Testing times – 11 Flamerule (12 July) – Sunday & Taffeta

11th Flamerule - early evening.
(Eight days after this conversation and these ones; six days after the events of 'Dorian's home'; three / four days after the events of 'Chirper's plight'.)


“Ma! Ma!” Aila calls, standing at the window that looks out over the small vegetable patch at the rear of the Thistletop house. “Something huge just landed in the carrots!”

Leaping up in alarm, Taffeta runs towards her and is forming in her mind the words Come away from the window! when Aila continues, “It’s like a deer with trees for wings!”

Taffeta slows a little and holds her fears inside. Arriving at the window, she looks out to see Sunday’s huge moss-covered elk – or something that looks like it, indistinct as it is in the gathering evening gloom. Still cautious, fixing her eyes on the animal, she squeezes Aila’s shoulder and says, “Oh, it’s probably just Auntie Sunday visiting. Why don’t you, um, clear one of the big chairs?” Taffeta can’t actually remember whether there are things on the human-sized chairs, but Idari has a habit of using them as tables, so it’s a safe bet; and it will get Aila away from the window and the door.

As Aila hurries off, Taffeta watches as a rider jumps down from the huge creature. They slap the beast on its flank as it takes off into the gloaming night, and start to walk towards the house. As they approach, Taffeta quickly takes stock. Her crossbow is on its hook; picking it up would alarm Aila but if necessary she can get to it and load it before the visitor gets more than a couple of steps across the threshold. Her dagger is in her belt; that’s quicker, quieter - she draws it silently and hides it in her sleeve as she opens the door a crack and peers into the dusk.

“Taf?! You in?” The visitor calls out, coalescing into the familiar appearance of Sunday as they near the house.

Taffeta steps out and stands just outside the door. "Sunday? Is that you?"

Sunday stops and spreads her arms, looking over herself with exaggerated care. “Of course it’s me!” She says, smiling. “Can I come in? It’s not too late, is it?”

“No, not too late,” her friend replies, not moving except to close the door behind her. “But… sorry, I… I need to…” She takes a sharp breath and fixes her eyes on the tiefling. “Could you say your name, please - your real name.”

Sunday’s smile slowly fades from her face and is gradually replaced by a look of confusion. She lowers her arms to her sides and looks up at her friend standing resolute on the back step. “Taf. It’s me. It’s Sunday. What’s going on?”

"Come on, Sunday," comes the tense, whispered reply, "You know what's going on."

Sunday take an involuntary pace forwards, before catching herself. She says nothing for a while - studying the halfling intently. She starts speaking again, her face carefully blank.

“Taffeta, I know you’re scared, I understand that: but you can’t stop trusting people. Come on, Taf. That’s what it wants. It wants to drive you away from everyone else; into hiding; into isolation. It wants you to force everyone away so when it finally attacks it will find you alone and unprotected.”

Sunday takes a slow step forward, raising her hands placatingly.

“And anyway, I could say my true name for you - but what would that prove? You forget, I owned Khingo; he was in my house from before I was born. For all you know, he was there to hold me under the fire during my naming ceremony. My true name isn’t a secret down there.”

"Then give me something else," says Taffeta, teeth clenched, fingers tightening on the hidden hilt of the dagger. "Stay there, just… Galavir, our first day in Galavir, when the others had gone out, we had a conversation. How did I get hurt?"

Sunday looks down at the ground and shakes her head, regretfully. “I barely remember even being in Galavir - let alone anything we talked about. A lot of that time is hazy for me.”

Sunday looks up to meet her eyes, taking in the expression on the halfling’s face.

“But I do remember something a dear friend of mine once said to me when she and I were alone, and I had my maul pointed straight at her head.”

Sunday gestures to the hand clutching the concealed weapon.

“‘Never aim but you mean to fire.’ Seven words that taught me a lot. So,” and her expression brightens a little. “If you’re going to stab me, stab me. Just hurry up, will you? It’s getting cold out here.”


“That tabaxi’s escaped, you know,” says Taffeta wearily as she puts a steaming cup of tea into Sunday's dainty lavender hands. She sits down next to her friend, facing the hearth. “Are you warm enough or shall I stoke the fire?”

“I’m alright, thanks. I’m always pretty warm anyway.” Sunday replies with a small smile, sipping on the scalding hot tea with no discomfort. “Ahh, that’s good - what’s it made from?”

"Paw gave me some leaves. To help me relax." Taffeta makes a noise that she intends to be a laugh but sounds more like a croak. "How did you get on with… whatever you went to do?"
“Well. It turns out that Dorian’s mum was a dragon… like, an actual dragon, you know. Red scales; firey breath; massive wings; deity-complex. The whole lot.” Sunday puts her mug down on the small table beside her chair and sits back in her seat with her tail wrapped around her. “She’d kidnapped Mr. Allenby - Dorian’s adoptive father, it turns out - to force him to return to his mum so she could drain his abilities. It seems she’s got lots of kids all over the place with a tiny fraction of her power in them: she waits for them to grow and the fraction to mature with them, and then bribes, tricks, or forces them to give up their now-considerable strength to her. Anyway, she wasn’t gonna let either Allenby or Dorian go, so we had to stop her. And by ‘stop’ I mean ‘kill’, obviously.”

Sunday looks a little downcast at the memory.

“You know, I just wish the others would let us talk to some of these creatures first sometimes. Ok, maybe not an insane, evil dragon bent on mass infanticide and world domination,” she laughs, seeing Taffeta’s raised eyebrow. “But I am very good at talking creatures into or out of doing things. Yet we always end up fighting everything. I guess that’s what happens when you have a group of powerful individuals trying to solve things: people in this place aren’t so hot at recognising their limitations or asking for help, are they..?” Sunday casts an expectant, teasing look at her friend.

"If that's supposed to -" Taffeta begins irritably, then looks away from Sunday, breathes, and asks, "What happened to Dorian, is he okay?"

“Yeah, he’s fine. A bit shaken by the truth about his mum: but all he wanted - all he needed - was to make his family safe again. He has that now. Luckily, he knew who his friends were and who he could trust with that.” Sunday replies, all pretence at being arch or suggestive gone.

“Sunday, I don’t know what you want me to say. Yes, it must be really fucking nice to know who you can trust. Much better than knowing that anyone you think you know could really be a fucking cat demon come to kill your family and make you watch. That would be a real –” Taffeta stops for a moment, realizing her voice has risen. “That,” she hisses, “would be a real kick in the teeth, wouldn’t it?” She pushes her chair back hard and paces over to the doorway to look through, checking for eavesdropping relatives.

As Taffeta walks angrily back to the hearth, Sunday bites back a retort, sighs, and grinds the heels of her palms into her eyes in frustration. “Look, I know it must feel like it, but you’re not alone, ok? And it’s not just me who wants to help. I’ve been speaking to a few others in town...”

The halfling’s head whips round at this and she stares at Sunday, mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

“...people I trust, people who care about you –”

“What people?” Taffeta interrupts. “Who?! Arvoreen protect us! What have you been doing?”

Sunday presses on, speaking over Taffeta. “people who should know what’s hap –”

Taffeta stands face to face with the seated Sunday and grasps her forearms. “Who?!”

Sunday pauses and meets Taffeta’s desperate gaze coolly, suffusing her voice with as much reassurance and composure as she can muster. “Paw, Daisy, Varis, Baine - even Grimes and Rholor. People who have a right to know the danger they or Daring might be in and can help.”

“Rholor! Grimes! This has nothing to – This is your idea of people who care about me? All the gods! Do you even know it was them? What if one of them was the rakshasa? Or they went off and told someone and that was the rakshasa? How the fuck am I supposed to keep my girls safe if you’re shooting your mouth off to half the town about my business and any one of them could be the thing I’m trying to protect them from?”

Sunday looks visibly taken aback by Taffeta’s words. She sits in silence for a moment or two, fighting to keep the hurt from her eyes before asking hesitantly, “Taffeta, what… I’m… I’m sorry. I thought we talked about involving the others. Has something happened since we last saw each other?”

“Talked about…? What?” Sunday’s change of demeanour seems to have softened some of her friend’s anger but her desperate confusion is still clear. “I was going to go to Port Ffirst and find Paw, try to talk to Karlessa, then we were going to talk again after you got back from Waterdeep! That was all!” She releases Sunday’s arms and half turns away. “I… I don’t know, you were saying all this stuff about the thing… regrowing, about going to the Hells… It was too much! Going to Hells, Sunday, how can I? How can I? I can’t leave them! You don’t know what these last few days have been like...”

“I’m sorry, Taffeta - I really am! I wouldn’t ask you to leave them. Not even for a second.” Sunday tries to steer Taffeta back to her seat as she asks: “Are Nerry and the girls ok? I thought I saw Aila at the window just now - where’re the others?”

“They’re up in the girls’ bedroom. Idari’s avoiding me. Oh, Sunday, I had a terrible go at her…” Tears are suddenly springing up in Taffeta’s eyes; she roughly wipes them away. “In Port Ffirst she ran off… I left them all in a room in that horrible tavern while I went to talk to Paw and this Karlessa girl, and then I get a message from Nerry saying Idari’s disappeared! I was so scared, Sunday, I thought for sure the rakshasa had got her, I was running all over the town looking for her, I even went to that prick Lenoir and told him he owed me a favour, he gave me two guards to search. I must’ve knocked on every door in that town, talked to every beggar, right into the night until I was so exhausted I couldn’t stay awake any more. Then next day this human woman turns up with Idari and says they’ve been in that hin village doing something with birds and snakes…” Her face scrunches up in distress as she wrings her hands in her lap. “Oh, Sunday, I was so angry with her! My poor dear little mouse! I’ve never lost my temper with her so badly! She was so upset, she didn’t understand why…” She takes a deep ragged breath and falls silent, wiping her wet face with a sleeve.

Sunday says nothing, sitting by Taffeta and stroking her hand as the halfing talks. “Do you think it’s time to tell them what’s happening?” Sunday asks eventually. “Do you want me to? I originally said you should leave them in the dark so as not to frighten them. But the dark can be a scary place - maybe I was wrong. Do you think them knowing would help keep them safe?”

“I don’t know, I can’t… I can’t think. It’s too much. What would I tell them? We don’t even know anything! The prisoner’s escaped. Karlessa was useless. Paw’s gone to try to find out more… I’m hoping she can find something…”

“I won’t tell you how to talk to your family, Taf. But maybe have a think about asking them to be a bit more on their guard at the moment? Suspicious sightings of new creatures in the area, that sort of thing.” Sunday sighs, “You’re right, though, we don’t know enough yet to properly plan. Maybe Paw will find something. Let’s wait ‘til she gets back. In the meantime, I want you to have something. It might help.”

"Oh," says Taffeta softly, "You've already given me so many things - all those potions, and the money, are you sure you don't want it back?"

Sunday waves her hands in a reassuring manner. “That money wasn’t a gift. It was an investment. I expect at least four pies to be named after me. Is Nerry going to open a second shop?” As she’s gesturing, the firelight reflects dully off an amber-coloured ring on Sunday’s left hand. She twists the silver band off her pale-lilac-skinned finger and holds it out to Taffeta. The stone inset into it is a golden-brown colour; carved into it is a curious design, a runic script fashioned to look like a closed eyelid.


“It’s lovely… but why…?”

“Pretty, isn’t it. But it’s useful, too. You know how Rholor can sometimes reach out and sense where an object or person is - even if he doesn’t know where they are? Kinda like how you can sense where another plane is? That’s how Rakshasa work: they can track their quarry with magic and then plan using that information. This will stop anyone doing that to you. It’ll stop anyone or anything finding you with magic. You can still be seen physically - but with this you have a better chance of hiding.”

“You mean it could have been… watching?” asks Taffeta fearfully. “From… wherever it is?”

“No, you don’t have to worry about that. Khingo is destroyed for now. This ring means you don’t have to worry about him hiding and finding you with magic. If he does return, he’ll be forced out into the open and we can all see him coming.”

“Thank you,” Taffeta says, taking the ring between her fingers and looking at it, then slowly slipping it onto her finger. “Listen, I’m… I’m sorry for getting angry earlier. It’s been… I’m having a hard time with all this.”

Sunday nods slowly, her eyes flicking over briefly to meet Taffeta’s before glancing away. “I can’t imagine what it’s like for you. Or Nerry and the girls. Speaking of which, I got something for them, too... when I was in Waterdeep.”

Sunday pats her robe, searching for something. She brings out a small metal figurine and places it on the low table next to her. It’s a four-inch-high model of a priest, a full moon surrounded by severn stars is painted on fancy robes pulled tight over a slightly round belly and it’s clutching an ornamental staff in one hand. A tiny handle is sticking out of the back; Sunday delicately winds it up and lets go. The figure starts to move about jerkily, waving its arms around as though preaching pompously. Sunday looks up at Taffeta with a sly grin.

“Who does that remind you of..?”

“Ugh!” exclaims Taffeta, but with a smile. “He’d better not be able to speak too.”

“Don’t worry, I checked with the merchant. This one has taken a blessed vow of silence.” Sunday leans back in her chair, scrubbing some of the fatigue from her eyes, before glancing out of the window. “It’s getting late. eLk’s getting impatient - he’s not eaten this evening. I better get him fed before he starts working his way through your vegetable patch.”

“All right. Thanks for coming.” Taffeta stands up and collects the two empty cups to take back to the kitchen. “But, listen, Sunday –”

Sunday, halfway to the back door, stops and turns. “Yes?”

“Next time I see you,” Taffeta continues, “please just tell me a couple of things to prove it’s you. Don’t do what you did this evening. It’s hard enough without that, you know?”

Sunday looks back at her best friend for a long moment before nodding once. She doesn’t say anything and lets herself out, closing the door behind her and stepping out into the cold, crisp evening.


(Co-written with Sunday)