RP:To Walk Through The Valley Of The Shadow Of Death

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Khitti's summoned to the bar by Lionel, who just so happened to simultaneously get some new info regarding Kahran and also get himself hurt, as he's wont to do. The two soon after meet up with Penelope and find out just how bad this plague going around has gotten.

The Whaler's Bar, Cenril

Lionel | It wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever been in, and it probably wasn’t even close. But that didn’t stop his ankle from throbbing with enough intensity to make the world spin around him. Lionel had disinfected and sutured the wound before riding back into Cenril, but his silken shirt made for a poor bandage and the cheap rug lining the floor of his rented tavern room was paying the price for that now. “Seven hells,” he growled. He pulled what was left of the shirt-bandage free from his bleeding limb and tossed it toward an empty corner. The formerly black silk had gone as crimson as sunset over Cenril’s beaches. The scrape had been worth it. Valuable information had been gleaned. That didn’t make the beer in his left hand taste better than the swill that it was. Living at the Whaler’s Bar had its advantages. Lionel could keep a pulse on a troubled city, one still rife with enemy sympathizers and scummy witch hunters. He was close to the Tranquility, which meant that he was close to his sister. And the bar made for an exceptional unofficial hub for all things Resistance, because it was so patently obvious Lionel was holed up here that any intelligent foe must surely have assumed the real meeting ground was elsewhere. The joke was on them. But the Whaler’s Bar had its share of disadvantages, too. For one thing, the barkeep ordered so little wine every shipment that nary a glass reached Lionel’s lips. He’d been forced to drink beer, or else risk going sober completely. Also, his room was threatening to fall apart at the seams, but he figured it would all blow to smoke and ashes if an attack ever occurred in earnest so there was no harm in keeping it dilapidated anyway. None of this was on Lionel’s mind right now, save for the pisspoor taste of his beer. Khitti would soon be here, and she’d likely have a mouthful for him. He hadn’t given her precise reason to come -- only that she come. Now she was about to see him bleeding on a cheap rug, kicking back cheap beer, and swearing cheap swear words in a cheap, dank room.

Khitti did indeed eventually show up. She hadn’t even thought twice about the lack of a reason for her to meet with him--usually whatever it was, it was bad. Okay, maybe ‘bad’ of varying degrees, but still usually on that side of the “What Did Lionel Do Today?” spectrum. Really, bad wasn’t even the right word for it. The word that usually came to mind was ‘stupid’, but it’s not like she’d ever say it aloud--she was just as bad at getting into trouble after all. A bottle of whiskey is grabbed on the way up the stairs, coins given to the bartender, and the stairs ascended. “Hey, uh--” The redhead hadn’t gotten very far into her thought as she walked through Lionel’s door, his room looking like something described in a horror story. “What did you do now.” Whatever she’d intended to say was gone, blown away on a blood-scented breeze, the question that’d replaced it not sounding at all like a question (it was a habit she’d picked up from Gevurah, of all people). There’s a sigh, a heavy one, before she took more steps towards him to close the distance between the two, a slight smirk appearing briefly, “You’re lucky I’m not a vampire anymore. You’re like a buffet waiting to be eaten.” Khitti hadn’t bothered closing the door, as there was likely a chance that she’d need to go downstairs for towels to sop up the blood.

Penelope had been meeting with other clinicians. Sargaso and the herbalist were searching for a cure—any cure. It was only a matter of time and the two would croak. The two were both ill, and on the brink of death. Before traveling back to Kelay for a day’s rest, the woman maneuvers to the Whaler’s for a bite. The girl could not manage to go further throughout the day without something in her system. There was a risk of blacking out. Luckily, Freya, an older woman with greying, dark hair is by the freckled woman’s side as they enter the bar. “Love,” Freya speaks in her elderly, sweet, and creaky voice. “Let’s sit at a table, okay?” The older woman is tender and rests the overly pale Penelope down in a seat. Penelope is quite poise for the state she is in. In her hand, she clenches a red stained handkerchief. The plague. It reached the healer. The frizzy-haired woman remains discreet within the bar full of patrons. The musky smell of salt and sailor sweat is nostalgic from the days she worked in Cenril. The girl is at peace for the meantime. Freya asks for what Penelope wants. “Salmon with two slices of lemon,” the herbalist says in a soft and collected manner. Freya nods and moves her way to the bar to order herself a drink, and make sure Penelope is well taken care of.

Lionel made a petulant sound and attempted to get up off of the edge of his bed. It was a fool’s errand and ended foolishly. “I got our first legitimate lead on Kahran’s whereabouts since he vanished, that’s what I did.” There was a hint of pride in his voice, which made a bittersweet self-deprecating mockery of the fact that he said the words whilst collecting himself up off of a bloodied floor. “First things first: I’m never drinking beer again.” It was a bargain that he hoped hearing himself say would help to seal, but he knew the odds were slim. “After this, I mean.” He downed the remainder of his oaken mug and made a face over it. “Down by the docks. Not all that far from the Tranquility, even. I shadowed a woman I’d long suspected of aiding Larket during its little stunt here last year. I expected to find dirt on the Crown. I found her hopping on a grimy canoe instead. So I hopped into the water, because there was no time to procure a boat. I trailed her, and thankfully for my odds of survival she didn’t go far. She stopped at a tiny island by the cove not a quarter-kilometer from the shoreline. I figured, ‘She’s going to meet with Larketian agents. Maybe even that Veinhardt guy or whatever his name was.’ Except nope. Wrong again. She met with a wraith.” He said it again for effect. “A wraith, Khitti. An honest-to-gods wraith. And of course, being a wraith, it immediately sensed me just as Hellfire sensed -it.- So that was awkward. I killed the wraith and cornered the woman. She didn’t know where her contact had come from, not exactly, but she admitted a new ally of Kahran’s is setting port in Rynvale in a few nights. It was all she was willing to say, and I didn’t have it in me to kill her outright, so I tied her to a coconut tree instead.” Lionel completely skipped over whatever it was that had injured his ankle. Perhaps intentionally. “Anyway, I’m starving. Do you want a bite to eat? I’ll pay for it. I’d offer you my flesh, but you’re no longer a vampire, and besides, I rather fancy keeping it.”

Khitti’s smirk only grew more as Lionel told his tale, all while he’s knocking back what’s rest of his beer and bleeding everywhere. “Yes, we can go get something to eat, but first I need to decide whether or not to let your continue bleeding or heal you up before we go downstairs.” She’d get around to finally commenting on his story as she summoned up a bit of holy magic to heal whatever injuries he was plagued with, “I don’t even know if we should worry about Larket anymore. That place is a lost cause and should be done away with.” There was no mention of whether or not all occupants of the city would be ushered out before the place was torched--Khitti wasn’t as squeaky clean as most would think a holy guild’s leader would be, after all. “But, good work,” she said, likely only boosting his ego a bit more, “After this whole thing with Lanara, I need something to punch and stab or else I’m going to go on another drinking binge.” Khitti eyed the bloodied mess that he’d made in his room; it would likely not be the last time there’d be bloodstains here, so she put cleaning it up out of her mind for now. With exaggerated flourish, she bowed before her brother and motioned to the door, “Royalty first.” Following him downstairs--and still carrying that precious bottle of whiskey--she’d order herself some tuna sushi with extra spicy mayo, jerk her thumb in Lionel’s direction with a “and whatever he’s having” before sinking into the chair of the nearest empty table.

Penelope zoned for quite a bit of time when sitting in the bar. Patrons were buzzing about her aimlessly. The girl is motionless. She sits in a straight position like a forced porcelain doll at a tea party. A couple people stare at her. Some drunken sailors wave a hand in her face. “Girl, you good?” The sailor slowly slips away as Penelope says zip. Maybe the world was black for a moment until she heard another voice. Freya. She returned. The fresh smell of smoked salmon rests in front of the frizzy girl. The world is even again. The light comes back. Penelope smiles as if nothing is wrong. “Bless you, sweet woman.” Penelope says in a more chipper tone—an over exaggeration. Maybe too chipper. Freya nods hesitantly before sitting down across from the girl. “Eat up, love. We have a long journey back to Kelay tonight. And a longer one at that tomorrow to visit Sir Fennigan. I just hope the man is still residing in Larket.” The older woman slides a napkin across the table with a worried tone. The freckled girl nods. “I’ll find him. Finn can’t hide away from me. I’m the death of him,” literally. “Freya… I left something out about today’s meeting with Sargaso—“ right then, the girl begins to cough, and her elbow catches the coughing spill. She covers her mouth with the napkin in front of her instead of reaching for the bloodied handkerchief. She hides the crimson spurts on her fresh napkin. Just in case people stare. Though, it is blatantly obvious that the girl is under the weather. There is no forcing health on the plague.

Lionel snorted at the royalty reminder. As for his ego, it was generally low enough overall that an added dash of genuine compliment wouldn’t burst the dam and have him boasting. The pain in his ankle was improving rapidly, though he wouldn’t soon forget the fear that arose from having a shark bite right into him while he swam rather helplessly back to shore. Lionel pondered what he’d order during their trip down the stairs, which somehow seemed to last longer than usual. Anything with chicken would be fine, but, much like wine, the barkeep had a vendetta against his love for chicken. Beef was equally rare, and when it was served, it was served just as rare, and Lionel had gagged the one and only time he’d dared try to eat rare meat. So that was off, too. Really, he should have expected a place called ‘The Whaler’s Bar’ to specialize in seafood like it did, but that didn’t stop him from grumbling about it. Perhaps he would try the smoked salmon today; he’d heard it didn’t taste quite so fishy as as that texalabaman trout and califakotan scallops dish he’d had trouble consuming yesterday. But Lionel’s appetite for salmon sank when he caught a vision in his peripheral of a too-pale woman hovering over a plate of it and coughing profusely. ‘The plague,’ he thought to himself. Was it another of Kahran’s antics? Probably. He mumbled something to the barkeep about having the same thing his sister had ordered and then strolled over to the table she had chosen, making to seat himself and ask Khitti if there was anything they could do for the poor lass, when suddenly he realized why his peripheral had taken such a quick zooming to the lass to begin with. “That’s Penelope,” Lionel declared, not even sure if the name meant anything to Khitti. “I’ll be right back.” He took a few great strides toward his friend and blinked to confirm it was her. “Long time no see,” he said, but instantly he realized it was a terrible way to start a conversation with someone who looked halfway to the grave. “Can I get you something? Is there anything I can do to help?” He didn’t have to ask what ailed Penelope. Asking would only put a word on it, and putting a word on it wasn’t something that he wanted to do. It felt more distant this way. Less… lethal.

Khitti || The coughing drew Khitti’s attention away from her brother and the barkeep, olive-green eyes scanning the bar’s patrons for the source. It settled on Penelope, crimson brows furrowing in concern as she studied the woman who happened to be sitting with her companion not too far away. The newly coughed up blood was hidden from sight thanks to that new napkin, but the coughing was all too familiar to Khitti. Several of her bakery’s waitstaff had gotten sick recently as well, none of them seeming to recover, a fair few beyond help. The color drained from Khitti’s face, but she did her best to focus on Lionel, instead of the seemingly familiar female and the old woman. Khitti had tried to ignore this plague as best as possible, but it was everywhere. It brought back memories of the recent past, in Venturil, as well as ones much farther back in time. A sickness brought on by death, a sickness that had to run its course, for there was no cure for it. All the while Khitti was dreading this plague, Lionel decided to leap right into the open arms of Vakmathras himself. “Penelope?” It had indeed been awhile, but it was a name she managed to place: she was the girl that’d asked about Mrs. Mallard’s bakery after its destruction by one of Kahran’s lackeys. Those same green eyes widened in muted horror as Lionel went over to his friend and attempted to give aid. What aid? What could be given? The feeling of failure crept up on Khitti again as she eventually slithered her way over to Penelope and Freya’s table, not making much eye contact either woman. Penelope was now another person on a long list of people that Khitti felt like she’d failed; from reports she’d heard, not even holy magic seemed to work on it, so what use was her guild? Khitti, for her part in this, said nothing for the moment, instead lost in the void of her mind.

Penelope folds the napkin in half to hide the stains on it. The girl wipes brief red stained lips. Freya looks concerned and slides the plate closely to the girl. “Here, eat, love. I’m going to ask the man at the bar for something warm.” The woman slides back from her chair and when the old lady stands, she comes face to face with Lionel. She sort of squints as he is looking straight at the ill woman. “I’ll be right back, Miss Halifax,” then, she begins to maneuver off to the barkeep. The frizzy haired girl comes back into focus from her coughing spell. His familiar face. Why, Lionel O’Connor. “Long time it has been,” she grins. A real grin. Internally, Lionel was wrong, bubbles was what she needed. She was still playing life lightly still. Her grace was still relevant. “Please,” she waves a hand. “Freya is already suffocating me enough these past couple of weeks.” She smirks. “If you want to do something… you and—“ she peeks behind Lionel to spot the ever-so-familiar Khitti. She could not place a name right away. “Your friend. I’m a little fuzzy, anyway, both of you should sit. I could use the company. I haven’t seen you since back at headquarters. I’ve heard your name through birds chirping in taverns. The ever-so-great Lionel,” she teases. “They aren’t wrong.” She gestures. “How are you two?” She avoids her own illness, but she is at peace of her fate. Although, the fight is still strong, she knows what the ending could possibly be for her. She had grew up around death. It did not phase her.

Lionel | Sitting across from a dying woman made speaking of recent realm-wide events seem a silly notion, leaving Lionel uncertain what to open with. He’d long since become so committed to protecting Lithrydel from Kahran and his like that talking about himself felt as foreign as that texalabaman trout tasted. It occurred to him now that he had absolutely no idea what to say, so he took a chance and spoke the usual despite his apprehension. “It’s been a long several months with little news on the enemy’s whereabouts, but there’s never been a doubt he was off licking his wounds and rebuilding his armies. Thankfully, we have a few leads now. The fighting will likely start up again soon, but the Resistance is better-equipped than it once was and the leaders of this continent now know that our warnings weren’t fables. The enemy is real. And we’ll beat him.” He sighed, suddenly aware that in his bid to lead with the usual he had completely skipped over mentioning himself at all. “So I’m good, I guess,” he added hastily. “But there are more enemies in our world than the tangible ones, the ones we see clearly in the night. Looking at you now, Penelope, I see that an even more insidious enemy has arrived, and it was inevitable that it would eventually strike someone I care about.” A dimness was cast over his face. “I don’t know if this plague is tied to Kahran. But if it is, destroying him might just destroy it, too.” If only he were right.

Khitti was hesitant to sit. Perhaps too hesitant. It hadn’t even occurred to her until after the fact that she hadn’t even made an attempt to mask it. “Khitti…” she said, when Penelope attempted to recall the redhead’s name, “...and I’m alright.” But, she wasn’t. She forced a smile for Lionel’s friend regardless, however. Her line of sight shifted back and forth between the two of them as Lionel spoke of Kahran and his absence before eventually touching on the subject of the plague itself. Unpainted lips pressed together into a thin line, teeth gritting behind them, fighting the urge to frown. “I really hope it’s not carrying over from the hell we just dealt with in Venturil.” Well, she mostly dealt with it. Lionel and Company had just been there to mop up the mess she’d made. “There was one in Chartsend, long before that too. Some curse some idiot unleashed or some such. I’m sure it will pass.” ‘Of course it will pass, you moron’, she thought to herself, ‘you know exactly how it passes’. “I’ve been meaning to track down Emilia, to see if our two guilds could work together on this, but I’ve not seen her in some time. I’m not even sure how helpful my guild would be anyway…”

Penelope is pleased to have the two sitting in front of her. “Khitti, right!” She loses control of her voice—again, overly enthusiastic. She wants to cringe, but she continues forth and gives Lionel the blankest stare as the man starts talking about the enemy. Lionel was always wrapped up in the adrenaline of Lithrydel. The girl is polite and nods along to the man. “I believe you, and I believe that you will find what you are looking for. Who you are looking for,” she finishes. “Though, although it is good to protect and worry, you think you might gather a few grey hairs in those handsome locks of yours?” She makes herself laugh, and the laughs slowly stump her into an almost-cough. She gathers herself with a smile. “I guess I’ll take the standard good.” She then blinks as he flips the subject onto her. She looks puzzled for a moment, but she manages to perk her pallid lips in a crooked smile. “Ah, the bug. Yes. I—uh, have been looking into it. I can’t confirm anything without word from a friend of mine—perhaps you should search around. A man named Sargaso. There…actually might be something connected,” she seemed hesitant to confirm, but the girl was hiding something. “But surely, we are not giving up on the cure to this thing. We found out some details, well, he did. He knows more. I would talk to him before he hits the brink.” Blunt, but true. Again, not phased. Penelope sits up straighter when Khitti talks about Emilia. “That is my role too. I told Sargaso I would try to get ahold of Emilia to help figure this out. Some medical brains. Though, I do not know how to reach her… I was going to visit my old friend, Finn Fennigan. My old tutor. He probably knows what is going on with Emilia,” she shrugs. “Do you know how to reach her quicker?” Freya comes back into the picture and sets a cup of hot tea in front of Penelope. “Eat, girl. My goodness,” Penelope jumps a little before cutting a piece of salmon and plops the fish meat into her mouth. Freya nods to the two friends of Penelope and then joins the conversation by simply leaning on her elbow.

Lionel noted the tone of his sister’s voice and frowned worriedly. Khitti had always been burdened with her own determination, a sentiment he could certainly empathize with. She’d also had her fair share of questionable turns-of-phrase, just like him, and he knew her well enough that a simple glance told him she was internally beating herself up over it -- just like he would. Penelope’s joke about grey hairs caught Lionel off-guard; he’d trade every hair on his scalp if it meant slaying just one more wraith, and he’d gladly lose an arm in exchange for a fallen general. Seconds later it dawned on him that she was joking. Of course she was joking. And she was in dire straits, so it was the least he could do to laugh. “I suppose you have a point,” he grinned. The grin was forced. She was fine company, Penelope, but Lionel’s sense of self-worth had long departed. He was a vessel to destroy Kahran now -- a vessel to defend his family and all the rest of them. It was an ugly way to live, but he’d regained his own sense of humor along the way, lest Khitti kill him herself. Lionel let himself drift as the women discussed the plague. ‘A bug,’ he thought. ‘A bug, she called it. Sure as rain on a floodplain, Penelope is a healer to her last.’ Just as Freya arrived, so too did a waitress with Khitti and Lionel’s food. Lionel blinked several times at the raw fish laid out in front of him. There was even something white plastered all over it. His smile was so forced that his earlier grin would have won him awards at the theater by comparison.

Khitti wasn’t going to acknowledge Lionel’s glance. She knew he could tell, much like she knew when he was acting in a similar manner. An actual smirk did dare to surface at the mention of Lionel’s grey hairs, but would disappear moments later. “No, I don’t really know how to reach her. The few times I’ve been in contact with her, it’s been purely luck. Aside from that, I’ve made it a point not to go to Larket anymore unless it’s really dire, even foregoing my trips to Cyris’ chapel. If you’re looking for Sargaso, the only person I can think of that might know is Meri. I honestly don’t know the guy or really care for some of the company he keeps.” Hudson. She meant, Hudson. Not that anyone really knew the reason why besides Meri, anyway. “She lives here now, in Cenril. Her art gallery’s not too far east from my bakery, where Mrs. Mallard’s used to be, so I imagine you might be able to run into her easily.” Her food arrived and she could only stare at it, yet not quite in the way Lionel did. She’d notice his reaction though, offering him a smirk and a shake of her head, “You’ll eat a goddamn seagull, but raw fish is where you draw the line.” Welp, the sushi wasn’t going to eat itself and not knowing whether or not it’d been around lobster, she wasn’t about to bring it home to Brand--the poor guy just -had- to be allergic to a sea-dwelling creature. With another shake of her head, she returned her attention to Penelope, “Even if I can’t get in touch with Emilia, I’ll do my best to figure something else out. I’ve seen things like this, back home, but I’m not sure if holy magic’ll help it at all. It’s not always as much of a cure-all as people like to think.”

Penelope smiled at Lionel who stares at the fish on his plate. Attention falls back onto Khitti. “If you wanna find Sargaso, find any place that might have possible healing remedies. The guy is desperate. I get it, but also, you’re right. Holy magic I am not sure of, but some healing definitely does not work. I’ve tried a lot of ways for cure. I’ve experimented on people, and my new mentor, Yerrel, he has been trying his hardest for possibilities of healing. Witchery, a few medications, herbs,” she shrugs. “I’m hoping Emilia might know another answer. I hope she will be able to also read what is going on.” She then pauses, and her face is flat. “I know what you both are thinking. Everyone does.” There is a long pause now. She takes another bite of her salmon idly. Freya looks at the fragile girl with a steady gaze. “If I don’t find a cure, I’m going to die.” Beat. “I know that,” moss eyes gaze at the both of them. “My mission is not for myself to be healed, although it may be a luxury. My mission is for others to be saved from this sick disease. I’m hoping to stay alive long enough to find a cure. I’ve been using oils to slow down the process. At least with the sores,” the thought makes her cringe. “I’m okay with dying. Some things are meant to be,” she says softly. “Almost like the tide turning, dare I say it, endlessly. I didn’t mean to rhyme,” she smirks. “But I want you to know, I’m all in to find a cure. Anything. I need all the help I could get.”

Lionel | Khitti had a point with the seagull thing. But seagulls were poultry, or at least Lionel was pretty sure they counted for poultry. This fish was not poultry, and to make matters worse, it was raw. Still, the fate of the world was held in delicate balance everyday these past few years, and Penelope Halifax was seated across from him looking ghostly, besides. She was talking now, in fact -- talking of her sickness, even. The least Lionel could do was eat some raw fish. Just as the sushi was about to touch his mouth he remembered the shark that tried to eat him and somehow gained steelier resolve. Penelope continued talking, and the words were grim. Lionel imagined the shark staring in abject horror as he bit into sweet, succulent tuna. It was a facade, of course; the shark would just try to steal his tuna from him. But in Lionel’s mind, the tuna -was- the shark, and the world remained balanced for one more day. The daydreaming technique wore out its welcome. Lionel could no longer avoid the ghostly Halifax. Helplessness was coursing through his veins like ice. Lionel could carve people up and light demons on fire, but when it came to plagues the most he could offer was a tissue box and a bottle of wine. If there was even wine to be had. Presently there wasn’t. There was only one thing he could think to say, and even as he said it he was reminded of something he once told Khitti. “No.” Lionel placed his fork down on his plate and stared into Penelope’s eyes deeply. “No. You won’t die from this. It isn’t your time.” His words were steelier than any willful sushi-eating act could rival. “We’ll find a cure. I promise you we will find a cure.” His mind flashed to that fateful night. Khitti and her vampirism. Somewhere out in… was it Frostmaw? Too many moons had passed. Lionel could not recall the details. In any case, this was different, yet eerily similar in its own way. “I’m not letting you die.”

Khitti || “You sound like us,” Khitti blurted out. She’d really meant that to be an inner thought, but her brain got those wires crossed and it just so happened to come out. It was true, though. Penelope sounded a lot like Lionel and Khitti did. If Brand was here, he’d lose his mind; he never really understood Khitti’s self-sacrificial attitude and Lionel’s didn’t make things much better. “I’m sure there’s a cure, or at least something to help ease the symptoms so that the illness can run its course and you all can be rid of it. The source needs to be found. If it’s magical, then there’s likely something fueling it. An object maybe, keeping it going like those different curses that’d been going on throughout Lithrydel. I’ve not seen a dead rat infestation this badly in a very long time. Not since--” Not since the undead had made their home in -her- home. Khitti shook her head, continuing on, “There is absolutely no way there can be this many of those damned things going about spreading this, even with Ferminville being a thing that exists. Someone or something is doing this. I’ve even occasionally found half melted ritual candles along the way to Kelay, some even near the bodies. There’s no way that’s a coincidence.” The templar’s own thoughts matched that of her brother’s, the vampirism cure remembered--though it was never really forgotten. “If I can manage to get a cure for vampirism, then I’m certain there’s a cure, of some sort for this.” And then, as if struck by lightning, Khitti got an idea. It was a bad idea, and by the look she was now giving Lionel, he’d be able to tell that the gears in her head were turning. Maybe… just maybe… the gods could help again? But, what would she have to give in exchange this time? She was fresh out of dead relatives this time around. Khitti went quiet, like someone plotting something, but did her best to cover it up by stuffing sushi into her mouth as if she’d just discovered the heavenly dish that it was.

Penelope :: Moss eyes widened at Khitti’s blurt. “I mean, what is one person if they die?” She smiles when Khitti understands. As Khitti goes into detail about how there might be a magical source. The frizzy haired girl leans in. A small hand rests on the table. Her voice lowers. “I don’t think I’m supposed to say anything yet… like I said, Sargaso knows more…. But he said that his friend found something—with a dark magic. A box, I think? Like I said, talk to him. Find him.” She stresses the last sentence. Then, she throws her body back when Lionel simply says ‘no’. The girl is thrown off-guard. “Lionel, do not make promises you cannot keep,” she narrows her eyes for a brief moment, and Freya rests a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. The herbalist shakes her head and eases her face again to the relaxed state. “You have to accept the possibilities.” Right then, she begins to cough and the blood comes out. The crowd begins to watch the frail girl with pity. A bloody handkerchief is pulled out of her pocket. She wipes it away.“Freya, I think I need to go now…” The girl suggests politely. Freya dips her head and stands up. Penelope stands up. “Please, keep in touch. I’m in Kelay, as of late. At Yerrel’s--his hut.” She smiles. “Lionel, I admire your optimism, but be a realist.” She then looks at Khitti. “Khitti, I am so glad you are here too. Tell me if you get ahold of Emilia, or find anything else out… Please.” Her eyes are straining now, and Freya holds the woman’s elbow for comfort. “Come visit, I’d love to see you both again.” The girl smiles. She then stares at Lionel. “And Lionel, fix your ankle,” she sounds stern, stares for a beat, and then takes her leave. Surely, this would not be the last visit from Penelope Halifax.

Lionel had anticipated Penelope’s response, but he had to keep his chin up lest her own fall down. That’s how it had been with his sister, and it’s how it would be for the healer, too. And that’s what she was -- a healer. Lionel could think of none worthier of survival than a healer. Despite his anticipation, Lionel did flinch at Penelope’s momentary sternness. He’d never before seen her narrow her eyes, and somehow it was almost as disconcerting as hearing her cough. Or seeing the blood on her handkerchief. He nodded at Freya; it was only now that he realized he hadn’t introduced himself to her. The Last Prince of Catal had more pressing matters, like trying to instill a dear friend with hope. “I will,” he said. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying it to -- the ankle remark? The request for realism? It didn’t matter. “I’ll find you. -We’ll- find you. That, at least, is a promise I know I can keep.” He gave Penelope a smile; it was as real as they came. He held his tongue for the rest, but he knew in his heart of hearts his promise of a cure would be kept.

Khitti || So there -was- something magical involved; Khitti’s interest was definitely peaked. Oh yes, those gears were turning, so much so that it didn’t quite register right away that Penelope needed to leave. “I know where that is. And if you need anything, I’m not far away. My guild’s headquarters is right next to the restaurant. Big place. Stained glass windows. You can’t miss it.” The remark about being a realist was met with a frown, but she didn’t say anything further, allowing the two women to leave. “I think I’m going to end up doing something stupid again, Lionel,” Khitti said at length when they were gone. Like two peas in a pod these two Khatalians were. Two self-sacrificial peas in a pod filled with a hell of a lot of bad stuff and nothing but stupid ideas to deal with it all.