A Much Needed Cleanup Chez Godcarvers

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 6 afternoon – The Godcarvers]

> “The signs were never clear,” the ancient priestess told him with a
> smile. “At the very least, it HAS been clear that our divine patron
> counseled patience and forbearance. I know it has been difficult, my
> son, but it really appears our faith has paid off handsomely.”
>
> The Foreman just swept an openly skeptical gaze over the Abbot and his
> people, half-consciously shaking his head before contenting himself
> with a curt nod as he muttered, “let’s hope so, anyway. Not a fan of
> counting on anyone but ourselves, but I suppose the Prophecy always
> warned us this was coming.”

After a Wind Walk return to the Godcarver Winter camp that was the
temporary home for both Jeyshann’s Cat Mob as well as the Kenobi
Expedition, the various members of the Away Team went their separate
ways. Jeyshann went off to see after the health of the veritable army
that had sworn allegiance to her, Finfin off to look for his apprentice,
Lomi in search of the camp’s scouts to begin to get the warning out that
they would be receiving a friendly kobold visitor tomorrow, Laurelin in
search of her own inscrutable business, and the Abbot to touch bases
with his clerk and personal assistant.

That left, of course, just the two “silver hairs”, by accident or by
design, just for the moment on their own.

“Can I take you to Alaelia to see if you took any harm from your magical
double punch?” Tramma gently asked Laquendi.

“If you really believe it to be needed,” the silver haired elf conceded.

“Thanks! I… kinda do,” the bard stated firmly. ”I may have a doctorate,
but that's musicology, I play doctor, I am not a REAL Doctor and will
NEVER pretend."”

Pausing only for a brief consultation with the first of the Pussycats
she spotted, Tramma gently led Laquendi over to Alaelia’s tent, which
had in the past also doubled as the Bitani doctor’s consulting room.
Fortunately, the doctor was most definitely in, and at Tramma’s shaking
the string of tiny bells hanging beside the doorflap, invited her
visitors within.

Tramma, however, stood hesitantly at the door. “I know a doctor’s
checkup can be… a bit intimate, so I’ve no problem if you’d like me to
stay out here.”

Laquendi snorted. “Inefficient.” If there was one thing that she’d
learned in her time with Keertye Sisters, either here, or by way of a
still elusive set of Vision inspired memories, was that there was a time
and place for modesty. Or more specifically, for its lack. And this
certainly seemed to be one of those occasions where there was no such need.

“If the doctor DOES have alarming news for me,” Laquendi stated bluntly,
“it would be inefficient for me to have to repeat it all over again.” An
odd look on Tramma’s face prompted the elf to reconsider, and realize to
her surprise that she did indeed have more to add. “And if there IS
anything wrong,” Laquendi concluded, “I would prefer having a friend
present to hear it with me.”

The smile on Tramma’s face seemed to fill the winter afternoon with
radiant sunshine. Perhaps the Valyan High Priestess was not the only
source of such light. Alaelia’s smile was just as bright as she urged
them inside.

* - * - *

“Well, that’s a relief!” Tramma enthused afterwards.

Even Laquendi had to nod in agreement. “Being diagnosed with something
terminal would have been… inconvenient,” she allowed.

“Just… inconvenient?” Tramma asked, her smile fading somewhat.

“Inconvenient,” Laquendi confirmed. “And… disappointing. There is… so
much I have realized there is to experience. And perhaps, even to enjoy.
It would be disappointing to miss out on it early.”

“You are not the only one who would be disappointed,” Tramma smiled
crookedly. “For about the same reason. In my case, I really am just
getting to know you, so DO try not to make your head explode or
something. I would carry on so, and have to write a lament.” The bard
sighed sadly, and said, “not my favorite art form, but one I have
performed on occasion; I feel morally obligated to provide them when
necessary.”

Laquendi couldn’t help but feel one corner of her mouth turning up into
a grin. “I shall endeavour to avoid exposing you to that necessity.” The
smile vanished as the dusky elf continued, “The lecture about not
overstressing magics was harder to endure than the actual examination.”

“But you WILL take Alaelia’s cautions in mind,” Tramma suggested firmly.
“You know very well she knows what she’s talking about. I learned a lot
myself, though I was largely a blank slate. I can sing a healing song
and know a little first aid, but Alaelia is the real deal on both counts.”

Laquendi considered the question for a moment “I am ALWAYS cautious. So
yes… I will consider her words. Her recommendation against dimensional
magics for the next twenty four hours may be harder to abide. Should the
need arise, I WILL do whatever is needful.”

“Sweets, do keep in mind how much Alaelia values her sweet and
reasonable bedside manner,” Tramma urged persuasively. “For her, that
calm, informative, concerned lecture was the equivalent of a less
reasonable doctor’s thunderous ass-reaming denunciation. We are all big
believers in letting everyone make their own choices, she made sure you
have all the information to make an INFORMED choice. Some of those
potential complications she explained and even the common sequela sound
bad enough to take your doctor’s advice to relax for just a day.”

“I have heard a more emphatic telling off,” Laquendi agreed. “Quite
recently.” She blinked, not at all sure where that odd memory had come
from, but then shrugged. “I hope that like the penitent being castigated
in that recent lesson, I too will be able to derive some benefit from
it.” The dusky elf frowned, and said, “I ought to check in with the
Sisters.”

“Inefficient,” Tramma told her with a smile. "I already sent word where
I had insisted you go first, and asked for word to come straight to us
if there was something you needed to know about. And no news here really
IS good news.”

* - * - *

Finally, Tramma guided Laquendi up to the curtain wall on either side of
the Pussycat’s show wagon and the backstage area. This division,
Laquendi vaguely understood, was more than just a mere sightline
blocker. It had a symbolism far more profound than its lightweight
fabric hanging from pipe construction would suggest. Behind this curtain
line was the realm of the bohemian crew of the Pussycats, the Wild Women
of the Woods (most especially including Tramma herself), the wizarding
couple, and all of the various other free spirits of the Expedition. And
where, night after night, the two junior members of Team Keeryte could
be found, having wheedled overnight passes from their Executive Officer.
At one point, Laquendi might have mentally added, “doing who knew what”.
Now thanks to some recent Divine curing reawakening parts of her long
dormant, damaged, or absent, the recently released hormones that were a
part of her “second puberty” had Laquendi spending a distracting and
annoying amount of time imagining just what WAS often going on back here.

And now, for all that the sun was still above the horizon, Laquendi was
being invited into this sanctum. It was not her first visit back here,
of course, her most recent visit was fetching the white Wind Walk robes
just the day before. But as Tramma held aside the curtain and waved
Laquendi through, the elf could see that uncharacteristically, the two
“silver hairs” had the place to themselves.

“Another arrangement you made with the Pussycats?” Laquendi asked, one
eyebrow raised.

Not in the slightest bit embarrassed, Tramma nodded enthusiastically.
“Yup! I know the Keerytes you hang out with don’t even blink about
communal bathing, but I kinda remember from the Ice Station that you
aren’t always as comfortable with that.”

Laquendi noddest, somewhat distractedly. “Indeed. Though perhaps things
have evolved somewhat since then,” she mused.

“Really?” Tramma asked excitedly. “Good! But needed or not, we’ve got
all the privacy we could possibly want NOW. And they’ve even set out
some much needed things for us.”

Towards the center, well away from any prying sightlines, were arranged
a large folding canvas bathtub, its framework and material expanded to
be able to hold one… or possibly two bathers. A modest kettle of what
was presumably water was perched on a grille atop some sort of ceramic
stove Laquendi had heard the others call a ‘chimnea’, and a larger basin
of cold water was nearby, allowing the bather(s) to set their desired
temperature.

Tramma checked the water over the fire, and nodded. “Coming along, but
still needs a bit of time.”

“I am nothing if not patient,” Laquendi observed.

“True! Well, we’ve got a bit before we get that spider goo off of you…
and if you’re willing, I’ve just been aching to be allowed to brush your
lovely hair. If you’ll allow, of course.”

Laquendi considered the notion for a while. Yet again, Vision inspired
memories co-mingled with memories from actually experienced events… and
both agreed that grooming WAS a frequent aspect of social engagement, at
least among the females of the various species. That this observation
was true among the Keeryte Sisters was manifestly clear… but it
apparently held some Truth for the Wild Women of the Woods as well… and
quite possibly, others. And, in Laquendi’s recent experience, regardless
of whether “real” or not, it was something that was actually moderately
enjoyable.

“That would be very nice,” Laquendi finally agreed.

Once again, the elf was treated to the power of Tramma’s brilliant
smile. “Now, let’s settle down for a bit while we’re waiting for the hot
water,” the bard suggested. Once both were comfortable, Tramma continued
a bit more tentatively, “Laquendi? Before we get to the pleasant part of
getting you cleaned up… can we talk a bit about something that might not
be so nice?”

The dusky elf considered the notion. After all she had experienced, mere
“talk” was not likely to make it to the top of her “not so nice” list,
and silently, she nodded her assent.

“When ‘Mother’, the kobold matriarch was talking about her home life,”
Tramma began, “I could see that it really resonated with you. Is that
something you’d like to talk about, with just the two of us in this nice
safe space the Pussycats have given us?”

“Not so much resonation as infuriation,” The Drow replied. “There are
significant parallels between Mother Kobold story and my own - and I
suspect it is that way for all of UnderDark. No, my resentment is nearly
two centuries of waste that could have been avoided if I had the
opportunity to interact with someone with even *half* of her insight
into why UnderDark is the way it is and how to escape its traps. Six
human generations have passed in that squandering of life.”

“I guess I can follow all that,” Tramma commented thoughtfully, gazing
at Laquendi in wide-eyed wonder. “”Mother’ seemed like a very special
woman, and we are lucky to have met her and heard the tale of her life.
If you think about it, not that surprising you never ran into anyone
like her, there are far too few around.”

“Mother Kobold is the antithesis of the one who brought me into the
world,” Laquendi nearly spat before shaking her head. “Ifs, maybes,
should have, could have… of all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest
are these, 'It might have been',” she ended with a sigh of resignation…
then briefly smiled. “But I am here, and she is not, so things are as
Mother Kobold foretells for her own charges.”

Tramma listened intently, her own expression an unreadable mix that
certainly radiated sympathy mingled with other emotions too complex for
Laquendi to guess.

“What *is* going on in that head of yours?” the silver-haired Elf
finally and quietly asked Tramma.

“Oh, way too much, as always,” Tramma smiled lopsidedly. “I am not
unwilling to try to tell you, just not convinced that is what you want
to hear. But since you DID ask; at the moment, concentrating on
understanding you enough to be a little less of my usual pushy and nosy
self. You just told me some astonishing things about yourself, but I
think what you most need right now is someone listening, not asking lots
of pesky and likely inappropriate questions. I am a firm believer that
being a good friend to someone is a lot more important than wheedling
answers.”

“There are no inappropriate questions, Nin’mah,” she answered the
chanteuse, “however I would caution you to never ask a question that you
may not be prepared to have answered.”

“So long as it is the truth OR a good story, I am prepared to hear
anything,” Tramma shrugged. “Part of my job is to learn history, to
understand what happened. Not all of it is pleasant knowledge, but
glossing over terrible events prevents anyone from learning from them.
Even a comedienne sometimes needs to plumb darkness to better spread light.”

Laquendi nodded. “Then, Tramma Silverhair, I will tell you my story.”
The dusky elf paused, as perhaps a new thought occurred to her, inspired
by the fringes of distant memory. “But it must be to BOTH of our
benefits. You, as a historian, and me, as the story teller.”

“If it will help you, sweets, I’m all ears, collecting personal accounts
IS an important part of my oeuvre, after all,” the bard assured her.
“Just don’t be surprised (or sue) if I make a horrible joke of some of
it one fine day.”

“I doubt you’ll find THIS tale worthy of mirth,” Laquendi warned flatly.

“Bring it, sweets, you KNOW I love a challenge,” Tramma shrugged.
Laquendi did not seem to yet understand a truth that Tramma had learned
in her studies and her life years before. When faced with horror,
macabre humor was a quite rational and very common reaction.