Ham Sandwiches (Oziah/Jaezred)
Nov 16, 2021 18:09:01 GMT
Pieni, Jaezred Vandree, and 4 more like this
Post by Oziah Daybreaker on Nov 16, 2021 18:09:01 GMT
Following the events of Cultural Imports and Mysteries Far Below. Co-written with Jaezred Vandree đź–¤
A terrified messenger boy had delivered the spell scroll to Jaezred and left without another word. He only knew of a couple of people who could leave the common folk in such a state, and his suspicions were confirmed when he unrolled it to find a Sending spell unused on one side and cursive writing on the back, sharp enough to cut a man.
“Your cousin thinks you and I are sleeping together.”
His small smile widened into a smirk.
Turning the scroll over, he used it to Send his first message. No use wasting his own powers.
“My cousin thought that because she said you were acting strange towards her!”
The reply is instant.
“She started it.” A short pause, followed by, “But yes. I’ll admit to some strange behavior. The times are strange. The people even stranger.” Another pause, then finally, “Did you get my gift?”
He busies himself with the recipe for a ham sandwich she’d sent him, scrawled on the back of a drawing of a gnome and a sunset. He’s got his apron on and his sleeves rolled up, the Mark of the Spider Queen is clearly visible, but she doesn’t know that it’s new and most likely wouldn’t ask even if it was. Religion wasn’t a topic she broached often.
She’s sitting at the kitchen island in the tasteful Gilded Mirror suite, a glass of white wine in front of her and all pretense of helping him cook long forgotten.
“Were you at the Fort on the 10th of Uktar?” he asks.
“I was.”
“Did anything… notable happen that night?”
She takes a large sip of wine to cover the terrible face of innocence she’s trying to project.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
He frowns.
“You really are a terrible liar.”
“I’m too pretty to lie,” she counters. He nods to acquiesce her point. “I left Delilah a gift. The next morning it was gone, and so was she.”
“..Oh.” He doesn’t hide his surprise. “Was she… Did you see if she was.. Hurt or something?”
She shakes her head.
“No, I didn’t see her at all. I left it by her door where only she would find it.” It’s her turn to frown. “Why?”
“She showed up here in Daring Heights the next morning, looking like she’d been running all night.”
He cuts the sandwiches into neat little triangles. She drains her glass.
“Well. I suppose that answers my questions," she says bitterly.
He sighs.
“Lady Oziah. I know this is a little awkward but.. What do you know about her?”
She looks like she wants to sink through the carpeted floor. The humiliation and self-loathing on her face is as easy to read as the ham sandwich recipe.
“Next to nothing, when you get right down to it. She’s some sort of professional mercenary or intelligence agent. Trained well. Well enough to best me in single combat. She has some sort of moral code. And a cat.”
He nods solemnly as he wipes his hands with a rag.
"I know that she's a spy. I won't lie to you — it bothers me that we are both after the same people, yet I do not know who she works for. Imryll couldn't find anything on her either.”
"Maybe she doesn't work for anyone. Maybe she's broken free much as I have. And even if she did work for someone, what does it matter in this instance? We're all after the same thing.”
She grasps at straws a little plaintively, while her eyes betray her exhaustion at the politics.
“While I want nothing more than to take Langston's head I'm not overly bothered by who lands the killing blow. Are you and Imryll looking to bring them to some sort of justice within a particular jurisdiction? Is that what it is?"
"I don't know what she or Nicnevin wants with those two, I'm just helping them reach their goal." He pulls up a stool and sits down on it opposite her. "But...maybe you do have a point."
He takes the bottle of wine and pours more into her glass. There is something almost resembling sympathy in his expression as he lets the silence settle between them.
"We don't choose who we love," he says quietly.
She scoffs.
"It's not love. It's.. infatuation. At best. At worst, naiveté and loneliness. Regardless, she's not spoken to me since before Faust's memorial so I don't foresee this being an issue."
He gives her a look of understanding, replaces the wine bottle, and returns to the sandwiches, a small smile on his lips.
"So...a little fly told me that a few adventurers had a big group-cry together in the cocktail bar of the Mountain Palace. Does your ladyship happen to know anything about that?"
If looks could kill he’d be Disintegrated where he stood.
"I allowed you over to be fed sandwiches and drink wine, not because of any masochistic wishes to be laughed at."
She takes another drink, pointedly.
"Faust was an annoying geriatric and the fact that I should miss him even just a little is appalling. The fact that I've gotten into the habit of spilling my feelings everywhere like cheap wine is even worse. I blame the adventuring community at large for this development."
"Very well, very well...I shall do as your ladyship wishes."
He puts down the knife and places the sandwiches on two separate plates. He pushes one towards her — four ham sandwiches cut into neat little triangles.
"Here is your share...and the other one, you should give to Miss Delilah."
The other plate has only two sandwiches, both cut into the shape of a heart. When she looks up again, he’s already making for the door.
“I’m telling your cousin you’re fucking half of Fort Ettin.”
“I was always popular with the ladies! And the gents for that matter.”
“Get out and let me eat my feelings in peace.”
He pops his head back in the doorway for a parting shot.
“Next round of whiskey’s on me.”
An eldritch blast hits the doorframe a scant couple of inches above his head and he makes his tactical retreat smiling smugly.
A terrified messenger boy had delivered the spell scroll to Jaezred and left without another word. He only knew of a couple of people who could leave the common folk in such a state, and his suspicions were confirmed when he unrolled it to find a Sending spell unused on one side and cursive writing on the back, sharp enough to cut a man.
“Your cousin thinks you and I are sleeping together.”
His small smile widened into a smirk.
Turning the scroll over, he used it to Send his first message. No use wasting his own powers.
“My cousin thought that because she said you were acting strange towards her!”
The reply is instant.
“She started it.” A short pause, followed by, “But yes. I’ll admit to some strange behavior. The times are strange. The people even stranger.” Another pause, then finally, “Did you get my gift?”
He busies himself with the recipe for a ham sandwich she’d sent him, scrawled on the back of a drawing of a gnome and a sunset. He’s got his apron on and his sleeves rolled up, the Mark of the Spider Queen is clearly visible, but she doesn’t know that it’s new and most likely wouldn’t ask even if it was. Religion wasn’t a topic she broached often.
She’s sitting at the kitchen island in the tasteful Gilded Mirror suite, a glass of white wine in front of her and all pretense of helping him cook long forgotten.
“Were you at the Fort on the 10th of Uktar?” he asks.
“I was.”
“Did anything… notable happen that night?”
She takes a large sip of wine to cover the terrible face of innocence she’s trying to project.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
He frowns.
“You really are a terrible liar.”
“I’m too pretty to lie,” she counters. He nods to acquiesce her point. “I left Delilah a gift. The next morning it was gone, and so was she.”
“..Oh.” He doesn’t hide his surprise. “Was she… Did you see if she was.. Hurt or something?”
She shakes her head.
“No, I didn’t see her at all. I left it by her door where only she would find it.” It’s her turn to frown. “Why?”
“She showed up here in Daring Heights the next morning, looking like she’d been running all night.”
He cuts the sandwiches into neat little triangles. She drains her glass.
“Well. I suppose that answers my questions," she says bitterly.
He sighs.
“Lady Oziah. I know this is a little awkward but.. What do you know about her?”
She looks like she wants to sink through the carpeted floor. The humiliation and self-loathing on her face is as easy to read as the ham sandwich recipe.
“Next to nothing, when you get right down to it. She’s some sort of professional mercenary or intelligence agent. Trained well. Well enough to best me in single combat. She has some sort of moral code. And a cat.”
He nods solemnly as he wipes his hands with a rag.
"I know that she's a spy. I won't lie to you — it bothers me that we are both after the same people, yet I do not know who she works for. Imryll couldn't find anything on her either.”
"Maybe she doesn't work for anyone. Maybe she's broken free much as I have. And even if she did work for someone, what does it matter in this instance? We're all after the same thing.”
She grasps at straws a little plaintively, while her eyes betray her exhaustion at the politics.
“While I want nothing more than to take Langston's head I'm not overly bothered by who lands the killing blow. Are you and Imryll looking to bring them to some sort of justice within a particular jurisdiction? Is that what it is?"
"I don't know what she or Nicnevin wants with those two, I'm just helping them reach their goal." He pulls up a stool and sits down on it opposite her. "But...maybe you do have a point."
He takes the bottle of wine and pours more into her glass. There is something almost resembling sympathy in his expression as he lets the silence settle between them.
"We don't choose who we love," he says quietly.
She scoffs.
"It's not love. It's.. infatuation. At best. At worst, naiveté and loneliness. Regardless, she's not spoken to me since before Faust's memorial so I don't foresee this being an issue."
He gives her a look of understanding, replaces the wine bottle, and returns to the sandwiches, a small smile on his lips.
"So...a little fly told me that a few adventurers had a big group-cry together in the cocktail bar of the Mountain Palace. Does your ladyship happen to know anything about that?"
If looks could kill he’d be Disintegrated where he stood.
"I allowed you over to be fed sandwiches and drink wine, not because of any masochistic wishes to be laughed at."
She takes another drink, pointedly.
"Faust was an annoying geriatric and the fact that I should miss him even just a little is appalling. The fact that I've gotten into the habit of spilling my feelings everywhere like cheap wine is even worse. I blame the adventuring community at large for this development."
"Very well, very well...I shall do as your ladyship wishes."
He puts down the knife and places the sandwiches on two separate plates. He pushes one towards her — four ham sandwiches cut into neat little triangles.
"Here is your share...and the other one, you should give to Miss Delilah."
The other plate has only two sandwiches, both cut into the shape of a heart. When she looks up again, he’s already making for the door.
“I’m telling your cousin you’re fucking half of Fort Ettin.”
“I was always popular with the ladies! And the gents for that matter.”
“Get out and let me eat my feelings in peace.”
He pops his head back in the doorway for a parting shot.
“Next round of whiskey’s on me.”
An eldritch blast hits the doorframe a scant couple of inches above his head and he makes his tactical retreat smiling smugly.