. "Though I could probably make introductions with some other members of the pantheon." Awkward as the smile already was, it falters entirely when the last bit of recollection dawns on him, "I did meet someone, though." Lost to a form of academic solipsism that had left him dead to the world. To every effort to return him to his friends, and family. His lips twist, and he forces himself to offer a smile he doesn't entirely mean, "I found Odh, you know. And I think I helped him back." So much for honesty.
“So we're a holy city now?” She didn't consider Vak to be Vailkrin's deity of choice for divine reasons, but more of a 'he's the death one, so we should put up a shrine or two for him' deal. Just to remain on brand. The thought is enough to coax a laugh out of her, and her gaze travels toward the closest window. Bit drab for Daedria out there now, but they'll fix it. And now, Inks had a better idea for how to nudge the rebuilding (or rebranding) efforts. Drama, grandeur, an emphasis on music. ...Strings, right? Her instrument was a lyre, after all. Before her gears can turn more in the direction of how to make Vailkrin more Daedria-like, the seamstress can't help but scoff and feign disappointment that Kasyr didn't meet Olric. “Next time you're gone, then.” Please Gods actually not a next time. Her first thought as to who Kasyr might have met on the other side is, “You found her again? Est-” Odhranos. Her ears perk up immediately. She should have downed that entire drink, because what's left of it creates a mess on the floor when the chalice drops from her fingertips, smacking against the floor. As it rolls away, she keeps her eyes fixed on Kasyr, and doesn't say a word. Her expression cycles through several emotions. Disbelief, joy, anger, confusion, grief – conflicted. Kasyr wouldn't make a joke of this. The seamstress eventually, slowly unfreezes, but it's safe to say that she's just a few steps away from losing composure. She blinks her eyes a few times, in effort to hold back tears and to attempt to refocus. “...You think,” she croaks. “But you aren't certain?” She doesn't want false hope. And if he helped her husband back, wouldn't she sense it, somehow? Better yet, could she sense something like that? Is Odh's spirit wandering the castle's halls now? Is it- is he – even in Vailkrin right now? “Can I see-” No, probably the wrong question. “H-how was...Was he alright, when you saw him?”
Kasyr, of all things, had not been expecting the invocation of Estbel's name- even partially, and once it's actually settled in, he looks altogether stricken. The memories of that time and place are hazy, conspicuous gaps forming the more he tries to recollect, but not even a single fragment contains even the hint of her presence. But she's still talking, isn't she? Hoping for something- and he's at a loss for what. "I found him." That part is said with certainty. "Et I paved a path- but, things became a mess after Caluss was felled. Everything after es a blur. I -thought- I felt his presence for a moment, but-" But even now he everything was catching up to him, and still she was pressing him for answers he didn't want to offer. "-He was fine." He almost sounds bitter, something which he drowns in a sip of his wine.
If she knew what mere mention of Estbel might have caused for Kasyr, Iintahquohae wouldn't have uttered her name. The look on his face is mirrored by her own. She's at a loss for words, and what to do with herself, generally. Maybe cleaning up puddle of blood wine is a good idea, so she stoops to do so, tugging the scarf around her neck off to use as a rag. He found him. That's good. Great. But it didn't do her much good apart from give her some hope. Inks wanted to see him, but had to resist asking. Not after bringing up Estbel. She's more or less just pushing what remaind of the blood wine around on the floor that didn't get soaked into her scarf at this point. “That's good. That he was fine...” Her tone softens once her attention left the floor and refocused on Kasyr, as well as her features. “I'm sorry.” The phrase is loaded. She had a lot to apologize for.
Kasyr looks exhausted in a way that the meeting at the fountain hadn't managed to achieve, not even with the realization that soon the castle would be filled with a never before seen amount of petitioners. He can feel himself moving to a seat, the movements akin to an automaton. "It's fine." She'd asked him to be honest- but he couldn't bring himself to do so. "I'm sure he'll be back. It's not like he could just- forget about you." Except that he had. In the same way that the Kensai had been left behind. Perhaps worse, because there'd been a promise to be there, hadn't there. "Calice. It's just- it's fine." Just another secret, a little white lie to add to the pile.
Iintahquohae lets her scarf fall into a damp heap on the floor as she watches Kasyr move to a chair. She couldn't imagine what he'd gone through between his 'archipelago trip' 'til now. But she did know that she had to take him at his word. She trusted him. It's fine. He'll be back. He didn't forget. That particular thought stirred hope within her, which she tried hard to stamp down. Not until she's seen him. “It'll be fine, yeah -” Inks gets to her feet then, and approaches Kasyr. On her way to closing the gap between them, the seamstress's head turns toward the window. It'll be fine. Her hand reaches to gently squeeze his shoulder. “You need to take a load or ten off. I'll deal with all that out there for now,” she offers. Rounding up the remaining heads of houses to coordinate rebuilding efforts, cleanup, likely more fussing with ledgers. It'll be fine. “Let's take this a day at a time,” a phrase she repeated to herself since Odhranos' passing. She wouldn't nudge her sire from the chair to his bed, but she did just her chin in its general direction. Inks backing away toward the door. “Rest. I'll take over from here.”
Kasyr for the moment, seeks into the chair- though it's less an act of defiance, and more a desire not to contend with the weight of his own words. "I'm sure the days ahead will keep us busy." And perhaps everything would resolve itself neatly if he simply threw himself into work with a vengeance. There'd be no shortage of it, after all. "A bien tot, peut-etre."