[Yael] Fairy Dust and Magic Stones [Wen/Ze]

[Fluffesu]

“It’s bothersome.” Wensley’s shining gaze roved from the bottommost stair of the Sanctum’s steps, up toward the top and held there. Her mother, precious woman that she was, had already begun the trek upward before stalling where she stood once she noticed Wensley’s reluctance to move. As the older woman cast a glance back to her daughter, Wensley dove into a more vocal explanation. “I don’t want to spend anyone’s time, when I’m sure there are others who believe more strongly or have concerns more pressing. We don’t have any kind of appointment, and to be so unexpectedly requesting any sort of favor feels rude. If it were an immediate concern, it might be different, but… Well, it’s just that since I’m not wanting anything-” She planted her feet, stood a bit taller, and made several quick, sharp, sweeping gestures that encompassed her torso and thighs before finding Camala’s stare again. “-from down there, anyway, a curse for dysfunctionality feels more like a gift than a burden? Just so that I wouldn’t have to be concerned about any surprise added effects after-”

Camala was an expressive woman. When she had feelings of just about any variety, it seemed like her whole face twisted in such a way as to convey them. She wasn’t a woman to frequently push her will onto others, nor was she one to be overly concerned about the future, but the situation as it had occurred was just so as to make her wary.

“You can’t leave these things to fester,” she tutted, reaching an arm down to hook Wensley by the elbow and giving her a helpfully coercing tug to join her on the third stair, despite the resistance Wen offered. “If you let the curse linger, it may spread, if not to other people, then maybe to other parts of your own body- you could grow ill, weak of mind and body. Incapable.”

Wensley stiffened, and despite feeling the pout form on her lips, there was little to do to stop it.

She couldn’t say if she believed that she was actually cursed. She didn’t feel any different, and it seemed illogical that it would be mainlanders who had the power to deliver such a plague upon them. However… Wensley supposed it was possible that she was, and the risk of becoming a burden was too much to ignore. Against her common sense, her feet carried her after Camala.

“The fact of the matter is that we don’t know what those gypsy mainlanders are capable of,” the woman clucked matter-of-factly. “They could have a magic beyond our own. Besides, since we’re here in Pajore now, it’s convenient for us, so surely that’s the gods’ way of telling us we are on the right path. Can you imagine if it had happened on the way back? That would have been inconvenient! Maybe so much so that we couldn’t make it to a priest in time, and then the effects might have been permanent, and that would be disappointing, wouldn’t it? I know it doesn’t seem important now, but I want grandchildren one day-”

“Moooom.” Wensley groused, tossing her head back with a groan. “I’m following you, aren’t I? Gods, we’re alone, and you’re already embarrassing me...”

The dissatisfied pout held firm. Wen tried to reason that her own village folk might not travel back with her, if she didn’t seek some kind of blessing to reassure them that she was ‘cleansed’ of her curse. That wouldn’t bode well for her first trip. It was already bad enough that a japing passerby on the road had caught them by surprise.

She wondered if all mainlanders were like that… If all of them wanted to play off a superstitious people's’ fear and mock them with surely untrue curses to their nethers.

As the leader of their traveling party, Wensley had been all too prepared to take the hit for her group, but now, as they walked through the Sanctum’s doors, she wasn’t so sure. What an awkward thing to tell anyone. Even though she was uninjured and had managed to chase the laughing heathen away with help from her snapptrotter, Wen still had to explain the nature of the alleged ‘curse,’ one that supposedly mangled her insides in such a way that she would be unable to ever bare children. That wasn’t even the embarrassing part.

It was ridiculous, she knew.

“I’m sure the priests here deal with all variety of curses every day,” Camala assured as Wen quietly griped and rolled her eyes and avoided looking at anyone they passed. “Just the size of this city alone! There are probably more weirdos here than there are people in Ilidan-”

“Uuugghh-”

“Alright, alright. Look.” Her mother pointed to a bench nestled against the far wall. “Why don’t you sit for a moment. Gather your thoughts. I’ll find someone who can direct me toward someone else who may be able to help us. Go, go. Shoo, shoo.”

Grimacing, Wensley trudged toward the bench and plopped down, smacking her face to her hands as she sat.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Zekiel wouldn’t be here for much longer.

He had only recently attained rank to begin officially taking over a temple of his own keeping and had already announced his intention of where he preferred to head to Mother Mortred. The incident within the city, however, at the gathering before the Sanctum, had taken precedence over most things, this included. He understood there were more hands especially needed here at first, and he did not mind the busyness. It did, however, lead to a number of other distressed faces, and made some particularly concerned about the priority of things.

‘We don’t have time.’ ‘You’ll be here all night.’ ‘We can’t turn people away at a time like this…’

He was just exiting from meeting with one of the city’s residents, in fact, and leading the man out towards the main hall when he overheard an already-ongoing discussion between an assistant to one of Pajore’s permanent-resident priestesses and a village woman insistent that her daughter needed treatment. For a mainlander’s curse. His gaze wandered that way on the walk past.

“-and Priestess Madira is very busy—”

“I will meet with her, after I escort Mr. Tarolth back,” Zekiel said. It earned him a startled glance, and then a look of—concern? Indecision? Uncertainty? The girl, a new acolyte who had been working with Priestess Madira only a handful of days, fidgeted her fingers.

“It is a…woman’s matter, Zekiel. I am not certain…”

“But it deals with mainlander curses?” Zekiel added with interest. “I have dealt with them before. And I am just completing what I have before me, it will be no trouble.”

If she still looked something shy of fully convinced, it wasn’t enough to spurn her into arguing any further, and after but a moment she nodded. “I will take Mr. Tarolth out if you would like to speak with them.” And so it went. With his former appointment being lead off, he was free to speak instead with the mother, discerning first what she knew upon introduction before eventually following to where the true subject of the visit waited. Face in her hands.

When he stood before her, he waited only a moment before speaking. “Adventuring with mainlanders can bring excitement and complication. Most of our people shy further away, but from what your mother tells me, you must be most bold of spirit…” Zekiel extended a hand, eyes warm with curious interest. “I am Zekiel, and if I might, perhaps together we can see if I may help you.”  

[Fluffesu]

It was the sound of boots clacking to the stone floor, drawing purposefully ever nearer that made Wensley pinch her eyes shut and scrunch her nose, face still adamantly concealed by her palms. She couldn’t even begin to know what all exactly her mother would share here, out where anyone could hear, before they hopefully made their way to some slightly more private chambers, but she did hope that it at least wasn’t everything… Though Wen could imagine a scenario in which some priests may be more ‘specialized’ so as to deal with certain situations best. But maybe not. She didn’t really know much about the intricacies or specifics of it, only that the approaching boots were now well within her vision when she peered between her fingers down at them. And not so much ‘approaching’ anymore, rather just ‘already present.’

She huffed out a breath. If she ignored this man, it would just make it all the more awkward when she inevitably was coerced into speaking with him. Best not to put it off. When she cracked open an eye to find him, it was to see a hand already extended in greeting.

“‘Complication’ is probably a kind word for it,” she muttered, reaching to lightly clasp his hand with hers before giving a single, firm shake and releasing. “Name’s Wen. It’s-”

“Wensley,” came her mother’s pointed correction. The woman stood just at Zekiel’s back with her hands folded behind her. “It seems like your full name is the least you could offer, and I would think something so personal and specific must be helpful in dispelling an equally personal curse.”

It probably wasn’t especially appropriate to show any amount of disrespect to the woman that had birthed her while sitting in such a holy place, but Wensley groaned just the same, rolling her eyes with a pout. “I’m sure the gods know my name and don’t need it repeated so constantly-”

“But I gave you such a nice one, so the least you could do is use it and appreciate it-”

“Mother.” She stood, then, snatching up the priest’s hand who’d allegedly come to aid her and moved away from the bench toward- Well, she didn’t know. Away from her mother. “If it’s all the same and not too troublesome, do you think it’s possible that we might, er, take care of what business needs taking care of somewhere more secluded?” She glanced back toward the Yaeli woman still just at the priest’s side. “As in, maybe just the two of us. She means well, but my mama’s nosy and chattery, and don’t invite her, okay?”  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Firm handshake.

Wen — Wensley — shook like a young man who meant business but didn’t have time for much else and was anxious to move forward with his day. Work-calloused fingers, a strong grip, perfunctory attitude, efficient but hesitant in its eagerness to be elsewhere. Embarrassed, possibly, though Zekiel wasn’t sure what for. Zekiel had time only to think that he liked her fingers before her mother was quipping the full correction.

Wensley.

And he smiled. He had decided almost upon seeing Camala that he liked her—which, despite the impression most got, was not true of everyone, though perhaps true of most all. Camala carried with her an open energy that Zekiel had considered positive at the first instant she made herself part of his present moment and now, it was easy to feel the link and push-pull between mother and daughter.

“Even if the gods knew it before your mother thought it, I am no god and appreciate the introduction,” he said. “It was and is pleasant to hear and it is wondrous to make your acquaintance, Wen…” His eyes warmed. “Or Wensley, whichever pleases you most.”

When her hand clasped his, tugging—nowhere, but somewhere other than where they were, he spared a glance to Camala.

“We will not be terribly long, I recommend the gardens if you have nowhere else to be before the next service. The bellflowers are especially lovely this time of year…” And as Wen clearly desired to be elsewhere but understandably had no concept of where exactly if they were to speak, he took up an easy pace at her side after that, well aware of where he ought to go with her, if they were to have some private space. Which, he had assumed beforehand, they would.

The room Zekiel lead to was small, down a long hall from the main prayer space lined with pews and pulpit, tucked away from the public noise, and designed instead for private consul and confessional. He let her hand go upon crossing the threshold and pulled the door lightly shut behind them. Evening sunlight poured modest yellow over the interior, and he studied her.

“I understand that you were cursed,” he said at length, “by a mainlander.”

He attempted not to sound overly light hearted about it. In his personal experience, mainlanders were—mostly a colorful variant on everyone else he had ever met, and nothing to be especially concerned about barring some real catastrophe. Wensley looked healthy. Fit. Mildly perturbed. But not damaged, and so privately he was convinced already that her ‘problem’ was born of culture and fear, not of any magic of foreign gods. But what did he know? It might help to know the specifics from first hand experience. So far as he had seen thus far, parents were often eager and earnest in intent, but not always the most accurate in portraying the ails of their children.

“It might help if you told me what actually happened.”  

[Fluffesu]

Wensley couldn’t possibly have been grateful enough to move from her mother’s side. Camala too seemed undaunted by the polite but still obvious dismissal and stalled in her steps as Zekiel and her daughter moved on. The older woman did, however, manage to call out a warning, “Be sure not to lie to him, Wensley,” before they’d escaped too far. Wen might have huffed in indignation because she wasn’t a damn fool that would lie to a priest. She was sure her mother would’ve wanted to come along to ensure the tale was told in full as well as she knew it, and Wensley did entertain the idea of keeping to the barest minimum of what she could get away with…

But she wouldn’t lie.

So rather than shout back, she groaned softly and muttered out a stiff reassurance under her breath to Zekiel that she ‘of course wouldn’t,’ despite feeling like knowing everything wouldn’t do him any more good than knowing next to nothing.

It was somewhat peculiar that they’d set a man to the task for the particular ‘curse,’ but she supposed it was entirely possible that they didn’t discriminate against who handled which problems here, and Wensley couldn’t be bothered to point it out again if someone else already had, so it likely didn’t merit any more thought given to the matter. She followed silently into the designated room, but didn’t quite manage to stop wandering about the small space once they’d made it inside.

“Mm…” She skimmed her fingers over the back of a chair and glanced back to the short- Was he shorter than her? She tipped her head and dismissed the thought. “That’s what they tell me, anyway,” she retorted in response to his inquiry. “I led a small group of travelers from Ilidan to here so that they could take care of what matters they need to take care of in the city. Some of my village folk have a few more, er, concerns of a more spiritual nature than my family do, so for the sake of my job and their peace of mind, it seemed like it couldn’t possibly hurt to meet with someone from the Sanctum, if I was able. Though I am sorry for taking up your time unexpectedly when there are probably those with greater fears than mine.”

“So let’s see.” She turned on her heel and plopped her bottom into the chair, gaze roving the small span of the room and tongue clucking softly as Wensley collected her thoughts and steeled herself for anything that might need to be stated in detail.

“We were on our way, perhaps a bit more than halfway to Pajore when the mainlander crossed our path. He was a greyish fellow, real pale hair, and silvery eyes not that different from ours.” She opted not to comment on his perfectly straight white teeth and how the crystals on his skin were so fine they looked like fairy dust. The stranger’s prettiness probably wasn’t an important factor. “He looked a little lost, probably hungry and all that and clearly very alone, so as a good samaritan, I couldn’t just send him on his way and ignore him…”

This wasn’t so bad. Easy, even, so long as she didn’t stop to think too much. “He didn’t have a place to rest, and I had a pretty nice tent for the journey- I know it’s not the greatest distance between Pajore and Ilidan, but since we’re in a group, and traveling with old folks pretty frequently, we take it pretty slow- and we had a night without any other travel complications, so I offered for him to share my space.”

“It, ah-” Oh, wait. It was a bit harder now. Color was starting to bloom on her cheeks, and Wen could just feel the beginning sensations of an uncomfortable warmth. “Well, it happened that we might have put ourselves into a compromising situation, such that when one of the young women traveling with us came too close to our tent, she might have overheard a bit of the mainlander’s teasing and taken it to heart…” Wensley flicked her fingers before her, pinched her eyes closed, and shook her head. “It’s not too important, but my traveling party became a little wary of being with me for any extended period of time after that, just in case I was cursed and it could spread, so if you’ve got a piece of paper with some squiggles on it, or a rock with some carvings on it that would reassure them, I’d really appreciate it.”  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Zekiel watched the young woman with quiet intent as she spoke, listening and observing the various other forms of body language that came with the words. She looked like someone who worked a physical but clean profession—evident strength despite not being but a handful of years younger than he was by his guess, if that, but not of the rougher variety that came with raw manual labor, and practical attire that suggested at least modest self-sufficiency—and thus, to hear that she escorted travelers was not surprising. He wondered how often she made the trip.

Then, she spoke of the mainlander, and Zekiel could not help but note that there was a certain lack of distress in her tone and presentation as might ‘normally’ be present had another of his people come into him cursed.

I couldn’t just send him on his way and ignore him…

Zekiel wondered if some in her travel party had disagreed with that, and found himself smiling, intrigued both by the unfolding tale and the storyteller herself, for all the implications about her it gave. ‘So I offered for him to share my space…’ was perhaps the first indication of where things were heading, though Zekiel did not pick up on it then but for to think that she was especially generous—and brave, by most standards, to allow an outsider into one’s personal quarters.

It, ah-

Zekiel observed the blush with curiosity, though only several moments later did it begin to register why it might have come about in the first place. A ‘compromising situation’ within her personal tent whereby the mainlander had ‘teased’ in such a way so as to result in his words being overheard and her mother bringing her to the church with insistences that her womanhood had been threatened. His gaze flicked over the woman with amused warmth before returning to meet hers. It was probably one of those things most people did not consider wondrous. But he thought it was wondrously different — adventurous of her and perhaps ‘awkward’ to the extent that she seemed abashed, but new and perhaps most critically, he was now only more convinced that no harm had come of it beyond whatever discomfort she felt in her embarrassment (and whatever anxiety the situation inspired in her more ‘traditionally minded’ troupe of travelers).

“There is nothing to apologize for,” he said at length as she seemed to come to a pause. True, they were busy, and yes in fact, there had only barely been time for her and not from the priestess who might have otherwise spoken with her. But that had brought her before him, and now he was privileged by the experience. “It sounds like a great adventure, and as though you are very courageous…mainlanders typically inspire more caution among our people. He must have been very beautiful, to inspire you to intimacy so quickly. But…” Just to be certain he wasn’t misunderstanding any potential for real danger, “…nowhere in the course of it did he appear to call on any actual incantation or spellwork? Could you recall precisely what was said that gave your comrades concern to overhear? And you haven’t been feeling unwell after, or other symptoms which might suggest he left trouble where he came…?”

Her mother had made clear she was concerned she’d never have children if something weren’t done, and while Zekiel certainly could produce a ‘paper with some squiggles’ or ‘rock with some carvings’ and that sometimes was his job description, he did want to at least be very sure first that he had covered his bases and was not putting the woman at risk of something being overlooked. Mainlanders did have magic, and even if there was no ‘curse’ in the magical sense—it was also entirely possible that the man, stranger that he was, carried some curse of his own in a more physical sense that could benefit her seeing a doctor rather than a priest.  

[Fluffesu]

Wensley was not usually a fidgeter. She considered herself a straightforward girl who was comfortable with people regularly and had little to hide in terms of her thoughts and feelings. There was no need for anything else, and any vagueness somehow usually lent itself to managing to take up more time than would otherwise be necessary with the misunderstandings and confusion it caused. It wasn’t about to be her fault if things became complicated, so it was usually best to dive in with the straight and narrow of it.

With that being said, there was a very particular brand of discomfort that came from attempting to explain a rather intimate situation to a priest. Perhaps there shouldn’t have been, since it was only natural, but Wen had always sort of unconsciously figured that with that role came an expectation that the people who followed the church close enough to request the type of service she was requesting now would have a respectable amount of modesty such that they wouldn’t be in situations like this. Wensley liked to think she was comfortable with herself and not ashamed of her choices in many regards, with this being one of them, as who she chose to lay with was an entirely private, personal matter and affected no one else at all.

She would have been fine, even— not ashamed, nor embarrassed, nor awkward— if the matter had stayed between her and her mainlander friend. It was only because her activities shouldn’t involve this man that Wensley thought she was more uncomfortable than usual.

But since the information had made it to Pajore with her, she didn’t have any reason to suspect it wouldn’t travel back to Ilidan with her. And then spread from there.

Her father would be so upset…

Wensley’s shoulders sank. It was only her first trip, and no one had been injured, lost, or stolen from, so really the whole thing had been a success, but Rywan wasn’t likely to see it as such, and Wen didn’t even blame him. She had caused a bit of an unanticipated rukkus and had managed to make her own traveling party displeased by inviting a strange mainlander in to share her space.

Just it felt like it shouldn’t be a bother to them, since it was her body… Wen frowned and crimped her fingers around the edge of her chair. At least Zekiel looked more amused than put upon, which she might not have expected from someone so in tune with the whims of the gods—gods who were supposed to lose favor in those who mingled too far outside of the accepted norm.

“He was alright,” she muttered, “But inspiration doesn’t always stem from just beauty, and I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t be able to enjoy whatever opportunities are placed before me.”

If she’d been a man, Wen couldn’t imagine anyone caring half as much. And it didn’t seem as likely that a man who took a quick fancy to any lady would have it impressed upon him as especially strange or unexpected or that the girl must have been particularly lovely to ‘inspire’ him in such a way. Wen pursed her lips and squinted at the wall across from her. She just would’ve been easy.

Wensley’s gaze held on the wall as Zekiel asked his questions. ’Did he appear to call on any actual incantation or spellwork?’ “No,” she retorted flatly. ’Could you recall precisely…’ “No.” ’You haven’t been feeling unwell…’ “No.” ’Other symptoms…’ “No.”

Her attention snapped back to him and pinned on Zekiel’s face. “As I’ve said, I don’t feel any different than usual. I couldn’t tell you the exact string of what might have been said because I was sufficiently distracted elsewhere. But I am not injured. I’m not achy, itchy, uncomfortable, or dissatisfied. I tended to any concerns I may have about my arrangement with the mainlander before it even became so much as an ‘arrangement’ at all. My concerns are not with any physical or spiritual trauma that anyone may think has arisen from said arrangement, but instead with the mindset of the people who do have those concerns. I won’t allow a handful of hours with one overall average boy to impact the career I’ve been building on for far longer. I came here only to ease the upset of those traveling with me. Seeing as I did make it into the Sanctum without erupting into a ball of fire and brimstone, I should say this ought to be enough.”

Wensley leaned back, folded her arms across her chest, and stared back expectantly at the smiling priest. “So unless you have that rock I was asking about earlier, I don’t feel any pressing need to be more specific than I already have.”  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Zekiel was accustomed to all manner of persons walking in his door — ‘his’ door in this instance being the general doors of the Sanctum seeking counsel — and could say with a certain certainty that no two persons had yet been exactly alike, though people on the whole shared their communal similarities. Anxiousness in the presence of a priest was not uncommon, though he did his best generally to dispel that reaction, and Wensley was certainly far from the most anxious. In fact, given the nature of her complaint, she still seemed relatively calm. Significantly more so than might be ‘typical’ of a young woman of his race coming in with issues regarding interactions with mainlanders.

She carried with her a pragmatism that managed to remind him, fleetingly, of his good friend and doctor who entertained no concerns for the ‘curses’ of the gods or mainlanders or even the existence thereof. Which was just as well, so long as it didn’t make her dangerously reckless, and in this case, it hadn’t seemed to.

Still, she maintained her fair share of other, likely more practical concerns.

What other people would think was a valid worry for someone attempting to run a business that involved needing villagers to trust you.

I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t be able to enjoy whatever opportunities are placed before me…

“Nor do I,” Zekiel admitted. He was aware it was likely not the most conventional position for someone of his class to take, but though he respected the holy law himself and understood those who held themselves to especially rigid standards thanks to it — or for whatever personal reasons they had — he had never managed to take the next step and push presumptions and expectations on others. “However much strife is put before us, I do believe the gods intend for us to make the most of the gifts they put before us, given in the form of the opportunities fate presents and places in our path. No one was hurt, and even if he is the instrument of foreign deities…a harmless and pleasurable one is unlikely a curse.”

Perhaps a warning, if such conduct was affecting her business already so early in her ventures, but he decided he would leave that to her own discretion. If bedding mainlanders was appealing enough to make it worth the effect it had on surrounding villagers and their perception of her, then it was hardly his place to judge. And it was a relief at least to hear confirmation of no other ailments. No, no, no… In the end, it all did boil down to the same point: I came here only to ease the upset of those traveling with me.

Which, Zekiel decided after a moment, was probably as easy as could come.

“Wondrous,” he said, eyes warming. “I am not certain I have a sufficiently holy-looking stone on hand, but if you are particularly desirous of a rock, we could take a brief walk and I could…” He cleared his throat and managed to look almost playful, “…‘bless’ one of our garden stones to ward off the effects of the mainlander’s curse. But, it being my task to ease our people’s concerns on a regular basis, I would say that in my experience they do often prefer more ritual. I can provide you with an amulet of the goddess, for protection and fertility. I would also suggest nightly prayer facing West after consumption of a tea brewed with yarrow root. It is soothing, good for head and muscle aches…and will allow the goddess to work through you and cleanse you of the mainlander’s power. Beyond that…”

He reached, touching a thumb to her forehead.

“You have been touched by a priest, and you hereby have my protective blessing.”  

[Fluffesu]

She did expect Zekiel was probably judging her on some level. Hers wasn’t a usual occurrence, or so she imagined, and so maybe merited a little bit of an eyebrow raise. If anyone had come to her with such an interesting set of concerns, Wensley suspected she may also have had some passively judgemental thoughts that she would probably have kept to herself. Even with that thought in her head, this man at least managed to keep any of the expressions she might have expected from his face. Disgust, impatience, irritation, confusion… Among other unwanted things most likely. Wen had been prepared for that much.

But he was smiling, and even though Wensley figured that it was part of the job description to not appear deeply perturbed and to do anything that was possible to not cause further upset— Well, it worked, so whether genuine or force of habit, it probably didn’t make much difference.

Wensley eased back in her chair, sighed out a quiet breath, and rolled her shoulders.

She decided not to comment on how unlikely it seemed that her gods would consider Kihael, a stranger not born of this land, a ‘gift’ worth granting to anyone. Particularly when he brought with him so many thoughts of bad omens where others were concerned. Though even if Lurin and Dafiel didn’t control him, Wen supposed they still could’ve guided her to meet him.

Probably still as more of a lesson than a ‘gift,’ though, and maybe it would do her well to be more considerate of her actions in the future, but it had been harmless. Bedding a strange mainlander probably wasn’t so disastrous that it was worth regretting.

At least not yet.

Zekiel seemed content to move forward without further pressing, another small blessing, since Wen had also expected there might be more insistence that the information be out there such that they could fully prepare for whatever treachery mainlanders might bring- But there wasn’t, and that was fine.

In fact, rather than deep disquiet or a particular brand of distraught, he looked almost… amused? Which may have been upsetting if it was ‘amused’ at her expense, and perhaps it was, but for reasons she couldn’t really explain or even identify… It just didn’t feel like it. It felt like they should be amused together at no one’s expense and maybe just enjoy that she wasn’t cursed and likely wouldn’t be on the off chance that she did continue down that same path in the future.

It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling, and even when the string of Zekiel’s words lent themselves to being closer to a tease than proper instruction, Wensley found that she didn’t mind that either. She smiled in turn. “I dunno what exact attribute a ‘holy-looking stone’ might have, either, but… Yes, an amulet would probably work just as well.”

She wasn’t as fond of the idea of adding new nightly rituals into an already established routine, but perhaps if she only did it two or three times, that would be enough. Prayer and tea weren’t exactly the most strenuous or exhaustive of things he might have suggested.

“I’ll see what I can do, and-”

Her words caught in her throat, and her lids pinched to squints as Zekiel raised his arm and then- poked her in the forehead with his thumb. Wensley’s eyes blinked open, then returned to squints again. That surely wasn’t even how any meaningful process should go down, but-

“Well.” She huffed, though her lips quirked up, then delivered an equal poke to the priest’s forehead with her index finger. “You’ve been touched by me, and so have my thanks.”  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

“Glowing,” Zekiel said, “with runes and rules etched into it. The gods do love rules…”

He truly shouldn’t have taken the opportunity to be sardonic. He respected his gods and their rules. He simply—still did not honestly believe there were quite so many of them as some of his people imagined, no matter what they wrote down, no matter how many tomes they made, and regardless of what he had been taught over the years. There were specific and proper ways to speak with the gods. He felt blessed to have learned that, and to have learned the rituals with which to speak to them and how to administer and speak of their will.

He did not and would never disrespect that.

But people seemed still to imagine more than that and place burdens upon each other which brought nothing but strife and upset without need, as though they only wanted to craft rules to oust each other from victories and place themselves atop one another in pyramids of worth and importance with artificial boundaries and useless obstructions. And Wensley, so far as he had seen thus far, did not seem to be the sort of woman who cared especially about the finer details of that, so long as the larger picture was satisfied.

Still.

He need not be over careless with his words as some accused him of and disrespect the gods with his ease. She could still consider him sacrilegious, if he were not particular enough with his words. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t been criticized for that before. He ought to be actively conscious of how he conducted himself, even in private. This much he had learned, over the years.

“It is mostly for the sake of telling your comrades what I have issued,” he began, though perhaps he shouldn’t have clarified even that much. If she thought he provided the words only as a bluff-

But then the woman huffed—and leaned, and he found in spite of himself, a certain bubbling happiness arising into a quiet laugh that couldn’t be contained as she prodded him in turn. Her fingertip was warm. His chest felt lighter.

“I like you…” he said, with soft and particular seriousness as he leaned back. “I feel blessed, to have your touch and thanks…” He stood. “Come. It was Priestess Madira who would have seen you otherwise, as this is a woman’s dilemma, and she carries the amulets of the goddess with her. We may gather them from her, and you may inform your traveling company that the Sanctum has purged you of any wrongdoing…”

As Zekiel stood and glanced first to the window, and then to Wensley, he couldn’t help but say, “I think you are especially brave…and full of the gods’ good energy. You will do well in your exploits, if you exercise some caution not based upon what must be done but upon the minds of our people…they are a nervous bunch, you know, and inspired easily to fear. You could inspire them to feel safe. If you were careful.”

And that, Zekiel decided, was all he needed to say for that moment before moving to the door.

The Sanctum hadn’t exactly equipped him to deal specifically with issues of the ovaries, but never before had he considered that to be any reason to exclude himself from service. And since all Wensley needed was a token, it seemed she had been rightly guided to him after all.

Sweet Madira probably would have been especially stressed by the idea of letting a mainlander touch one’s skin, regardless of any exterior factors and no matter how lovely he might have been to begin with. It was likely all best, this way.  

[Fluffesu]

“Whole rules,” Wensley hummed in response, the corner of her lip quirking up easily. “If there’s space for all that, I can only imagine it being nothing but inconvenient to transport. Perhaps they’re messily criss-crossing over each other and impossible to read because of it, or maybe it’s just a nice big garden stone that you set by your front door to convince other people of your faith.” Though if that were the case, maybe she did need a nice big garden stone… Something that could just sit in front of her house and do its job while she paid it no mind. Not from here, since she didn’t want to carry such a thing any great distance, though she supposed her traveling party would find it commendable if she did, and more inclined to find her efforts sincere.

But really, Wensley couldn’t see why it needed to be so complicated. None of her group were hurt. None of them were cursed. If all of them had simply minded their own business, none would even be the wiser of her endeavors, and they all could have walked away content. No one would’ve been afraid of what might occur, and she wouldn’t have needed to take time from her day to come to temple, nor potentially alter her routine with additional nightly prayer.

She really shouldn’t have needed to. It could have all been avoided. She almost wished it had been. Almost.

There was though, a certain curiosity from this experience that she hadn’t expected. As Zekiel stood, Wen moved to follow, only a pace behind so that she could squint at the back of his head scrutinizingly without fear of being noticed. He was… ’I like you…’ “That’s-” Weird.

He was weird, she decided. That summed it all up. Though not just in that peculiarly unnecessary statement. “-nice,” she finished. “You’re okay too.” It wasn’t just about those particular words, but all of them. Wensley did not frequently have one-on-one meetings with the clergy, as she had no real reason to. But she’d always imagined that they, as a unit, were less forgiving and accepting as a whole.

She may have even considered that this meeting would be a special kind of burden, that any priest or priestess who saw her would think a girl who behaved as she did was unacceptable, incurable, even, and it would be impressed upon her that she needed to fundamentally change everything about herself. How dare she be so indecent as to betray her own faith by intermingling with outside foreigners- Things of that nature. She didn’t know what problems the Sanctum routinely dealt with, but she did also sort of anticipate a certain level of pretentiousness that was… Well, notably absent in Zekiel.

Not ‘sacrilegious,’ as she was hardly anyone who ought to bestow such a title upon another, just different than expected. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed in just ‘telling’ her comrades she was doing something rather than just doing it, particularly when it couldn’t hurt her to drink tea and pray more often, but she was at least convinced it wouldn’t need to be a forced regimine.

The came the rest of his words, and while it wasn’t as harsh Wensley might have expected, they still rang with the same message. She wanted to say that she usually was more cautious. Wensley wasn’t stupid nor reckless. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have an active interest in appealing to her peoples’... ‘senses,’ if they could frequently be called as such, but she wasn’t harming anyone by doing what pleased her with her own body. She willed the heat creeping for her ears to receded and grunted.

“I suppose I just… don’t understand,” she admitted. “So long as I’m not hurting anyone or being a burden… I did my job; they got where they needed to be, and no later than if I had kept to myself. I just don’t know why it needs to be more complicated than that.” She supposed it may have been a little inconsiderate of her to have something she knew they feared and dreaded so close to them, and that perhaps it had been selfish of her in that regard.

It wasn’t her intention to be selfish. “I will try harder to be what they need.” It was all she could do and all she’d ever done. ‘Try harder.’  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Whole rules.

Well, when put like that, perhaps it was a more complicated concept than he imagined. Personally, he imagined the rules being contained within the runes, or perhaps the runes dictated rules, or there were just rules that came with the stone—all of it could still get busy very quickly, however, and fortunately, a medallion seemed to be mutually agreeable instead.

Any degree of ‘miffed’ or ‘confused’ inspired by his behavior sailed neatly over Zekiel’s head. He was accustomed to people finding him odd, in any case, and he tended to think it was because he must be, though he did try not to be overly so. Too much oddity was usually displeasing. He liked to think he had done a reasonable job acclimating to expectation over the years, though, and the small things could fly easily beyond his notice to no one’s detriment.

“It is sometimes difficult to understand what most inspires others to passion or upset,” he admitted, “as someone else might have come before me with your experience but for very few differences and still presented an entirely different range of upsets and concerns. You already have within you and are everything you needed to be for them, as you accomplished your task perfectly. It was only the method and details which inspired them to fear. Perhaps if…” ‘…you had left to go mate the boy in the jungle somewhere, or a space the others weren’t aware…’

Somehow, Zekiel suspected this advice wasn’t needed.

The young woman had accomplished everything she’d come to, and it didn’t seem to bear emphasizing the point any further. She surely understood, and seemed already to have long regretted the outcome, if not the specific actions that lead to it, which was likely all that need be for her to find a way to avoid a similar outcome in the future—if not necessarily change much else of her natural behavior, which didn’t seem necessary to him under the circumstances to begin with.

As he made it to Madira’s door, he considered again that she probably would not see things in quite the same light at he, and had but a few seconds to ponder what he would say after he knocked and before the door opened to reveal—

“Zekiel.” The priestess’ gaze flit from him to behind him, where they held stiffly on Wensley before reverting back. “Yes, might I help you? Gods be good and be quick about it, I am meeting with-”

“We need only an amulet of the goddess,” he assured lightly, “for fertility-” Madira’s gaze snapped back to Wensley.

“Is she well? Has she lost a child? Did a man curse her? Why were you-” She seemed, though, to think better of whatever she might have said, at least in the presence of a guest of the church. It wouldn’t do to speak as though they didn’t know what they were doing. Still, she managed to look—anxious, Zekiel decided, as her eyes skimmed up and down Wensley and her lips pursed. “She looks burdened by the gods’ work, and matters such as these are delicate and involve the feminine…”

To his face out of earshot of anyone but Chosen, Madira would plainly and stubbornly insist that the Goddess had a natural closer connection to her female Chosen which males among the clergy simply could not hope to grasp in full. Zekiel privately disagreed, but hadn’t taken any opportunity to contest the point, as it hadn’t ever seemed necessary or pertinent. Here, however, at length, instead of making her point to him, she focussed on getting Wensley’s attention.

“I apologize on behalf of my brothers and sisters, we are very busy…but if there are matters before the gods you would feel more comfortable sharing with a woman…”  

[Fluffesu]

It was true that often enough Wensley didn’t understand all the intricacies and details and inner working of what inspired people to feel as they did (because really, who could?), but at least as far as this time was concerned, it should have been obvious. Maybe she didn’t agree with the reasoning for their fear, but she still did know why they’d been offended with her and even had a passable understanding of their concerns. Wensley had known that inviting a mainlander too close was likely to cause some upset.

She’d just… chosen to ignore it because it didn’t align neatly with her beliefs. It couldn’t possibly be anyone’s fault but her own. She had known better, and she’d known what would happen if they’d found out- which they had with startling immediacy- so there really wasn’t any excuse to have gone through with it except selfishness and maybe blind hope that no one would care as much as she’d expected they would.

Wensley shook her head at Zekiel’s ‘advice’ and wanted to say something that would serve as some kind of explanation or even convince him that she hadn’t actually done anything wrong since her people shouldn’t be so easy to frighten, anyway…

But they were excuses at best.

She’d done wrong and knew it, since even if she was not afraid of mainlanders, such distractions never should have been allowed on a voyage, and she oughtn’t have put her people’s sense of security at risk. If her only punishment was to stand before a priest and confess her misdeeds and accept his words of wisdom, she would just have to deal with that.

Particularly since Zekiel wasn’t even as offended as she might have expected. Really, he was downright agreeable for someone who was still practically scolding her. “I appreciate your wisdom and understanding,” she decided at length. There probably wasn’t need for more.

She folded her hands behind her and rocked back onto her heels as they waited at the priestess’ door. She didn’t imagine this portion of her visit would take long, since everyone at the Sanctum did seem busy, and Wensley didn’t really need two pairs of eyes judging on her, anyway. Sure enough, the woman who emerged was clearly caught up with another visiting party, and admitted to not having the greatest amount of time.

Good, Wen didn’t want to linger-

Accept the word ‘fertility’ had hardly escaped Zekiel’s lips before the priestess decided she needed to know more and had a greater deal to say than Wen might have expected for someone in a rush, and- Ah, yes, there was something similar to the judgment she had initially expected, and she didn’t even have hardly any piece of the story! She shouldn’t be offended, Wen was sure. In her own way, the priestess was trying to help her and see that whatever else she had were dealt with by the proper channels…

But Wensley didn’t want to spend more time blithering about, particularly when she detested the assumption that anything about her might be ‘delicate.’

“No,” Wensley quipped as soon as the other woman’s full attention was on her. “You’ll be reassured that I’m not incredibly burdened, I haven’t lost anything, and I’m in no great strife. I’ve shared all I need to share with Zekiel already, and I’m not of a mind to do it again, particularly since I’m sure there are others more in need of your time than me. So if it’s all the same, I don’t need your apology or your services. Just the amulet.”  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Wisdom and understanding…

For all that it had been said occasionally, Zekiel felt it must be more thanks to his class and rank that anyone else would think him wise, rather than any notable demonstration of it on his part. He did not feel especially wise—but then, neither did he need to, as it wasn’t his opinions of himself that mattered. So long as his words were sufficient to please and aid in alleviating the burdens of those who came before him, he was succeeding. So, he took the comment with a smile and appreciation that he had managed that much.

Priestess Madira was everything he might have expected of her, and he considered saying something himself, either to make clear for Wensley that while she was very welcome to take time with the priestess if she wished, she was unlikely to hear anything more that pleased her under the circumstances as far as he could guess, or simply to peaceably dissuade Madira from pressing. But, he concluded as quickly that the woman at his side was capable of making such a choice on her own, and if she did wish to seek further counsel, there was certainly nothing in that that offended him.

No…just the amulet.

Madira managed to go from ‘harried and concerned with a pinch of suspicion’ to ‘visibly taken aback’ and a moment after that, miffed with perhaps a touch of offense. For what, Zekiel couldn’t guess, but it wasn’t surprising. Equally unsurprising, she did not make direct comment on it. “Very well…if you’re certain,” she murmured before taking a step back, long temple skirts swishing at her ankles as she opened the door for him.

Zekiel stepped through with a nod and thanks — and brief apologies to the young, puffy-eyed woman inside wringing her hands — before progressing to Madira’s selection of amulets marked and blessed for the goddess, each carved slightly different for varying purposes.

“It is the one-”

“I do know which it is,” Zekiel informed her lightly, taking up what he needed before moving back for the door and smiling despite the fact that his fellow Chosen looked—well, as though she might have hoped for something more from the universe than what it was currently giving her. Instead of comment to that effect, however, she returned the smile stiffly.

“May the gods bless and be with you, and the goddess attend whatever ails you as be her will,” she said.

Zekiel hummed, holding out the amulet for Wensley. “And with you, Sister. Thank you.”  

[Fluffesu]

Maybe she ought to have been more careful with the words that had fallen from her tongue, or, since Wensley didn’t actually regret the strained pinch of offense that came to the female Chosen’s face, perhaps a bit more apologetic? She’d already reasoned out why she shouldn’t take anything the priestess said too personally. It was in the woman’s job description to try and offer aid if she thought it was necessary. But that was actually part of the reason why Wen decided she wanted the other woman to know (however minutely) of her dissatisfaction. To say something so blatantly unappealing as that she ‘looked burdened’- who would actually feel better after hearing that? And it somehow struck her as improper to let someone who should know better get away with saying something so rude when it felt almost certainly like no one else would ever comment or act upon such a thing.

Not that Wensley intended to say or do more with the woman than the barest minimum she had already, so maybe it was a moot effort to try and make her feel something that she likely wouldn’t even be able to justify or explain away or put any reason to.

Whatever concerns she had about whether it was good and proper or even necessary to respond as she had were dashed as she listened to the two Chosens’ exchange from outside the doorway. Madira was more like what Wensley had expected she’d find during her visit here, and she’d also expected that people like the priestess made up most of those that inhabited the Sanctum. Wen crossed her arms and crinkled her nose. It was like just the barest undercurrent of snooty (at least to Wensley’s face), and perhaps more than just an ‘undercurrent’ to Zekiel’s. It was what she’d expected, and she’d known it would be unappealing.

Wen had decided she didn’t like Chosen kids before she’d even stepped through the Sanctum’s doors.

She scuffed the toe of her boot to the stone beneath her feet and huffed. It wasn’t a fair thought, and Wensley was sure it wouldn’t be pleasing to the gods who’d chosen them in the first place to know she felt as much, if they cared about her feelings at all. And it certainly wasn’t a thought she could share with anyone else, particularly if she expected to not be scolded for it-

Zekiel stepped past the threshold and offered the amulet out to her. He wasn’t quite what she’d expected, not stuck-up like the girl and not attempting to impress concern upon her where Wensley felt none. She took the trinket, and her shimmering gaze flicked to his face.

He was still weird, though.

She folded the amulet between her fingers, flipping it around her hands like one would a coin and pressing the pad of her thumb into its etchings to feel and trace them. ‘Fertility’ still might not be something Wen really thought she needed immediately, though she was sure her traveling companions would be happy to see she’d retrieved a something to dispel curses from the Sanctum… Even if she didn’t fear curses or put too much faith in them, that still didn’t mean it couldn’t be possible, and if a god’s whim was keeping her from pregnancy currently, there probably wasn’t any reason not to make use of that, if she was able… “So how does it work?” She asked as she took a few steps farther from Madira’s door. “I don’t really need kids right now, so something that aids in that isn’t really of use to me. I still want to show it to my group to make them feel better, buuut… Y’know?”