| abstract
| - "I can agree with that... though, it may be beyond me to handle all of that." Naoi responds, leaning back from her handiwork. "Perhaps, Taran, you should come out of your garden and look out in the world that surronds it... or is that something you have started?" Taran smiles slightly. "The whole world is my garden, as it were. A little big for one man to handle well, but I try anyway. But as to your earlier question...while mages and priests need not be at odds, Shadow and Light are *forever* at odds. However much we may deny it, we are their tools to some small degree. Sometimes, that shows through." Naoi and Taran are sitting close, the woman slightly behind the man on the bed. "Aye, but... well, it needs not always be a relationship forged in hate. It is something I am learning, slowly." Zia *storms* into the House of Healing, pale cheeks flushed with a faint tint of rare colour--which, for her, is positively red-faced. "NAOI! Damn you, you'd *better* still be in here. Light help me if you EVER do anything that Light-forsaken IDIOTIC again. I'll throttle you myself and solve the problem that way--how's that sound?" She's not *quite* shouting, but her displeasure is Known as she stalks down the isle of beds towards the pair, Taran going completely unheeded for the moment. Taran hms. "Just..." he stops, blue eyes going *wide* at the sudden Zia-storm. If anything, the bard looks like he's fighting a sudden urge to duck-and-cover. Well, no one ever said he was wise. Naoi likewise cringes, gray eyes widening at the yelling. "W-what?" "You are *not* going to die, thank you very much," Zia half-snaps, coming to a stop beside the bed and inspecting her *closely*. "And you're damn lucky Tshepsi's feeling merciful, and that Norran took back his oh-so-gracious offer of skewering me for marching down there to see what I could do. Tshepsi won't be so forgiving if you ever try to *stab* her again. Why in the world didn't you tell me you hadn't actually succeeded?" Taran scoots off that bed, standing back...just watching Female Wrath unfold (on someone else thank goodness), blinking at this storm with the blankly puzzled shock of the longtime bachelor. Naoi just stares at Ziavri, mask slipped away and utterly consumed by blank amazement and burning curiosity. "What?" Oh, at the moment, she doesn't seem to be going past that. Zia rolls her eyes, turns on her heel, and marches right across to the other side of the room, risking her neck at the whim of any healers that might meander through in order to scavenge up a cup of tea. The required bits are there, but it takes her a full fifteen minutes to find it, and something to drink it out of, heat the water, and brew the stuff before she'll return. Let the other two be silent if they will. Or repeat the word 'what' over and over again as suits them. The bardess will say nothing until she's got her tea. Task accomplished, she perches on the empty bed opposite Naoi, and takes a long swallow. It has the effect of calming her. Marginally. "I went down to Night's Edge to find Tshepsi and try to talk her out of taking the axe to your *neck*." She will steamroller right over the top of any interruptions at this point, be they the words of her friends or a nuclear missile randomly having decided to travel backwards through time. "Norran was *not* pleased to see me there, and believe me, that sword he carries is *huge*. Tshepsi was not pleased. Also, there was a full *courtyard* full of people perfectly willing to stop and *stare* while I tried to negotiate my way through it. And by the Light, if I *ever* have to do that again for you, we're both going to regret it." Taran isn't talking. Nope. From the wide eyed silence, one might guess that the bard's mother was a woman who could have stopped even Norran in his tracks with a mere stare. Not saying a *word*, this one. "I was much happier before." Naoi says to Taran, shortly before Ziavri returns with her tea. For a moment, she is quiet. Then finally she speaks up. "Ziavri, you have given me a great gift, and I thank you. I could be angry because I did not ask it of you, but I encouraged it, so I cannot. You risked much that you shouldn't have, but... if Thayndor hadn't stepped in the way, I would have struck him. I -did- strike him. I thank you for the axe, but... I have seen Norran's idea of fun. A prison cell then?" Zia takes another long gulp of that tea before replying. Slightly calmer. Definitely quieter. "I don't know. I really, really don't, and I wish I did. If I go back, I'll only make the situation worse for both of us." She shakes her head. "Gift my foot. I did what I had to, and would have done it with the full knowledge that you would *hate* me for it afterwards." Pause. "Did do it with that knowledge, actually." Gulp. "Go ahead and be angry if you like. I'll yell right back." She turns to Taran, pursing her lips contemplatively as she eyes him. Taran just raises both hands at this point. "Duty filled," he says. "And whatever insanity is on your mind, I humbly request I be put through it in the *morning*. The hour is quite late and perhaps we would all be saner for sleep." A gesture that Naoi copies, "I am defenseless, and I do not have the strength to scream at you nonsensically until we are both hoarse of voice. I am also... tired, and contented. Two good friends, bearing different gifts come to me late at night... I need rest though. I am -done-." Zia looks between the two, shakes her head... and just *laughs*. It's a sound that compiles relief and grief and worry and sheer bewilderment at the situation into a single series of notes. "Gift," she repeats. "I don't know if I'm worried about what he brought you or not. But aye, before I kill one or both of you--" Pause, and she regards Taran a moment longer. "Or kill one and the other gets hit by the shrapnel." She downs the rest of that tea--which is a considerable portion--in a single gulp. "Please tell me I don't have to climb in through the window, Taran. I'd rather just sleep under the wagon." Taran grins, and produces the key. "Sleep," he says, holding it out. "I will take the grass outside, it is well enough for me. My brother in law is being an idiot and so hopping back north is less attractive than a nice grassy patch of ground just now." Zia accepts the key, and doffs her cloak, fishing around in the pockets for a dagger and a couple of trinkets, which she promptly stuffs in her pack. "Take that," she says, offering it to Taran. "And there's the floor in the wagon, if you'd prefer inside. I think you'd fall off the bed." With a sigh, she rises to her feet, and Hurricane Ziavri starts for the door.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)