faderift | closed / tall tales

She is! Gela knows she has the unpopular opinion but her smile doesn't waver. She is going to be cheerfully unreasonable until he gives in, and so she returns his handshake with great satisfaction. His fingers are still cold from the outside weather.

"What kind of healin'?"

This is of interest to her. She thinks she's being calm and collected about it, but she definitely just sat up straighter in her seat.

For better or worse, this straightening of shoulders and adjustment in her seat seems to hardly warrant notice from Laurentius. Naturally healing in the south is rare and strange, even among the ranks of Riftwatch. He's heard only the well to do ordinarily benefit from it.

"I'm no spirit healer, if that's what your asking. But I know a little of the creation school, and that should do enough to help make you comfortable."

Gela is visibly disappointed for a breath or two. She thought- well. Never mind. He isn't the only healer that works with Riftwatch, and there are plenty more to ask questions of. Besides, she hates the way he says it to her. 'Make you comfortable'. She's had enough of magic making her do anything. She will look after her own self.

"That's fine." She hastens to wave him off, shutting down. "You're kind to offer me that, but you should keep that bit of energy for the next day's ride."

It's a strange thing to be on the receiving end of—that disappointment, that reservation writ clearly in his companion's face. We're he not at this point otherwise perfectly well endured to the prospect of being objectionable, he might even find it— not insulting, exactly. Just something to prick at the shadow of his pride, maybe.

Good thing it's already been run well through then, eh?

In its place, Brother Vesperus pastes on a patient sort of smile. It doesn't flatter his face very well, but it's hard to say whether there is much he could do with it that would.

"Well now you've backed me into declining your tea to be polite. And I was looking forward to it."

An easy joke, reflexive if not quite off the cuff. Methodical would seem to be one of the man's middle names.

"Were you hoping I might say something else?"

Laurentius' smile only makes his face sharper, and Gela finds herself reminded of a bird of prey, something with a sharp, curved beak. It makes her feel strange, like she's being sized up. "Oh," she says, feigning ignorance, "Have I? I didn't mean to."

She thinks he is being difficult on purpose... it sets her hackles up a little, but she mirrors his smile, determined, as always, to get along.

Some people don't like to let you in if you don't give a little something of yourself first. She steadies herself, and tells him, "Yes, I- have a question for a healer, but I think it's a tough one. I've seen a lot of different people who haven't been able to give me an answer for it yet, so."

She dimples. "I'm sorry, if I offended you."

"None taken," seems true. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful. But if you scrape a knee or get any splinters between here and Ghislain, then I'm your man."

Laurentius raises his cup faintly to cheer the idle joke made at his own expense. The vessel dwarfed in his large bony hand.

"There are good healers in the Imperial Chantry. You could try writing to one of them. Under false pretenses, obviously, but it's been my experience that most of those kinds love a good mystery. I could suggest one or two names if you think you're an able enough liar on paper to obscure your identity."

Gela's elbow nearly slips from the table in her haste to sit up much straighter. Now she is intrigued. She holds herself quite still then, to keep her usual liveliness from disrupting the possibility of a good idea.

"Would you?" No false charm here, she is genuinely touched by the offer. "I would deeply appreciate it; and surely lyin' on paper is easier, anyway, because you have more time to think about the lie."

Nothing like real life.

Then, Gela considers him and adds, almost sadly, "But I don't know what I could offer you in return for this kindness."

"Consider it payment for your tea since I can't do anything better for you right now. Tit for tat."

Only here he pauses. Like a man very unused to budgeting his spending regretting an impulse purchase given the lightness of his wallet, the shadow of hesitation that passes over Laurentius's face is delayed partly because it comes so unnaturally to him. It develops into a grimace—rare chagrin.

(All this subterfuge business truly does chafe.)

"And you'll have to promise not to mention me. I'll come up with some other reason you knew to write them."

"It's worth more than the tea," Gela wheedles, but decides to let him have it in the end. If he wants to help her out this much, she should let him! Now she feels breathless. The apples of her cheeks have gone pink. This is what she came to Riftwatch for in the first place, and everything is falling neatly into place.

"Promise," she adds, instantly. "Of course I won't mention you. I'll help you with the reason, I could stand to do a bit of my own research before I go sayin' anything at all."

Just in case... but this really does feel like a good step in the right direction.

"Oh, it shouldn't be hard to pass off an excuse. Chantry healers are either generous or like any other scholar—desperate for recognition."

Might qualify as a sick burn if he weren't demonstrably cut from that exact cloth himself. Of the things Laurentius had seen fit to pack for this little excursion, half had been books and papers. Indeed if climbing the stairs were a less agonizing challenge to his saddle stiff body, he might otherwise have already excused himself to the relative quiet of one of the let closet sized room where he might resume scribbling out notes.

What it isn't is particularly self deprecating—just an offhand joke, buoyed by the sudden vibrant turn in Gela's demeanor.

"Do you mind if I ask what your question is?"

Gela smiles but elects not to say anything; this isn't the best place for her derisions on the Chantry. And she thought that he might ask her this because somebody always does eventually, and of course the healers will ask her when she writes to them but remains persistently, maddeningly vague about what she's truly asking for help with.

She sighs, looking to him. "It's to do with my late mother," she explains.

This is a lie, but she has told it so many times it almost doesn't mean anything to her any more. Sometimes Gela wonders if she made it up entirely, to account for why her mother hasn't tried to reach out to her over the years she's been gone. It's dramatic enough to be true, but she knows in her heart it isn't. That her father seldom lies. "And somethin' that could be hereditary, it's- why I'm lookin' for opinions."

Perhaps it would be most natural to take a little exception over this purposefully thin answer. After all, he's offered to chase down some assistance for whatever it is; wouldn't knowing the details do some good to that end?

But sitting there at the cramped little table in the roadside carriage inn and nursing the diminishing contents of his cup, Laurentius doesn't seem at all put off. Instead what he says, seemingly quite sincerely, is—

"I'm sorry to hear your mother's passed."

Edited 2023-01-20 06:06 (UTC)

Knowing details would help. But you don't ask for details about somebody's dead mother, and anybody who dares is easily shut down. Nobody watching would think you in the wrong for it, so Gela lies, easy, practiced. She smiles too, a sad little thing.

"Thank you."

Family is a dangerous subject matter.

"I'm sorry," she simpers, brows knitting together, the picture of apology, "I didn't mean to bring the mood down. We should probably discuss how we're goin' to tackle all this once we get there."

closed / tall tales

where did you say you came from again, sir?

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likewise!

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