A Special Meaning

Lupecyll-Atlon home, afternoon.

Gray, misty, warm, still--these are the words that paint and describe the skies and air of Alexandria on a Ceriday in Callem. Luckily for a certain half-sil sorcerer couple, they're inside, where it's a bit cooler and things don't feel quite so inhospitable as they do outside in the humid atmosphere. Cor'lana sits on the couch staring at a piece of parchment.

"The sorcerers Telamon and Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon are happy to announce that they are expecting a new addition to their family, set to arrive later this year. In lieu of gifts, donations may be made to the Temple of Eluna and the Muses of Ceinara in the Theatre District," Cor'lana reads aloud. "I think that sounds better than before. Nice and simple, doesn't need to be overly long."

"Okay, yeah," Pothy says, sitting on the table as he cracks his peanuts, "but what about the juicy little flier you're going to be distributing in disguise, too? What's the wording on that one?"

Cor'lana looks thoughtful. "Well, I'm thinking--don't name names. And we might as well lean into the old rumors to make it more credible for the Corpse-Eater to believe: something along the lines of 'the child of the Temptress is not her starborn's but the departed wolf's'?"

"Is this an ominous prophecy or a gossip rag?" Pothy asks with a sigh. "No sense of what makes the muckrakers tick."

Meanwhile, Telamon sits next to Lana, slouched a bit. The dropcloths in the living room are gone now, the ceiling fresco complete, allowing for more comfort in their home as he looks at the announcement. "It fits," he says. "I mean, our marriage announcement was a little understated as well. Straight and to the point."

He heaves a sigh. "I'm still not -happy- with this plan. It's the sort of thing a husband is expected to take notice of -- and react accordingly. Slander against a wife's fidelity can be cause for duels in some parts of the world. And 'temptress' or not, it feels like another smear against you, regardless that we're cooking it up."

"Still... I suspect it would appeal to the Corpse-Eater after all the shenanigans involving Zalgiman. I just hope our friends will understand -why- we had to do it this way." He rests his hand on Lana's, seeking comfort from her for a change.

Cor'lana twists her hand around so that her fingers interweave with his, her thumb going to brush against the side of Telamon's hand. She smiles at him affectionately, an undeniable warmth coming through the mental bond. "I know this is unnerving to you," she says. "In truth, it disquiets me, too. I'm sure all of the people I work with in the Theatre District will be whispering all sorts of things. But I don't expect that any of them will be looking to pull my lyrical work from their shows--if anything, the rumors might enhance the allure of going to see a show and seeing if there's 'hidden meanings' embedded into the lyrics I wrote." She snorts.

Pothy bird-blinks from his spot on the table. "Oh! OH. That's an idea. Didn't you write lyrics for a song about keeping secrets for that one show a couple of months ago? The one with the woman who had a child with her lover and kept it a secret from her son for years?"

"Yes," Lana responds, "even if I'm still annoyed that ended up being similar to a plot beat in Weaver's Love Never Tries. At least I wrote lyrics better than that one particularly awful moment... That poor man having to sing 'ten years old' in that bombastic fashion..."

She clears her throat. "I suppose I could include a note about that song being 'autobiographical' in the little flier. What do you think, Tel?"

Telamon considers, his expression lightening a bit. "Too much. We want to lure him in, and I suspect people have tried before. Let's not layer it on with a shovel. Hmm. Maybe just say the song has 'special meaning'." His free hand taps a brief beat on his knee, as he sits back to look at the ceiling.

"I am so glad we have our mental bond, love. We can both see how we're feeling, the concerns we have. Which reminds me," Tel lifts his head back to look at Lana. "I have a letter to send to father. I need you to proofread it first. I'm not going to tell him -everything- -- even in our private code -- but I have to tell him -something- or he's going to come poking around."

"Special meaning it is, then," Lana agrees, writing down a message:

       The Temptress of Alexandria's unborn child is sired not by her husband, but by a certain recently-departed wolf of brewing fame. The song she penned for an overlooked Theatre District show on secret-keeping holds a special meaning for her and her baby-to-be.

She looks back to Telamon and nods gently. "Every day, I'm thankful for that mental bond," she says. "Just having you close in my head has done a lot for my tendency to... worry about all of the things that I shouldn't worry about. Now, I agree entirely about telling your father something. Especially if your mother gets wind of it, which she might well do." Mothers have a way of just knowing these things.

"Precisely." Telamon reaches down into his haversack sitting at his feet, and pulls out a folded sheet of parchment. He proffers it to Lana, with a smile. "We both benefit from it. We've passed through some very scary times together, and knowing the other one's heart and thoughts, well... I find you just as reassuring."

The letter itself seems very... mundane. The kind of 'how things are going' letter you'd write to let someone know all is well. Indeed, the letter does mention an 'upcoming announcement that will please Mother', but nothing out of the ordinary -- until the next paragraph, which mentions how 'the winter has been hard on our garments this year, and I'm spending some time getting measured for new ones. Thankfully I won't need new boots, but a new hood is definitely in the budget.'

"I know this isn't a letter to your Mother because it isn't an envelope filled with folded sheets," Cor'lana says with a little grin. But she reads and she looks at the next paragraph. "Mmm--measuring garments. I remember that line..."

She blinks. "Oh. Your father said it when he came to make sure everything was on the up-and-up between us," she says, although there's still a lingering feeling of something like the emotional equivalent of a bruise in the bond when she think of it. "That would let him know that something's afoot, isn't it?"

Telamon strokes his wife's hair. "In his defense, he was terrified that I might have stepped into something I was unprepared for. I think you or I might do the same. Take heart that he understood and was happy to bless our marriage, and to love and welcome you as a daughter-by-bond." Warmth flows down the telepathic link, soothing the lingering discomfort.

"Garments is a reference to violence or danger. That'll get his attention. The 'hood' reference is that it's something I'm tackling quietly, not overtly. The note that I don't need new boots means he needs to stand off for the moment and not jog our elbows." He exhales. "I'm so damned glad Father taught me this trick. He'll understand we're doing -something- and this way, he won't start prying."

"Clever," Cor'lana compliments, very clearly impressed with the craft of language as she looks down the letter again. "I know that your father's a wonderful man now, but at the time, when I was far less confident in myself and... easily intimidated by people, I was worried that I'd really ruined something somehow. That the happiest thing that'd ever happened to me was about to be torn from my grasp."

She leans in a little closer to Telamon then, going to envelope his arm in her own little hug. "But that's in the past. He's going to worry still, I imagine, about us, and... I think that's what parents do. It's what Mother did for me, after all." She obviously doesn't mention Glorenacil.

Telamon snuggles in close, his arms going around her in turn. "Of course. It's the nature of the thing. We'll worry about our children too, when they come along. Your mother, my parents... even Grandfather." His lips quirk. "You'll have a tall order keeping him out of the kitchen on this one, love. He's been so damned happy, he's not going to want -anything- to mess this up."

Resting his cheek against her head. "But we're going to do this. We can't fix everything, but by the gods we can make sure no one will have to deal with the Corpse-Eater ever again, one way or another."

"It's precisely for our children that I want to take out the Corpse-Eater," Cor'lana says softly, almost a whisper as they hold each other. "If I can save our daughters from the pain and heartbreak that he leaves in his wake--then I will. Not to mention Auranar and Verna--Auranar's a full-blooded elf, she's got centuries left ahead of her, and even when Verna's gone and we're gone, I imagine he'll find some unique and horrible way to torment her."

She squeezes Telamon a little. "Just lean on me in the bond the moment you start to believe the little story we're spinning. You know I've always been true to you and to our plans for the future. I've seen it before in actors, where the role begins to 'bleed' into their real life, and they have to take steps to mitigate that. Thankfully, we can go home if we ever need a place of refuge away from the story."

"We are of one mind in this, then." Telamon takes her hand, raising it to his lips gallantly. "I won't deny I'm... thankful I've got some jobs taking me out of town. It'll make things a little easier. Just... lean on me as well, and let me know if things start to spin a little wilder than normal. I won't leave you to face the Corpse-Eater alone."

He heaves a great sigh, looking up at the fresco again. "And a home it is." He grins at the small, well-made renderings of fey among the elaborate twilight sky-scape. "Simony really did a marvelous job. The whole house is wonderful. It feels both familiar and new at the same time."

It doesn't matter how many times Telamon raises her hand to kiss her fingers--it always puts a joyful smile and a blush on Cor'lana's cheeks. She can't help it, really. From the moment they'd become a couple on that bench in the courtyard of the Arcanists' Society with his kiss to her hand, she'd forever associated it with the first bloom of their love, peeking out of the snow and growing so much stronger for the turn of seasons to follow. "I know you won't leave me alone if you can help it," Cor'lana says. "And... Well, you know what I'd do for you if I need to." She'd proven it quite well in that nightmare.

She looks around at the fresco with her own grin. "It's really and truly wonderful," she echoes Telamon's remark. "I suspect it'll be our home for years to come yet--until you and I join Grandfather in his twilight-ray'd home in Quelynos. Maybe we'll pass this house down to the children--or open up a museum of some sort?"

Telamon hmmms. "Honestly, I would rather it remain a home than some kind of museum. Preferably to the children, but failing that to anyone who desired a place to live in peace, to grow their own garden and raise a family." He smiles back at her. "Such is life. New blossoms to replace old ones." Confidence and calm flow from him now.

"I know that in time we'll go to spend our days with Grandfather. But that's for the future. We'll pay that bill eventually, but for now, we've a life to live and a villain to vanquish -- with a little help and a little cleverness."