Be Good to Yourself

Jigano nodded silent agreement, for what else could he add? Adjectives piled on adjectives and yet none of them did the sea justice. He now knew why she spoke of it with such rapt energy, and hsving seen it for himself he had no better words for that endless expanse of mystery and beauty.

Weapons were more down to earth, easier to grasp in hands and minds, and Jigano grinned at the question returned to him. "Rapier for me, swift and precise, sometimes paired with a dagger for close-work. I can aim a crossbow well enough, though I lack your precision with your hunting bow. Ronin has given me a lesson or two in fisticuffs, and Deimos has tried to teach me short sword, though I fear I'm far from his best student in that regard." To each their own, as the saying went, but having more tools at hand could only help if a catastrophe loomed that required a different approach than just poking something to death,

He grinned at his friend's interest, pleased to have his magic met with curiosity and excitement. "That it is, though it's been a bit inconsistent lately," he admitted, unable to reproduce his trick with the quill or make the metal armaments he'd watched Deimos craft so elegantly in the past. At least he had found himself able to do this much, the memories of herbs and recipes in Evie's books combining with his healing magic into a concoction that might not cure as well as a unicorn's horn, but should provide more comfort than mere leaves alone could do. "It's just a bruise balm with a dash of Healing magic thrown in to speed the recovery," he admitted with a rueful smile. "I don't have a fancy name for it... unless you can help me think of one?"

Maybe one day she’d return to the sea, to the undulating waves, to the potency reigning supreme over its vastness – how it consumed, how it cherished, how it swallowed, devoured, and promised. As a child, she’d basked in its sandy shoal, like another home, playing in its current and pretending to be a monster – breathing in the salty air, whispering into the wind, cast amongst its glass and veneer. Drawn and lured, like a siren, like a moth, like a flame.

She tilted her head, listening while she acquired snacks too, bar food tucked along the back, knowing every inch of the foundation she’d helped create. The girl was unfamiliar with rapiers, not a common weapon where she’d been from. Crossbows sounded delightful, but she did so love pulling the arc, the string, the taut, rigid strands to further precision and depth on her own bow. [say]“Training is training. The more the better,”[/say] and she smiled, the same impish grin, constantly willing to add to her repertoire of techniques, skills, and munitions.

She eventually sat again, bringing over the snacks, placing them along the desk before returning to her seat. Despite her mother’s scholarly, healing occupation, Melita had never been beguiled into the marks of soothing or mending – more apt to be applying the damage, the lacerations, requiring a salve or paste. Her eyes peered over it again, bruise balm, wishing somehow, as one always did in later years, she’d paid more attention to her mother’s carefully cultivated herbs and actions. [say]“How lovely.”[/say] A smaller smile then, while she thought. Considering she’d named Fangorn, perhaps she wasn’t the best choice for the job. [say]“What about Groen?”[/say] Green.

He had yet to set foot in the salten waters, though he knew how to swim in lakes and rivers. There was something about the waves and the overwhelming endlessness of it disappearing into the horizon that argued for caution. Respect as well as awe underlay his growing fascination with it, but the boundless curiosity that was his greatest strength and weakness was drawing him back, and eventually he knew he'd give in to it.

Snacks were a welcome addition to the conversation, and he grinned as she began to gather their fodder. "I should practice more with swords as well as magic," he mused, flexing his fingers consideringly. "I'd prefer to use my power for things other than combat, but this world is not always so kind in its allowances." As Remi and Ronin had learned to their despair. "I need to find ways to incorporate them together..."

But for the moment there were snacks and he nodded his thanks as he reached for some nuts, shelling them fastidiously into another bowl. "Groen?" he repeated, tasting it on his tongue. A smile spread across his face, delighted with her cleverness. "Groen for the green of its hue and groen for the groans that the bruises bring before it's applied. Groen for grown, as well, to pay homage to the herbs and green, living things that went into its making. It's perfect!"

Caution usually wasn’t on Melita’s agenda. She threw it into the wind and then followed stars, suns, and horizons, over land and over sea, indulging in leaping, in bounding, in courting feverish curiosities, in corresponding into the wake of rebellion. What better world, what better realm, than to sink her toes into warm sand and then glimpse into never-ending distinction, power, and predilection?

The girl nibbled on a few things, chewing and humming all the while. [say]“Hm. Couldn’t you infuse your magic into some weapons? Or defenses?”[/say] As Remi had done with her arrows? As so many others might have embedded into metal, into pommels, into shields? A shrug followed, uncertain of the protocol or the weight to its being – never had, never would. She had grown from unkind worlds, was used to the treacheries, the snap of demons’ jaws, the raw clutches of monsters’ claws. There had been naught else for her.

At least he seemed content with her naming of the paste, as her hands went to contort around the jar. She grinned, the world a little lighter. [say]“Happy to help!”[/say]

A question he had asked himself, as well, but he could only shake his head ruefully. "I've tried. I was able to make one item when I first discovered the creation magic in my soul, but since then..." He could only shrug, pushing down the bitter fear that Safrin had seen his growing magic and reached out to nip it in the bud, lest he grow even more insufferably arrogant in her eyes. "I've been much more limited in what I can make. Nothing compared to Remi and Deimos's abilities." Did they even still have them? He had no idea, and neither were men he chatted easily with. He'd heard that Remi had been found in Torchline...

And that he was a very different person from the gentle soul who had brought his daughter to a spring festival for treats and dancing.

Perhaps he should call on Deimos again. Gods knew the General had earned the right to unleash some anger on him for not protecting Amalia better in the Temple, though he might yet prove to be a better man than the bard had been.

Melita's grin drew him from the potentially dark turn his thoughts had threatened to take, and he grinned back, pleased to have been able to bring a smile to someone's face today.

Melita understood limitations, but often-times ignored them. She persisted. She hissed. She scalded. She layered and lacquered herself to strands of potential, and quite frankly, wasn’t going to allow anyone or anything to stand in her way. But perhaps she hadn’t had so many setbacks, so many trials, so many tribulations as the rest of the world: content in reveling upon Remi’s back as they soared to plunge fiery arrows into a blighted vampire gourd, biting down on enamel and bone when she plunged staffs and summoned gods. Jigano’s quietude only caused her eyes to narrow, a tilt to her head, a fraction of something beyond instinctual demand and command floating through the cobwebs and infernos. [say]“Maybe, in time then. It seems everyone grows in strength despite all the disasters.”[/say] As long as they survived; but what that persistence when the end result was more people gone? More brutalized? More torn apart? So that others could step in while they suffered? She didn’t know. It was an enigma, a quandary, the youth didn’t have an answer for. She could try to carve and whittle one, but it likely wouldn’t be the same, wouldn’t be enough.

Melita's support was a balm and he shook off the shadowy fingers of clinging doubts and second-guessing, finding another wry smile for her. "That we do, those of us who survive them, at least." His thoughts echoed her own but he didn't want to linger on their losses or the tragedies that had brought them here. Not today, at least. Not when they had so many other days to sink themselves in mourning and regrets.

Today was for catching up and letting their conversation wander from beaches to bows to swords to sand, discussing the summer hunting and the antics of their companions - Isuma, he noticed, had fallen asleep beside Fangorn and was whistling in her sleep beside her adventurous gourdfriend. He was in no hurry to head out until she'd had a good nap, but he wouldn't take up all of Melita's day. Eventually they wound down and the first of the evening's customers began to amble in, which was a good cue to collect the gryphlet and bid Melita a good evening before he headed off to find dinner and head home to the farm for the evening chores there.

[Finished]