In the late afternoon, dark clouds rolled across the sky over the city of Truce, threatening some sort of precipitation in the near future, but otherwise remaining mere shadows of ominous intent for the time being. Under these clouds, as the bubbling fountain of Truce gurgled away with heedless aquatic abandon, a tall woman of pale skin and shoulder-length ivory hair peered out silently across the otherwise-quiet city square, as most of the commonfolk had sought shelter elsewhere to prepare for the rain, thunder, and/or lightning that yet impended. The woman's vertical green irises narrowed slightly as she peered off toward the west, one arm laced over her chest to loosely grasp the other arm at its elbow in a listless sort of gesture, and, indeed, she did possibly look a little tired, or maybe like someone who had just recently roused from slumber. Nearby, a small black creature hovered gently in place, shaped as a bat-like demon with a large silver eye between its 'wings'.

As the woman continues to peer westward, the little demon-like thing flaps its tiny wings about, its large silver eye swiveling itself toward her in some sort of unspoken gesture. The wing-flapping doesn't accomplish much, since it seems to be hovering in and of itself, without flight support. There appears to be some manner of unheard communication between them, through this, since it causes the woman to smile a bit. "Yes, Haut will be fine," she said, her voice gentle despite her somewhat-gothic appearance. "It's all I could do to put a blanket around his shoulders, each time I come to and find him passed out like that." She pauses, her smile shifting into a grin that exposes one slender, vampiric fang. "I'd pick him up and put him to bed, myself, but he's pretty skittish and doesn't like surprises; I'd be half afraid of getting a shiv in the throat or something as soon as he woke up and discovered that someone had ahold of him." The dire concept is spoken teasingly, as if she wasn't actually worried about that happening, and the fondness in her voice is easily noticeable.

The little darkling spirit floats on up a bit closer to the woman, coming to place itself just a few inches above her left shoulder, where it bobs slightly in the air. Its eye remains fixed on her, likely continuing whatever conversation is silently going on between the two of them, which the woman responds to as a confirmation. "I'm not sure," she says, her grin fading noticeably. "The fact that the other one feels like Ambience doesn't mean anything if he did actually expire." She lets that thought hang there briefly, as if mulling it over, herself. "And it still bothers me that there's been no word from the Holyland, whatsoever, since. I know I'm not exactly a part of that world, but I would think that Lillian would have had something to say about all this weirdness going on, lately."

The woman sighs, letting her arm go so that both of them return to her sides, and straightens. Her eyes roll upward slightly, watching the dark clouds continue to glide by. "I probably should plan a trip to Fa'diel, soon," she says. "Not tonight, obviously, and I should see if Haut actually wants to go or not, first. But something's bothering me, and even though I don't know what it is, yet, I feel like a few answers might be had, in that direction."

The batwinged eyeball flutters lightly, but before it gets too far into any sort of silent rhetoric, a burst of purple sparkles suddenly brings into being a second, almost-identical version of the other creature, which bounces vigorously in the air directly in front of the woman's face. She is understandably startled at first by this sudden emergence, but as the second creature continues to bob and weave in the air, her expression grows curious, then confused, then very concerned. "...Oh. Oh." she says, that last 'oh' sounding decidedly unpleasant. "Well, that's... not good. Are you sure it was her?"

The creature does a complete flip in the air, seemingly agitated at being questioned. So agitated, in fact, that it soon pops back out of existence with the same shower of purple lights, leaving the woman and the other version to glance between one another. "Don't you dare say anything to Haut," she said, her tone critical. "I know you technically can't, but I mean it. I'll look into this myself." She turns her attention northward, frowning. "When I get a chance, anyway. And, again, not tonight. I don't like being rained on, it feels gross."

The little creature's eye narrows, as if offended.

It started out as a pin point of light, just a tiny mote hovering stationary in the air roughly three feet above the ground. After a moment the speck expanded, spiraling open into a shimmering blue-white portal and a moment later a raven swooped through from the other side and started a meticulous survey of the area.

Upon closer inspection of the bird, it was evident that it had some sort of mechanical aspect to it and it eventually landed on a nearby roof and let out a caw, one gleaming mechanical eye turned toward the square. The Watcher was one of many that served The Between as a scout and surveillance.

A moment later a second figure, equally as small, but significantly different, emerged from the portal. It appeared to be a rabbit, pieced together from bits and pieces of many rabbits, but also sporting a number of tentacles along it's back. The simplest description of the little patchwork rodent was frankenbunny. It hopped forward a few feet before sitting upright on it's haunches and looking around curiously.

Last but not least a third emerged, a stalwart looking man with a darker than average complexion, red hair and a pair of darkly tinted round spectacles perched on his nose. Tattoos covered his forearms which were visible only because the long coat he wore wasn't worn properly, but draped over his shoulders more like a cape than a coat. The rest of his attire was quite dapper looking. Red shirt with a fitted black vest and black slacks, his shoes made of nicely polished and well kept leather and at his neck was a loose tie. A cigarette dangled loosely from his lips as he glanced around, blue smoke drifting through the air lazily.

He reached up a red gloved hand to take the cigarette from his mouth and let out an exhale. "Well, what have we here..." The man's voice was deep and held a lazy drawl that had a sort of class to it.

The woman tilted her head at the opening of the portal, her attention taken from the eyeball-bat for the moment as she assessed the new oddity that had arrived. She seems focused enough on the crow that she doesn't see the patchwork hare subsequently show up, and it isn't until the man actually speaks up that she realizes there were more guests than she initially thought. She turns partways around, and the bat-winged eyeball hovering over her shoulder does as well, three individual eyes now settling upon the newcomer with curious but not scrutinizing expressions. Her spaded tail flicks lightly, perhaps in emphasis of this curiosity, but only a moment or two passes before she smiles, with a very slight tilt of her head. "Newcomer, are you?" she asks, her tone holding a lilt but also conversational.

A solid wind blows through the fountain square at that point, a harbinger of the overhead storm that yet waits to open itself over the city. The woman's sweater flutters loosely against it, her white hair whipping up a bit and knocking bangs into her eyes, which she nonchalantly brushes back aside, amidst the small horns growing out from either side of her temple.

The man turned his gaze toward the voice as the mechanical fused raven swooped down to perch on his shoulder. he studied the woman for a moment through his tinted lenses before he reached up and pulled them down just enough for him to peer over the rims, one reptilian green eye and one vibrant purple eye visible for just a moment before he pushed them back up.

"I am indeed, and judgin by yer lack of concern over the method of my arrival, magic is commonplace here, I am guessin?" His gaze then shifted up toward the looming storm briefly and a small frown tugged at the corners of his lips before he replaced the cigarette between them, speaking around the obstruction. "My name is Deacon Benoit, by the by. Pleasure ta meet ya, miss.

The small patchwork bunny hopped on over toward the strange woman, little tentacles waving around idly as he came to a stop and peered up at what his master guessed might be some form of Tiefling, the frankenbun's beady little eyes looking blankly up at her as it's nose twitched.

She seems not to notice the bunny-thing at her feet just yet, but someone else does. The floating eyeball-creature's vertical pupil dilates considerably as it makes its way down from the woman's shoulder toward the ground, stopping a good foot or so away from the front of the curious amalgamation and merely looking upon it as it hovers gently above the ground. It makes no sound and speaks no words, seemingly conveying its intent through what minimal gestures it can afford through its arguably-demonic-looking portrayal, and the little wings on either side of its large silver eye.

The woman, herself, only smiles a bit further, an ounce of coyness seeping into her expression over his assumption. "Indeed," she says. "It would be easier to round up the number of those who cannot harness mana versus those who can, in at least some fashion. You'll find it a pretty common feature among those who dwell here in the Cleft." She pauses as she turns fully around to face the man, and offers what could be considered not-quite-a-bow, but also more than a nod. "Jillian Mire, as it pleases you, Deacon. I don't sense ill intent from you at this time, which means that I am happy to make your acquaintance." Her eyes switch briefly from his face to the mechanical bird on his shoulder, then back again. "Are you here unintentionally? Or did you find this place by some other method? I cannot claim to recognize your means of travel to be able to place it from memory of any other form."

By this point the portal he had arrived through had cycled shut behind him and the frankenbun was now staring at the flying eyeball just as intently as the little critter had done toward the eyeball's mistress.

"I happen ta be here by design, needed a lil time away from work, if any of my colleagues are ta be believed. So I pulled a fast one on em and told em I would go fer a lil vacation, jus didn't mention I'd be doin a lil scoutin while I was at it." He inhaled, the cherry at the end of his cigarette burning brighter for a brief moment.

"Looks ta me like I coulda picked a better time though, seems the weather is turnin fowl." He paused and cast another glance around at his surroundings. "Seems like a peaceful enough place though. I don't supose I could perhaps pick yer brain a lil? Learn some things bout where I find myself? Happy ta treat ya to a drink as thanks, if yer inclined ta such."

The flying eyeball seems to be making small gestures in an attempt to communicate in some way, but, unfortunately, not having vocal cords or even an actual, corporeal form made things like that difficult. It is all it can do to simple hover around the chimeric rabbit and peer inquisitively about it from all allowed sides, inferring what it can from what it sees despite not being able to convey that information back in any known format.

"Ah, so it sounds as if you might have known of this place for some time, then," Jillian surmises, her smile not fading. "Most of our outside population finds its way here by mistake, but there are some that come here willingly, given that they have the means to travel to and fro." She glances sidelong, and gives an equally-sidelong nod. "I'm not much for commiserating among crowds or tavern settings, and I don't drink much in the way of liquids, but this bench, here, is an apt location if you would like to take a load off. In that same respect, I will be more than happy to tell you anything you would like to know, within the personal knowledge base I have accumulated up to this point, with my tenure here." Without waiting for an agreement or otherwise, she actually does set her bottom down on one end of the bench, her tail curling up and around her upper waist to avoid being squashed.

Her eyes glance upward as she sits down, that smile faltering just an increment. "Though I will likely depart once the rain begins, unfortunately," she says. "There are only certain times I enjoy getting wet outside of the tub, and being caught in the rain is not one of them." There seems to be a little bit of playfulness in the tone of that last sentence, but her expression doesn't imply anything outwardly by it.

"I do appreciate the invite, Miss." Deacon strode over toward the bench and settled himself down on it beside Jillian, making a conscious effort to sit on the side of her that would ensure that the smoke he exhaled would be carried away from her, rather than into her.

"Can't say I knew about this place specifically, not in detail anyway. An I'm the first one of our order ta step foot." He drawled conversationally. "Didn't think I'd be comin cross a place sorta similar ta where we operate outta though. Don't spose yas serve as peace keepers or somethin similar, do ya?"

He paused and looked down at the little eyeball that was inspecting his fuzzy patchwork companion. "Oh, spose I oughta introduce him too. That there is Gus. A familiar of sorts. Yer little friend ain't got issue with em, does he? I know he dun look all that appealin ta some, but he's harmless I ken assure ya."

"Yes, the Cleft sort of... 'exists' between any number of other dimensions," Jillian offers, looking a mite thoughtful. "In a way, I suppose that is how it got its name. It is a chaotic thing, more often than not, but on the outside, it is a homeworld like any other out there. There exists a sense of dissociation, I think, that is its own manner of 'endearing' to those who live here." Her smile changes to a grin, showcasing the pearlescent fangs on either side of her upper line of teeth. "And I'm not surprised to know that there are others like us out there, either. Existence is a very large framework, with an infinite number of possibilities to be placed within or upon it."

She crosses one leg over the other, her eyes peering down upon her companion and 'Gus' on the cobbled street below them. "The way you speak makes it sound as though your turf is a localized regiment, though, if I'm guessing correctly. The Cleft is a world with many different hats, and no one government controls the entirety of it, despite what some people might complain about." She holds a hand up against the side of her lips, amused. "There are a great many people here, with rich histories and lore that transcend even the Cleft itself, given that they have brought it here, with them, from whatever world they came from in the first place. In a sense, you could say that this world takes everyone else's and makes it its own, for better or worse."

Jillian leans forward slightly, peering down at the little creature with a bit more attention. "He's cute," she says. "I could see owning a pet like him, but I don't know if Haut would approve." She gestures lightly towards the floating eyeball. "This is Mero. He's a mana spirit, just one that's taken a liking to me, apparently. He comes and goes, but always seems to be nearby in some capacity."

'Mero' manages a full circle around Gus before returning to place itself directly before him, its body tilted at a very slight angle as if trying to fully assess what it were seeing.

Deacon watches the two creatures as they seize each other up, Gus reaching out with one of his tentacles tentatively to try and make contact with Mero but doesn't move himself.

"Well, seems they ain't fightin each other so far, that's a good sign." Deacon observed the two for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to Jillian. "Mana spirit, eh? Can't say nothin so fancy as that fer Gus. I made him outta leftovers I had from a rabbit stew I made a while back. Had some displacer tentacles handy, and a few leftover squid bits from lunch the day b'for. He's good fer a lotta stuff though, kids back home love em."

He took another deep inhale of his cigarette and let it out with a relaxed hiss. "Kids" was a relative term, they were all full on adults but he was older than all of them, by at least half a millennia.

"Hm, ya think folks might be interested in us postin a liaison here? In case this world be needin any help dealin with troubles er somethin? Seems pretty peaceful here, so I figure ther probably ain't no real need fer now. But we like ta keep in touch with worlds we visit."

Jillian, too, looks pretty pleased with the fact that the two little ones seem to be getting along insofar as their individual curiosities with one-another appear. Mero remains (relatively) still as the stray tentacle phases through the portion of his wing it was attempting to make contact with, his large eye swiveling in its socket, in that direction, and contracting slightly in what could be perceived as amusement. Not actually being on the current plane meant that his interactions with it were pretty limited, and the inverse worked, as well.

"Yes," Jillian agreed. "The mana spirits tend to be relatively amicable, if skittish. Very few of them will physically show themselves, but there are a couple whose curiosity gets the better of them. Some people suspect that they are the eyes and ears of the Goddess placed within the Middle and Lower Realms, allowing her to keep tabs on things from places other than the Holyland." All of this falls out of her mouth without even a slight concern that Deacon wouldn't know what the heck she's talking about. She also seems pretty amused at the concept of Gus's creation, not at all appalled by the frankenstein-esque nature of it. "Kind of reminds me of some methods I used to utilize, way back when. Of course, they were methods of torture and not entertainment, except for myself." Again, this is spoken nonchalantly.

She straightens, glancing aside at him. "A liaison? Of course, we get groups coming by all the time and setting up local headquarters and other things. Clans, guilds, local militias, there's been no shortage of people banding together under common causes to make their mark within the Cleft. You're just as much welcome to do so as any of the rest of them."

Gus appeared startled when it's tentacle passed through the little flying eyeball, a second more enthusiastic attempt was made at contact, only for it to meet the same result. The animated leftovers seemed entertained in it's own right and Gus bounced straight up in the air several times before darting around and zig zagging between the supports that held up the bench.

"That is mighty good ta hear. I hope you don't find this a rude question ta be askin, Miss Jillian, but are you a tiefling? This bein a different world I try not ta make assumptions, I learned a long time ago that askin is always better in the long run, even if it comes off as sorta rude ta some."

The semi-mechanical raven took to wing and took off, seemingly to do some exploring of it's own, but Deacon's attention remained on the woman next to him, his attention focused as he absorbed all of the knowledge she was offering.

This question extracts a giggle out of the woman, who doesn't bother to hide it. "I've heard of those, actually, but no, I'm not one of them," she says, openly and honestly. "I'm a succubus, full and true. Found my way here in the same accidental way that a lot of people did, although my circumstances were a little different once I did show up here." She considers expounding on that a bit further, and decides to do so, given that Deacon appeared to be an interplanar traveler, after all. "I was a favored concubine of lord Dracula, back during the Hellsing crusades. I fought beside him during a raid on the castle, when the portal opened up and sucked me inside, along with a farmgirl that happened to be unlucky enough to be in the same area at the time. How she got into that mess, I'll never know, but she was there all the same." Jillian grins. "The process fused us together, turning us into one person with two souls. We were forced to cohabitate for a significant length of time, and then semi-recent circumstances allowed us to split apart and grant me my freedom. But that time spent with her changed a lot about me, arguably for the better. Thinking back on it, I didn't hate it all that much, after the first few years. But for those first few years, we were at each others' throats. Which, coincidentally, was the same throat."

Mero just seems a bit perplexed by the rabbit-creatures antics, and merely hovers in place where it is, its eye occasionally glancing up toward Jillian to make sure she's okay, too.

"And I wouldn't worry at all about being rude to me," she adds, as an afterthought. "I'm pretty pleasant to be around, I'd like to think, and it takes a lot to get me riled up. So long as you're not fucking with kids in any capacity, we'll stay on pretty good terms. I'm kind of fond of the little ones." That F-bomb she drops has a shade of inherent darkness attributed to it, as if it carried, despite the nonchalant way she dropped it, a certain promise of disproportionate retribution if such a thing transpired.

"Ah you don't gotta worry about me bringin harm ta no one, Miss Jillian, I only get unpleasant deliberately when it comes ta bad folks. The rest of the time my unpleasantness is fairly unintentional." He paused a moment and decided that satement required a bit more explanation. "Good deal of folks find aspects of me off puttin. Harmin innocents ain't one of those aspects though, I assure ya."

Deacon dropped the stump of his cigarette onto the ground and crushed it with his heel before picking it up once again and tossing it over to Gus, who had paused in his frantic racing about. The little cobbled together octobummy hopped to the discarded butt and promptly ate it.

"Don't got many lil ones back home, our lil sanctuary tends ta grab folks from the brink of death an dumps em in my lap ta train." *He shook his head to himself. "S'pose we oughta count ourselves lucky that there ain't too many kid's gettin in that sorta trouble." Though his tone had diped a little, indicating he was well aware that didn't mean there were none, just that they weren't dropped in his lap.

"Well, it's not the harming of innocents that I care much about, just children in particular," she corrects him, her expression still pleasant. "People die, and sometimes there's collateral damage involved. It happens." She seems to recall something, which only adds to her already-present grin, though it feels oddly devious. "And, sometimes, when you need to make a point, the best way to do it is by spilling innocent blood, especially if that blood means something to the person you're making the point toward. It's not the most preferred way to handle things, I'll admit, but it is an effective way. It's all a matter of how well the ends justify the means."

Jillian uncrosses her legs, folding her arms and placing them in her lap as she leans forward again, eyes on Mero. "There are no shortage of children here, as you might expect. It is a populated world like any other life-allowing scape. And it seems peaceful at the moment, but this world has its share of ups and downs." She considers briefly, before continuing. "Actually having an issue with a few things at the moment, in fact, but it's not something you need to worry about. This world has its heroes and villains just like anywhere else, and sometimes the heroes disappear when you wished they wouldn't. Especially when they're just kids, themselves." She sounds... a little sad, maybe. It's pretty minor, but it is there.

"I am of the belief that points can be made without the sheddin of blood, innocent or otherwise." The red-haired man seemed relatively unphased by what the woman's words implied. He had dealt with infernal sorts before so he had been expecting a level of their malicious nature to still exist in this woman based on what little of her history she had saw fit to share with him.

"Well, I do not view myself as a hero, I think if I had to have a label, I'd be considered a neutral force." He reached into his coat's inner pocket to retrieve a small tin, of which he opened and selected a fresh dark brown cigarette, placing it between his lips.

"The people that work under me, they are heroes, I think. All of them much more in tune with their humanity. All of them having been through trials, tribulations an a great deal of loss. They may be a rowdy an boisterous bunch a misfits, but they all got good hearts." He brough his hands up to the unlit cigareette cupping them around in a protective manner to seemingly shield his attempts to light it from the building winds that foretold the arrival of the pending arrival of the storm. A soft orange glow could be seen briefly before he lowered his hands again to rest on his thighs.

"Ya just decided ta stay livin here? Or'd that have somethin ta do with yer other half?"

Changing her attention from Mero back to Deacon, Jillian's grin only maintains itself as he discusses the premise of points being made without bloodshed. He wasn't wrong, not in the least. But sometimes things just didn't turn out that way, and heads (among other body parts) would definitely roll if she ever caught sight or sound of a child being placed in any potential path of harm, regardless. But, that was neither here nor there, at the moment. "Of course," she says, instead. "I suppose I use the term 'hero' or 'villain' generally, as anyone can aspire to those roles with enough valiant or unsavory deeds, respectively. But there have been a few individuals who rose to the call when the Cleft was threatened with destruction or subjugation. Threats that regular, everyday folk couldn't hope to stand against; you probably know the types." The wind blows through Jillian's hair roughly, throwing it around like a small ivory banner all about her head, and she waits for a lull in the wind to, again, brush it out of her eyes. "It sounds like you have a good posse, though. If you do decide to set up a place for you and yours, here, there's plenty to accommodate them. Just, ah..." She glances back over her shoulder, toward the north a bit, then back at Deacon. "Just make sure you're careful about who you mouth off to. That's about the best advice I can give."

"Myself? I don't have the power to go anywhere, anymore," she said, a bit resignedly, but not overly so. "I was vastly more powerful when Lillian and I were a single entity, but not only did separating cut our combined power in half, being given my freedom weakened that power even further. Even as a succubus, I don't have the same limitless capacity for dark magic that I once did. Not that I can't hold my own if I had to, mind you, but no longer am I on a scale that could be considered a large-scale threat over the Cleft, if I'd ever considered it. That also means that I don't have the same ability for interplanar travel that I otherwise might have, at one point."

Her eyes lower a bit. "And there's... other things that keep me here, too," she says, the unmistakable hint of fondness catching in her voice. "I wouldn't want to be without them, even if I had the choice to go elsewhere."

Torr — 03/23/2024 9:49 PM
"Understandable, it's the connections we make that help make us, after all." He said in a relaxed manner. Sounds ta me we got a lil somethin in common, we got folks that make us better than we'd be otherwise. I think everyone's got at least one of them, be it a big er small influence don't matter none."

The wind tugged at his coat, sending the loose sleeves flapping for a brief moment, though he didn't make to hold the coat in place, at least not with his hands. Something shifted under the coat, a subtle movement that only a keen eye would notice.

"Weather here always like this? Er this just a regular ol weather pattern?" He was glad he didn't have a habit of wearing a hat of any sort cause it would have been sent flying by now if it had. Despite the winds he was rather enjoying the conversation with the local. He had a hunger for knowledge that could often get him in trouble, and had on many occasions. A new world, a willing source of knowledge all seemed like a more pressing thing than just a few gusts of wind and the threat of getting wet.

"I'd like ta thank you fer bein so helpful already, Miss Jillian. Yer willingness ta sit here with me with the threat of rain loomin over us is greatly appreciated. I'm enjoyin this conversation."

Deacon's comment about other people making them better than they would otherwise be kind of hit her differently, and she wasn't sure why. The concept might just never have occurred to her, before right then. She shakes off the thought before it gets her too deep into herself, though, and lifts her eyes back to Deacon's face. "Oh, it's no trouble," she said, her voice maybe just a smidge quieter than it had been, and her grin having descended back into a friendly smile. "We have our weather patterns that come and go, and some parts of the world experience things more severely than others." She gestures northward. "Frosty Forest, for example, you'll never see outside of a traditional winterscape." She then gestures westward. "And Viorar is always enveloped in darkness, as though 'daytime' were a foreign concept. It varies pretty wildly with the location, but that's just how the Cleft is. Nobody who has been here for any length of time questions it."

Jillian peers upward, though, at his comment. "I'm kinda surprised it hasn't already started raining, though, at this point," she muses. "And I'm sure I'll regret those words in a matter of minutes. But we could probably use it, been pretty dry the last few weeks, from what I've seen. Outside of occasional flurries and a light sprinke, there hasn't been much going on since the Festival of Lights concluded." Her own comment forces her smile to drop a little bit. "I've been meaning to try attending that, one of these years, too. Maybe next year."

Deacon raised an eyebrow and cast a sidelong glance at Jillian, curiosity in his mismatched eyes. The cultureal aspect of a new place was never the thing that got his attention the most, but it never hurt to at least feign interest.

"Festival of Light? May I perhaps have you explain that to me? Or would you prefer to seek shelter? I'll understand if you would rather do the latter, judging by the barometric pressure it will likely start to rain in the next seven minutes or so."

Gus had finished disposing of the discarded cigarette butt and was now refocused on Mero, very deliberately hopping up and down in place so the apex of his jumps would end with him inside the mana spirit's form. Deacon glanced over at the frankenbun, his brow knitting slightly.

"Gus, would ya knock it off, yer just bein obnoxious now." He chastised the familiar before then saying to Jillian, "I'm sorry bout him, he has a tendency ta push his luck, he's been spendin too much time with the younger folks back home I think."

Mero just kind of... shimmers and flickers as his image is distorted accordingly by Gus attempting to displace him, but he neither backs off nor seems to show any physical indication of irritation over it. Confusion, maybe, considering the large silver eye contracts and dilates off and on, but if he was unnerved by it, he had the capacity to either fly away or go back to the Holyland, which he did neither of, at this time. It's hard to tell, but that same eye swivels in Deacon's direction at the sound of Gus being chastised, as if wondering if he were also the target since Gus was, physical-relativity-speaking, part of him at that point.

Jillian only giggles. "Not at all," she said, clearly amused. "Mero will make it known when he's had enough. They aren't quite like us, but each mana spirit has at least some sort of personality that sets them apart from each other. The vast majority frighten easily and stay hidden, but some, like Mero, are too curious about what we're doing to keep to themselves. I can almost guarantee that he's just trying to figure out what Gus's fascination with him is, more than anything else." She tilts her head at a solid angle, and a loud pop is heard as she cracks her neck. "Most of the time they do show up, they don't have any mind payed to them, anyway. They're not uncommon enough for too many people to be that fascinated with them. So this is kinda of endearing, honestly."

She holds up a hand, checking for rain, but nods when she doesn't feel anything. "Nah, I'm okay for a few more minutes. I'm not staying too far from here, so I can make it back without getting too drenched before it starts coming down. But, ah..." She clears her throat. "The Festival of Lights is a pretty big deal around the Cleft. It's a week-long festival whose sole purpose is to give people a week to do nothing but enjoy themselves. I don't know as much about it as some people who've actually been there, but I hear it's quite an ordeal. Games, vendors, even live performances." She looks thoughtful for a moment. "I heard there was a few neat performances this year that I'm sad I missed, particularly. A siren named 'Mollianne' supposedly was headlining a bunch of them, so I suspect she probably blew a lot of people away. I've been to the nightclub she works at, in Viorar, and she's the real deal, if I can use that phrase. But yeah, the festival itself is something that a whole lot of people look forward to, every year. The Fukawa family hosts it, completely out of pocket, as a show of good faith for all the hard work everyone in the Cleft toils through, throughout the year."

"I see, we have somethin akin to that, mostly as a form of R&R for our agents since their missions can be pretty taxin at times. My counter part in runnin the organization upkeeps it as part f his duties, a carnival of sorts, since he is a bit more inclined ta the social aspect of of things. Jovial fella, he's actually the one that sorta kicked me outta the place ta force me ta take a day."

Deacon chuckled and shook his head, the way a faint smile flitted across his neutral expression spoke volume of his opinion of the man he was speaking of.

Gus was undaunted by the chastising Deacon had given him and did a few more hops through the incorporeal form of Mero before he zipped over to Jillian and experimentally tapped a tentacle on her foot as if testing to see if she had a physical form.

"You got any suggestions as ta where a fella can stay a night? Think I might prefer not wanderin around in the rain once it gets goin."

Jillian is, in fact, a real and physical entity! She glances down at the light tapping, and offers the multibunny a big smile to let it know she's more than okay with it being there. "That's good to know," she said, without looking away from Gus, "everyone needs a break once in awhile. And whether you want one or not..." she straightens, looking back at Deacon again, "it is in your best interest to take one anyway, because you can't know when the next chance is that you will get one when you do need it. So, props to your partner for giving you the boot ahead of time." She looks like she were going to say something else, but an ominous and thorough rumble cuts through the atmosphere from overhead, as the storm finally decides it has had enough toying with the people under its cloudbase. No rain, yet, but it likely won't be much longer. Jillian frowns at this, once more glancing upward. "That's a good idea, I think." She stands up quickly, brushing off her leggings even though there wasn't any way they could've gotten dirty just by sitting on a bench for a little while. The act of Jillian unseating herself spurs Mero into action, too, as he very swiftly zips through the air and replaces himself over her shoulder, as he had been a short while prior.

"Here, come this way," she says, being careful not to kick or step on Gus as she moves away from the fountain square and proceeds toward the south avenue, not looking back and just assuming Deacon was intelligent enough to follow her.

Deacon climbed to his feet, a little bit of ash falling off his lit cigarette as he did so. Despite having a few paces of a head start, he was able to close the gap with his rather long strides and fall into step along side Jillian.

Gus, feeling particularly lazy in that very moment grabbed hold of his creator's pant leg with a tentacle and started to hoist himself up along the man's body until he was able to perch atop his master's shoulder, a tentacle wrapping around the man's neck so the small familiar wouldn't accidentally tumble from that perch.

"Yer assistance is much appreciated, Miss Jillian. Dare I say you seem to be well versed in givin the schpiel about this place. I'd be willin ta guess that ya give it pretty often, am I wrong?" Once he had caught up his pace shrank to match hers as they walked along the avenue.

Jillian only grins, maintaining her silence for a moment as they walk along past a bank on the west side of the street. A low flash of light, still far off, cuts through the city's dim afternoon atmosphere, followed by another low warning of thunder. "Being conjoined with Lillian taught me a lot of things about the Cleft, from an angle and perspective I'd have never learned, otherwise," she explains. "And while you're not wrong, insofar that I have provided many opportunities for education to newcomers such as yourself, it is a habit more than an intent. This place can be difficult to get used to, depending on which world you were stolen away from, and I get plenty of people who have pre-established notions of what kind of person they suspect I am, just because of the pale skin, horns and tail. So I think of it as my way of destabilizing those 'norms' and letting people know that even demons of lust can still be scholars, at times." There's no change in tone as she explains all of this, like it was just an everyday occurrence, any and all of those things, to her. "The inn's not much further, though. Do you have coin for the night?" It suddenly occurred to her that, as a newcomer from elsewhere, currency might be an issue.

Deacon considered for a moment, a hand slipping into his trouser pocket for a moment, the faint clink of coin could be heard but he never actually brought it out to inspect it.

"I'm not familiar with valid forms of currency here, but if gold is accepted, then I should be fine." He withdrew his hand from his pocket and let it return to swinging loosely at his side. His expression didn't change much as the thunder startled the frankenbun on his shoulder, whom promptly wrapped all of it's tentacles around his head and face, nearly knocking his spectacles off.

This doesn't escape Jillian's notice, and she grins at the visual. "Ah, then you'll be fine," she said. "Gold and silver are the main currencies utilized in 99% of businesses, so you have nothing to worry about, then." It doesn't take a whole lot longer before the two of them arrive at an intersection, and as Jillian prepares to round the corner and turn east, it starts. A couple of pit-pat-patters of water droplets at first, but those dark clouds overhead absolutely do not hesitate to tear themselves open in no time, unleashing a swift and torrential rainfall that bears down on the small group with all the promised fury that it had been warning them about for the better part of an hour or so.

As much as Jillian handwaved the premise of getting back before the rain started, the suddenness of this catches her off guard, bringing a light shriek of dismay as she suddenly finds herself, literally, caught in the rain. She triples her pacing as she hurries down the eastern road, where a large building isn't too far off from there, sporting a sign with a pair of mugs clinking together over it, her white hair flying out wildly behind her as she goes. "This way!" she yells out behind her, just to be safe. Her bare feet slap wetly against the road as she runs.

His stride extended once again to keep pace with his guide, though when the rain started coming down hard he did feel a little remorse that the poor woman was suffering it for his sake. Upon catching up again, he used his arm as a sort of scaffolding to prop up his coat out over her head to shield her from the rain as they hurried toward the tavern. It was a large enough coat for such a function, and he himself didn't care if he got wet or not, it would be an easy fix once they had reached the shelter of the inn.

Gus now smelled of WET rabbit however, and that wet rabbit smell was all up in his face. That, he could have done without. Upon reaching the door of the tavern, he reached out a gloved hand to push open the door for Jillian as a courtesy. Once under the protective eves of the building he finally spoke again.

"Apologies, it would seem your tour guiding has caused you to be in the place you seemed to rather avoid, under circumstances you seemed none too keen on." He reahced up to push some of his wet hair from his face, which wasn't an easy feat considering he had a tentacled rabbit stuck to it. "I hope you didn't get too wet."

Jillian, unfortunately, got a lot wet. The overhead of Deacon's coat helped a little bit, but the windiness coupled with the sheer magnitude of the rainfall didn't allow it to help as much as he probably would've hoped it would. She does skid to a halt once they reach the overhang of the tavern's entrance, though, and the grimace on her face is probably a little cute as much as it is pitiful. Her bright locks are plastered to her face and the back of her head at every angle, causing those small horns to stand out a little more blatantly, as a result, and her eyes are mostly hidden amidst the flattened bangs across them. Rivulets of water run down the side of her face as Deacon opens the door for her, which she seems grateful for and takes him up on the gesture. "Ah, it's fine," she simply says, not actually sounding completely like it was fine, but she could definitely sound more upset than she actually does, at the very least. She grips the base of her sweater to wring some of it out, which has also gotten pretty well-soaked from the downpour, and, as loose as it was meant to be beforehand, there was probably a reason for that; she unintentional side of effect of a wet garment gives it a cling factor, and it becomes instantly apparent that Jillian forgot a certain undergarment when she stepped out, earlier that afternoon. Whether she knows or is aware of this isn't certain, since she simply steps inside the safety of the tavern while attempting to squeeze some of the excess water out of her sweater.

Understandably, Mero is unaffected by any of this, and merely remains over Jillian's shoulder where he had been the whole time, unperturbed by these events.

"If ya would allow me, I do have a spell that could help with the current waterlogged state." He'd been to enough strange places and enough new worlds to know that one does not simply prestidigitate a stranger without permission.

As if to demonstrate, he made a quick gesture with one hand, even as his coat was dripping water all over the floor of the tavern's entrance. With a quick utterance and an application of magic, he was dry once more, as was the Gus attached to his head, of which eh promptly peeled the frankenbun off and set him down.

"I do hope you'll fergive me fer gettin ya inta this predicament. It was not my intention."

Jillian reaches up to peel some of the hair out of her eyes as Deacon makes his offer, watching for a moment at the demonstration as her eyes widen slightly. "Huh," she huh's. "Even I can't do that." She glances sidelong at the tavern interior, where a perpetually-annoyed-looking Koopa appears to be hosting the place, then back at Deacon. "Actually, you know, I wouldn't mind at all if you wanted to hit me with that. I really, seriously don't like this at all."

She pauses for a moment, even as drops of water continue to leak freely from the edges of her clothes and hair. "But also, don't beat yourself up over it," she adds, with a half smirk. "I'll have you know that I could have shadow-stepped my happy ass out of there at any time and made it back without even a drop hitting me, but I wasn't going to leave someone new in town to try and navigate a place they'd never been to before, in the middle of a storm like that. It was a courtesy situation, and I don't do things half-measure."

As if to punctuate her statement, a loud peal of thunder cracks in a muffled fashion from just outside.

"And here I thought I were just that charmin." He said with a smokey drawl as he made the hand gesture once again and uttered the words that would leave Jillian dry once again. The tone was one of teasing without the actual conviction behind it so as not to come off as arrogant.

Gus jumped again at the sound of the thunder and darted between Deacon's feet, holding on to one of his legs for dear life with his little tentacles. He didn't pay the critter any mind, so long as the little fur ball didn't try to cling to both legs at once, the result of that could be rather embarrassing.

"I do appreciate the...professional courtesy, rest assured." He paused as he realized the cigarette hanging from his mouth had been completely extinguished by the deluge, dry now though it may be, due to the cantrip he'd casted. "I don't s'pose they permit smokin here, do they?"

Jillian's mood brightens with remarkable speed as she finds herself dry once more, giving more than a little truth to the plight she'd professed. "That's pretty neat, actually," she says, of the trick itself. "Might have to keep you around on rainy days for just such an occasion." Her jest was meant to coincide with his own, so now they were equal. "But nah, it's kind of a jerk move to build someone up with the tour guide premise, and then drop them on their head when the weather turns foul. I'd have been beating myself up all the rest of the day if I'd pulled that." She reaches up to smooth her hair out, running her fingers through the strands and allowing it to free-fall against her shoulders once more. "Just not my style. But, ah... I'm not sure about the cigarettes. The innkeep over there can be kind of an ornery guy, most times, so it almost might be better to just do it out on the deck. There should be enough space to avoid getting rained on, if you just stand outside the door."

Deacon took the cigarette from his mouth with his off hand and pulled out the storage tin with the other, placing the partially spent coffin nail in with the others and closed it before returning the tin to his inner pocket.

"I think I'll play it safe an just refrain fer the time bein. But seein as how ya got me here all safe an sound, i'd understand if ya were wantin ta shadowport outta here back ta yer residence, since I'm taken care of now. But I'll point out that the offer of a drink, er maybe a hot meal is still on the table. A show of appreciation."

His gaze flicked around the inn briefly, searching for price signage as his fingers fished out some of the large heavy gold coins from his pocket. The whole setting was oddly familiar and alien at the same time, but in that famliarity there was a comfort too. Normally Deacon tended to be a bit on the paranoid side, that wasn't to say he wasn't still on alert, but the surroundings didn't seem to be setting off any alarm bells. Not that he was prone to appearing to be paranoid. He' practiced a great deal to hide that specific aspect of his personality.

Jillian's erstwhile smirk remains, but develops a bit of something else to it that isn't immediately clear. "I'm in no hurry, considering I don't have the fear of rain anymore while there's a roof over my head," she says. "If there's still more that you wanted to know about this place, I'd be more than happy to continue your education." She pivots slightly and sets one leg behind the other, putting the bare toes of one foot against the heel of her other. "I don't have much of an appetite, most days, so don't worry about me. If you want to grab something to eat in the meantime, be my guest; my diet is a bit different than normal people's, anyway." She peers off to one side, at an empty table. "Haut knows that I wander off on my own, sometimes. He's likely to be paranoid after what happened recently, but I can take care of myself, and he knows it."

She looks back at Deacon, giving a small nod. "I'm a faithful pet, so he knows I'll come back when I'm ready," she chirps, and her expression doesn't immediately imply anything, one way or another, with that sort of comment.

"Give me one moment to purchase my accomodations fer the knight and I'll be right with ya." He strode over to the counter and made arrangements for his stay before he started back toward the booth. If Deacon was thrown off by any of Jillian's comments it didn't seem to show.

When he finally seated himself at the boot, Gus was quick to jump up onto the bench beside him and burry his head in the unoccupied sleeve of his master's coat.

"After what happened?" his tone implied a polite curiosity as to what she may have meant by those words, but also that he was more than welcome to abandon the inquiry if his temporary tutor was so inclined. Moments later a hot mug of black coffee was placed before him and he nodded in appreciation to the server before taking a sip.

Jillian affords herself a seat as well, having given Deacon a few minutes to accommodate himself and figure out his lodgings for the night. She crosses one leg over the other, her seat pushed back just a little ways from the table. "Ah, you know," she says, her tone anything but serious. "Just shadows stealing away critical emotions from people and leaving them broken, that sort of thing. Happens all the time." Really, anything but serious.

This comment actually gets a rile out of Mero, who pushes away from her shoulder and moves down over the top of the table to float in front of her. The spazziness of his movements and frantic flapping of those little wings imply that he's not happy with her comment, and is showing it as such in whatever way he can.

Perhaps surprisingly, Jillian responds to something unheard between them, with a small frown. "I was joking, Mero," she said, with minor exasperation. "I know it was serious. You don't need to remind me."

"It would seem yer lil friend wasn't keen on yer humour. I won't go pryin fer details, I'm a stranger after all." He set his mug back down but didn't release the handle as he took a moment to appreciate the flavour and aroma of the brew.

"I don't suppose ya could tell me what sort of cultural norms tend to be in play in this place could ya? What sorta behaviors ain't acceptable, what ones are, that sorta thing." He was picking his words carefully now. He had no idea if this place saw something like slavery as normal, or other such practices for that matter, but being blunt around a topic that was often a taboo tended to lead to misunderstandings. Jillian's words seemed to hint at possible ownership by another, but he wasn't ready to jump to such a conclusion so recklessly.

"Nah, and I ought to know better, too," Jillian says, almost offhandedly. Mero vibrates briefly, his large eye contracting considerably as he spontaneously bursts into a shower of purple sparkles, disappearing from sight in the process. This brings the smirk back to Jillian's face, as she seems amused. "Yeah, like that. Shades tend to be the serious ones of the bunch, and I forget sometimes that he doesn't find things like that funny, especially where I'm concerned. Oh well."

"Cultural norms, hm?" She taps the side of her face with one fingertip, considering the topic for a moment. "That's hard to pin down 'cause, like I mentioned, we don't really have any 'global consensus' concepts here in the Cleft. Most things are left up to interpretation by whoever is in charge in any given region. But, for the most part, people seem to just come and go as they please. I don't know what classifies as 'normal' for you and yours, but I feel like the basic concept of 'don't murder people randomly' and 'don't keep people locked up in your basement without their consent' probably apply, things like that. Really, as long as you don't stick your nose too deep in other peoples' business, you're probably fine. Everyone's idea of what is 'okay' and what is 'fucked' is a little different, but a general rule of thumb is to just not do something to someone else that you wouldn't want done to yourself. That's likely to keep you pretty safe and secure."

One of the windows of the tavern on the nearby wall flashes brightly as lightning comes in from the storm's progress, rapidly accompanied by the subsequent crash of thunder. A couple of people from a table on the other side of the tavern look up toward a window of their own, but otherwise ignore the storm raging outside.

Jillian seems to think of something else after a moment, perking up. "Oh! And I would probably abstain from slandering the Mana Goddess in any capacity, regardless of when and where. Not everyone's a religious nut, but some people can get real hoity-toity about that sort of thing, so if you have a beef with her or her flock at all, it's best to keep that to yourself."

"Now that is information I greatly appreciate. Never been much of one ta follow a god er goddess, I got a lil too much ego fer that, I think. But it's good ta hear slavery ain't approved of round here. Mighta had to'av cut short my lil vacation were that a thing."

Deacon picked up a spoon and idly stirred his coffee despite the fact that he had added nothing that required being mixed in. The flash and subsequent thunder caused a fearful squeak from somewhere in his coat and the man rolled his mismatched eyes behind the tinted lenses of his spectacles.

"Well, I've been askin so many questions of ya, I oughta offer some answers ta some of yers if ya got any. If ya don't, don't feel compelled to scrape em up ta appease me er nothin." He took another slow sip of his coffee. "Would hate fer the conversation ta seem too one sided."

"I think I tend to prefer it that way, most times," Jillian admitted. "It sounds a little vain to just say 'I like to hear myself talk,' but there's some truth to it, unfortunately." There's a pause, as she glances back toward the window and the rain streaking across it from the outside. "This world has so much going on with it at any given time, I don't tend to think too hard about what else is out there beyond it. And we get new people in on the regular, from all kinds of different worlds with all kinds of different backgrounds, and it doesn't sit well with me to think that they're going to out and get themselves killed when someone could've at least given them a heads-up on some of the finer points beforehand."

Her expression looks a little thoughtful, and she turns back to Deacon. "Kind of doesn't match well to what I said earlier about not caring much for the loss of innocent life, I guess. It's not like I want to see people die pointlessly or anything, I'm just kind of... conflicted, at times, I guess. That run-in with the shadow I mentioned kind of knocked a few screws loose in me that have been rattling around for awhile, and I think I'm getting reacquainted with things that have been dormant for some time. So if I sound like I'm rambling or not matching up with things, that's probably all it is." She nods. "But yeah, we don't do much in the way of slavery here. Pretty frowned-upon in most respects, and if it is around and in practice, it's kept pretty well under wraps from the public eye. But, of course, that's the non-consensual variety. Plenty of people out there who prefer that lifestyle, too."

Jillian seems to think on something Deacon said, then pipes up again, after a moment. "The Mana Goddess is a bigger thing here than just whether a person follows her or not, too," she adds. "She is a big part of the whole world's integrity, in a lot of respects, and it doesn't boil down to whether you believe in her or not. This place would literally be a dry and empty wasteland without her presence, and the things she gave to us by proxy, so even those who aren't devout or church-goers still accept that she is an important part of the general flow of things. That's really the main reason why it's a good idea to not speak ill of her in public, just 'cause you never know how it's going to be taken by any given person. She does have her detractors, but they're not super common, from what I can tell."

Deacon nodded slightly "I can respect an entity with a purpose, I just ain't the sort ta assume that there's only one way of doin a thing. Or that how a thing is done currently oughta be the way it's done fer good. But I'll leave it at that."

Deconstructing and reconstructing where two of the many things that were his life's blood. Be it robotics, dead things, magics, ideas, he had an overly active mind and it constantly craved problems to solve, and yes, on occasion created problems to solve that weren't there to start with. That was a habit he had been trying to curb.

"Got any interestin tales of peril that ya care ta sh-..are?" The last word in his sentence was interrupted by another flash of lightning. It was as though his mind had been briefly distracted then re engaged with the conversation a split second later.

"Sorry, damn bird is gonna get himself fried if he don't quit flyin around like a fool. It would seem that Jillian wasn't the only one with an unspoken mode of communication with a small friend.

Jillian only seems to just now realize that there was a second critter with Deacon when he arrived, and she must've forgotten about it between her conversations with him and the playtime his familiar had engaged in with Mero. Her attention goes once more to the window. "Seems an odd time to decide to go flying around in the great outdoors," she muses. "They could at least wait until the weather clears up to go exploring, the Cleft isn't exactly going anywhere. I don't think."

The suggestion of stories opens up a box in Jillian's mind that is, actually, full of various things, and she seems to need a moment to sift through them. There was always the obvious, but given what was currently going on right now, and the implications involved, she wondered if it was really appropriate. She didn't express it outwardly, but Ambience's death did weigh a little heavily on her, considering she was essentially there when it happened and couldn't do anything to prevent it. This puts a small frown on her face, despite things. "I haven't really been involved in a lot, myself, but the Cleft has seen its share of problems that, so far, have all managed to be averted in some form or another," she recounts, her tone a little on the quiet side. "The Mana Goddess is just the highest part of the mountain that a number of people seek to climb, in any given era. Below her, the Mana Tree is a blatant symbol of power that catches the eye of both good and bad idealists, but the Mana Tribe help keep that flow in check, typically because you can't really get there without their help. Usually."

She returns her attention to Deacon, her expression neutral despite the thoughtful look retained in her brilliant green eyes. "The Sword of Mana is kept at the base of the Tree, and is wielded by a chosen person during times of extreme duress, so that they might prevent whatever catastrophe is bound to unfold without its intervention. I've been witness to its necessity twice in just the last fifteen years or so, most recently being taken up around five years past." She hesitates, as if not really wanting to continue in the direction she was going, but decides to anyway, for educational purposes. "I was part of a group that opposed a different group that sought to put the Cleft under its thumb, and they had the power to do just that, if left unopposed. We were victorious, but at a pretty heavy cost that rippled over a number of different venues for a period of time. Some of the wounds it caused still haven't quite healed, even several years after-the-fact."

"Life was lost, and some people were left bitter by the results of what transpired on that day," Jillian explains, her eyes lowering toward the table. "I sometimes feel like some of us could do more if we weren't so stubborn and grounded into our ideals, but the one thing we can't change is the past, so..."

"Ya have my condolences, Miss Jillian. It's always a challenge dealin with a loss, were lil over a year ago I went through somethin similar. Part of why my counterpart were so insistent I get my ass outta The Between fer a few days. I constantly feel I could be doin more, meanwhile just 'bout everyone else is tellin me ta do less. Can be damned frustratin."

If Deacon was feeling frustrated it certainly wasn't showing. The man had an uncanny neutrality about him, like some part of him was turned off for the sake of efficiency and effectiveness.

"But, can't go lingerin on wouldas and couldas, that ain't gonna change, nothin, as ye said. We tend ta commemorate our lost in the hall of memories in The Boundless Citadel, It's really quite pretty, if I'm bein honest. But in a sorrowful sorta way. Names engraved on stone walls, their idetification tags hangin from the ceilin like chandeliers. Sorta a peaceful place."

He took another sip of his coffee before putting it back down on the table and releasing the handle to rest his hand on the tabletop.

Jillian is silent for a moment, lost in one very specific memory before she shakes it off and raises her eyes once more. "It is, yes," she agrees. "In a line of work such as yours, where I suspect you're always sticking your necks out for other people, those risks probably come far too often, and luck occasionally does run out." The succubus leans forward slightly, resting one arm on the table's edge. "We have a mausoleum in the north part of Truce for similar circumstances and reverence, for those that have fallen while serving the Cleft's better interests. The Wishborn, in particular, face substantial risks on the regular, and while those who aren't in league with them know very little about what they do or how they go about it, their efforts keep us safe in the meantime, too. Kind of a... 'everybody doing their part' sort of situation."

"Wishborn?" Deacon raised an eyebrow, the term made him think of the standard "Chosen" or "The One" that seemed to crop up on many of the other worlds he'd been to. "S'pose I oughta perhaps swing on by an pay respects. I may not be much of a follower of gods, but I got great respect fer average folk willin ta take on the tough jobs. All too often, it's thankless, at least while yer still breathin. Only ever seems like folks appreciate em after ther gone."

Deacon's gaze wandered back to the window, the index finger of his right hand lightly tapping the table top.

"Don't s'pose there's any need fer a field medic roun here at the moment? I can volunteer while I'm about." His attention returned to Jillian and he offered up one of those charming smiles that was more a display than a genuine attempt to woo. "I'll be up front though, folks don't often care fer my sorta tendin."

The woman nods. "They get that a lot, as well," she confirms. "The Wishborn are an interesting case, in the pretense that they relinquish their souls in exchange for power. That is the 'nutshell' version, and while there is far more to it than that, I'm not well-versed in their personal lore, so I don't know much more beyond that. Attitudes toward them and their controversial acceptance of such an offer vary pretty wildly, and there's a good handful of people that scorn them for being so flippant about something so important." She shrugs, leaning back in her chair. "But I'm definitely not one to judge after all the things I've done in my life, so I won't."

"As far as requiring on-hand medics, there's few people that would turn down a willing healer's hand, but I can't actually think of any person or group that's been asking around, at least recently." Jillian seemed to either ignore or just not be bothered by Deacon's comment about potentially-controversial application thereof. "Most major towns have either a clergy or a local mage for similar requirements, and beyond the scope of commonfolk, most people who are out to make a name for themselves typically have a way of keeping themselves alive, too." She smirks, tapping one finger lightly on the table's rim. "That's one of the benefits of living in a world where mana is prevalent, I suppose. Anyone who can utilize it will often do so in practical ways, first, and destructive ways, second."

"These Wishborn sound a bit like warlocks back where I'm from. Folks that make a pact grantin power in return fer their servitude ta their patron. Some of em got inta the deal by accident, a lot of em got inta it on purpose, cravin power. These Wishborn in servitude ta this Mana Goddess ya mentioned? Or is it ta mana itself? "

Deacon rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, resthing his chin on them and looking thoughtful as he watched Jillian with an outsider's curiosity.

"They still got autonomy? Or they sorta like...mana zombies er somethin? Puppets fer somethin else?"

Jillian takes a moment to think, since the premise isn't one she's as familiar with as other things. "Comparatively, they're a newer organization, only having been around for less than a decade, I think," she attempts to explain. "They are their own group and don't answer to a higher power or calling, and most of them don't even have high opinions of the cat-like creature that granted them their powers in the first place. A good many of them felt deceived, but it isn't something they could undo or take back, either. I would consider them a neutral party, with regards to how the Mana Goddess does or doesn't view them or their actions, though it is likely skewed in a favorable light because they are, after all, keeping the Cleft and its inhabitants safe, however indirectly it may seem. Otherwise, the two associations are unrelated, and their powers aren't derived from mana itself, either. Some sort of power is infused into the jewel that they are granted upon acceptance of this power, which not only houses their soul, but also grants them that power they had asked for in the first place. Beyond that scope, though..." She glances sidelong and down at her empty shoulder, as if feeling a little weird not to have something floating there. "They're just normal people, attempting to lead normal lives. The 'Wishborn' aspect is more of a side job than it is a lifestyle, at least for most of them. Like every organization, though, you'll always have a few zealots."

He nodded in understanding, his hands remaining steepled. It was evident that there was a lot of thinking going on in that red head of his.

"It seems to me like The Cleft is a place that is rife with opportunities for faction conflict. How is it there aren't constant struggles between groups? The set up of this place seems strange to me. I suppose it is possible that the place itself tends to only pull in those it feels will work well together, but...as unfortunate as it is, conflict is in the nature of most creatures."

"Oh, it is," Jillian affirms, leaning forward again to look at Deacon pointedly. "And there have been. But these are not large groups, and while small-scale scuffles and conflicts are a silver a dozen, they aren't so prolific that toes are constantly being stepped on. In truth, the only reason certain people have a problem with the Wishborn is simply ideology contrasts. The Wishborn definitely do not cause anyone any problems..." She pauses. "Usually. But some people simply despise them because they cannot wrap their own heads around why someone would willingly part with such a vital aspect of themselves for a concept like power. It is a form of prejudice, that's all. Most other clans and guilds operate within a very limited capacity and have their own agenda, and very rarely do these agendas overlap. And, also..." She sits back again, folding her arms over her chest without breaking eye contact. "As quickly as these groups come in, they're just as liable to disappear. The Cleft has an... unfortunate turnover rate, over things such as that. Groups of merry men will come gallivanting through and build themselves up to be something special and unique, but then three weeks later, the base they've built for themselves is as empty as the plot of land they originally purchased to build upon." The faint smirk on her face paints a contrasting opinion of amusement and sadness. "If I was being honest, the Wishborn are probably the largest organization the Cleft currently has right now, that isn't considered 'official'. And even then, their numbers have waned significantly over the years, too."

"Unfortunately, in their case, that simply means that most of them have perished, since the only way out of the pact they've made is through their own demise, and new recruits have not taken up their replacements. So, yes. People come and go, and so do the affiliations they involve themselves in. It has come to be expected, almost, at this point."

"I personally can understand why they do what they do. Or at least I can think of several scenarios in which such a pact could be considered worth it. Most of which lean heavily on the psychological aspect of a person. I suspect someone who has experienced utter powerlessness would be more susceptible to the temptation of such a deal. Or someone with no personal belief in the concept of a soul."

Deacon reached for his coffee again and lifted it to his lips, taking a sip. For a man who was supposedly on vacation he certainly didn't seem to be easing off of the intense contemplation.

"It is interesting though. Hypothetically speaking, were you to be offered one of these pacts, would you take it?"

Jillian's smile at that question was devoid of... anything, really. "No," she said, levelly. "It took me centuries to finally place some value in my soul, after all the abhorrent things I've done over the early course of my life. There is no short number of people who would think less of me if I were to make such a pact, and while I have been able to suppress my latent desires and personal dissociation since then, there's no telling what such power might allow to resurface. For the Cleft's sake, I think it is better that I abstain."

Jillian allows herself a moment of silence, before adding, "Part of the reason I am able to indulge you with as much information as all this is because I had a seat of high power, once, atop the Cleft. When I descended, I kept the knowledge I'd learned from being able to watch over many things at once. Now I am a mere scholar, I suppose, albeit one with a form that instills apprehension in those who know what demons are capable of." Those words feel a bit cryptic, but she doesn't offer to provide any further context.

"Well, I'm a bit of a scholar myself, how very fortunate for me, I am more than a little confident that I won't fall prey to the charms of a being such as yourself. So I can make the best use of your willingness to indulge my incessant curiosity."

He offered up another one of those easy smiles that made it evident that he was jesting with her in good humour.

"But in all honesty, I am very grateful for your willingness to share all of this information. It will make my report a much simpler task to write. Often times our initial reports are spotty at very best. Much easier when a local is willing to be answer all my prodding questions, as opposed to me wandering about gathering bits and pieces of knowledge piece meal."

Jillian doesn't say anything for a long moment, just kind of watching Deacon and letting certain gears spin around for a few cycles. "It's admittedly kind of a weird concept to consider, a realm that essentially holds reconnaissance over other worlds," she says, and there feels like an ounce of caution in her tone. "I'm not so naïve to ever consider that the Cleft is standalone in its make and design, but thinking about the idea that you just up and basically said 'Oh, this looks neat, I think I'll go here today' feels like a much stranger premise when on the basis of interplanar travel than it does for something like a department store."

Deacon actually chuckled a little. "Oh it is a little more involved than that. It is more like..." He paused and considered his words for a moment. "Let us see what is behind door number one-thousand-six-hundred and seventy two today. We don't know what is going to be on the other side initially. Which is why recon and extreme caution is required. Though, I will admit that me choosing an unexplored portal as my vacation was a way of me skirting around my counterpart's demands for me to take a vacation. This way I could explore a new world, relax, AND technically be on vacation. Sort of, at least. I'm still keeping an eye on this back home, so I'm not as disconnected as Kruskan likely would prefer."

He set down his mostly empty mug. "It has been a long time since I've had the chance to get out into the field."

She wants to comment on the possibility that the 'random' door he chose could have just-as-likely led him to someone far more volatile than the Cleft of Dimensions and turned a potential vacation into a nightmare, but his latter statement stops her. Jillian's head tilts. "This... is an uncommon thing, for you?" she asks, blatantly surprised. She had assumed this sort of thing was basically all he did, considering everything he'd told her about him and his group's ways.

"You even went so far as to refer to yourself as a 'field medic'," she points out. "What kind of 'field medic' doesn't go out in the field very often?"

"Well, I used to get out more, but that changed about a year ago. Toril U6-N was going through some rather serious issues. My predecessor and best friend was a warforged who took care of a great deal of the day to day tasks required at the Citadel. When he passed, I stepped up to take over, buuuut it took some physical modifications for me to handle the amount of data processing that he took care of. Not to mention figurin out how to interface mechanical and biological aspects of the operation. You would not believe the headaches I had for months after that."

Deacon idly ran a gloved finger along the rim of his coffee mug. "I went from handling paperwork and taking on the more challenging jobs, to being stuck at the citadel because if I left the place wouldn't have a processin core. I recently figured out a solution to that problem, so now here I am."

It... might be a little apparent, judging by the look on Jillian's face, that most of that probably went over her head. She wasn't dumb, but technical details were not exactly her forte. That was more of a... "I feel like you and Haut might get along pretty well," she eventually said, her thoughts falling right out of her mouth. "He's always tinkering with things, trying to figure out how things work, or make existing things better. More times than not, I come to find him passed out at a table in front of some project he's working on." Her blank look changes back into a grin, one that holds a bit of fondness to it. "Judging from what part of your explanation I understood, then, it sounds like you had changes in the chain of command you had to go through. That's understandable."

"That'd be accurate. Took a while ta find someone to take my previous position as well. Doin so in the middle of a crisis is never a simple matter, no matter how smoothly you make the process there's always gonna be some snags." Deacon drawled before he waved a server for a refill on his coffee.

"Fortunately fer me, I don't needa worry about that sleep thing no more. Managed ta get rid of that a few centuries back. Would never go back ta that, massive waste of time. Especially when thers so much ta do."

Deacon paused and glanced down at the bench next to him where Gus' butt was still poking out of the empty sleeve of his coat, it would seem the little frankenbun had managed to get comfortable enough to pass out.

"Can't say the same fer him though, heh."

Jillian actually laughs at that comment, and offers a nod of agreeability. "While I don't exactly have 'too much to do' on any given day, I at least can confirm that not needing to spend six to eight hours a day unconscious is nice," she attests. "My kind don't require actual sleep, just a 'recharge' period a couple times a week where I kind of 'zone out' for a few hours, then everything's good. I pretend to sleep, sometimes, though, just to keep up appearances. In the meantime, I don't find myself with a lot to do on any given day, which is probably how I ended up happening to be outside, there, when you showed up."

There's a clap of thunder, a flash of lightning, the door opens up and along with a sudden sheet of rain blows into the tavern along with the silhouette of a man absolutely swallowed by a soaked old army jacket. Along with him comes a storm of a different kind: him cursing.

"Pissing fucking cats and dogs out here and I swear to fucking god when I find the cunt that broke the fucking awning I'm going to shove a fucking screwdriver into their cunting urethra." Haut pulls his jacket off and actively just wrings it out, glaring hard before he actually takes a chance to look at the room and recognize the inhabitants. Besides the absolute regulars, there's a familiar face along with someone new. Either way, he's got something he needs from here. Stepping up to the bar, Haut knocks knuckles to wood and grins. Or, at least the scowl on his face lightens up a little, it's basically the same effect. "Something warm to get the wet off my bones, man."

Deacon had been about to speak when there was another lightning strike and the door swung open. He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly at the string of curses as the stranger walked in and headed to the bar. Gus, having been roused by the sound of the door tried to burrow further into the coat sleeve before Deacon just reached down a hand and plucked the frankenbun from it's hiding place and set him back down on the side between himself and the wall where Gus might feel a little more secure, the little tentacles sprouting from his back flailing around in a bit of a panic.

"Would ya calm yerself, if ya ain't noticed, yer act ain't makin er inclined ta cuddle ya. So just give up already." He shook hish head slightly. As basic bunny as his behavior seemed to be, Gus was actually a pretty clever manipulator when he wanted to be, but in this case his act was just starting to get tiring.

Upon being told off, the octobunny sat up on it's haunches and peered up over the edge of the table to Jillian as if to check and see if it's master's words were true, his borrowed displacer tentacles holding onto the edge of the table as he peered.

"Sorry bout him...he's a bit of an attention hog." He thanked the server as his mug was refilled, but a small portion of his attention was now dedicated to keeping tabs on the boisterous new arrival.

Jillian admittedly jumps a little bit at the sudden combination of the thunder, the door, and the abrupt C-storm that followed, but when those baser reactions settle down, it also registers pretty quick just where they came from. She felt a bit of relief that he'd somehow found his way there, since she didn't exactly leave any notice about where she was going. Haut could usually find her wandering around Truce in some capacity, and she usually stayed outside. But, uh, not in that mess. The smile that lights up on her face as she pivots lightly in her seat to watch him walk to the bar is probably at least as bright as the flash of lightning that brought him inside, but she opts to let him do what he needs to do, first, since she's not exactly hiding.

She turns back around in her seat about halfway through Deacon's chastising to the poor science project, and actually reaches out both arms halfway across the table in the direction of where Gus was set down, tapping lightly upon the wooden surface to see if Gus would actually come to her by such a simple gesture. "They're just animals," she said, her demeanor suddenly very upbeat. "They don't know any better." She actually puts her feet together under the table, her black-nailed bare toes on one foot curling up against the flat underside of her other foot.

"Oh he probably don't count as an animal if I'm bein honest." Deacon watched as Gus seemed excited at the attention Jillian was now giving him and the bun hopped up onto the table and made it's way over to the woman eagerly. Deacon himself seemed mildly irked.

"Don't let em trick ya. He knows plenty better." He took note of Jillian's change of demeanour. "Friend of yers?" He asked as he took a sip from his freshly topped up mug.

Jillian seems pleased that her gesture was enough to get the octobun to trod on over, and she attempts to pick Gus up and sit back in her chair, far enough that she can plunk the rabbit down in her lap and cuddle him appropriately. "Maybe not," she said, still smiling, "but even monsters want to be comforted when they're scared. I'll just take him off your hands for awhile, and you just let me know when you want him back. If you end up wanting him back, that is."

After a second, she looks up and gives a firm nod. "Yep!" she chirps. "That's Haut. I think I mentioned his name in our conversations a few times."

On the serving of a warmed mead, Haut turns his attention to Jill, only to follow her eyes to the thing next to them. "Fucking hell that thing looks like it's been through the ringer. " Given it's not immediately being problematic, it's best for him to assume it's someone's pet. Someone's, shitty, dug outta the grave pet. Not that he can really say much better about himself but-

To Deacon, there would be clear signs. Haut at the very least is not a fully living individual. But either way he approaches the table and invites himself to sit down without actually getting invited. "Jill, newguy, creature. So how about that weather, huh?"

Deacon set his mug down and extended a hand toward Haut. "Deacon Benoit. Pleasure. The one Miss Jillian is dotin on is Gus. As fer the weather, least it ain't hailin." He drawled easily.

"Miss Jillian had mentioned ya, nice ta put a face ta the name." Gus wiggled a tentacle at Haut in a creepy little wave as the bun seemed more than content to drink in the attention while on the woman's lap.

"Gus, myself an one other er new roun here."

Jillian looks up from the bunnybeast in her lap as Haut invites himself to a conversation where he was at least a partial topic of, a couple different times already. "Morning, sleepyhead," she says, but her face couldn't be any more cheerful than in that moment. "And yes, I hated it a lot. Storms are fun to watch, much less fun to be caught outside in." She kind of gesture-nods in Deacon's direction without looking away from Haut, following Deacon's self-introduction. "He's a newcomer, just showed up today. He's a lot better at getting people dry than a towel, that's for sure." Like that was just the best basis for everything about him, right then and there.

"Normally most people are trying to do the opposite to you." Haut grins at Jill before he shakes Deacon's hand, nodding at him before turning his attention back to the Gus-thing. "Interesting work, I gotta say. Modular or more of a fixed format kinda deal?" He sips his cup, letting the taste help reinvigorate him before rocking his neck to crack it.

"Nice to meet ya, Deacon. I'll assume she's given you the rundown so far. Looking to settle in or try and resist the bonds of this plane?"

"He's fairly modular, I've upgraded him a time or two, replaced eyes ta give darkvision, a different brain fer higher function, tentacles fer menipulatin and carryin things. Use him ta test before I go usin a theory on m'self. If yer keen, I can dry ya off too, ya look bout as drowned as a rat on a sinkin ship." Deacon leaned back in his seat relaxedly.

"Actually I'm just visitin, a vacation of sorts...well, supposed ta be a vacation. Figured I'd get some work done while I'm here too. No point in wastin time if I can do both. If ya don't mind my askin, you modular too?"

It could be that she's not used to being part of a conversation that consists of more than just her and Haut, but that opening comment kind of stuns her for a moment, and there's at least a small trace of color forming in her otherwise-pale cheeks as she registers the open outlandishness of it. He wasn't wrong, but it still surprised her, just the same. She scritches Gus gently behind one ear with one hand as he becomes the focus on the conversation at the moment, and kind of runs the fingers of her other hand lightly along the tentacles over his back, as if trying to assess what they are or where they came from, before they were made to be a part of this creature itself.

Haut laughs once, and then shakes his head. "Nah. I'm stuck here more or less. Actually much less modular than I used to be even." He leans back in his chair for a moment before witnessing the little horror some more. "I mean, if you're on vacation then you're welcome to it. If you've actually got a way out there's plenty of people who would flock to you. Assuming, also, that you can get them to where they want to go." Making Jill blush by being crass does get a grin to settle on his face though. At least, before he thinks for a few seconds and looks back.

"Actually, probably don't go around saying you can leave. People might uh, try to force you to take them back home. Plenty of 'em aren't happy to be stuck here."

Jillian looks up, and nods at the end of Haut's last comment, her face more or less clearing up. "Yes, that's kind of a running detriment for a lot of people who end up here unwillingly," she adds. "If they ever found out they could leave by such simple means, you'd never hear the end of it. Quite possible it could lead to stability issues, even."

Deacon raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Folk ain't able ta leave here normally? Ya tellin me this place is more like a pitcher plant than a lovely lil vacation spot?" The red haired man paused a moment, his mismatched eyes looking to lose focus for a brief second.

"Nah, seems communication is still good I oughta be fine, but it's good ta know I oughta keep that detail ta myself...That coulda been fairly disastrous."

Gus rolled on Jillian's lap, two of the tentacles were covered in a fine black fur with little hooks in the spade shaped tips, the smaller ones were a rubbery texture with little suction cups.

"Could you imagine if a place like Shrike just suddenly emptied itself, one day?" Jillian continues, glancing aside at Haut. "The whole world would feel it." Jillian's voice sounds just a little strained, though, like she understands that it's not specifically a good thing to force people to stay somewhere they don't want to be, but...

She gently runs her fingers through Gus' fur as she speaks, a very absentminded activity. "An exodus is definitely not what this place needs. Probably a lot of unsavory types waiting in the background to seize an opportunity like that, too."

"I guess I never actually told you about the way the Cleft actually works from the outside, though," she adds. "Probably an important bit I shouldn't have left out. I apologize."

"Like it or not, most of us are here to stay. Been, more than a decade for me, I think." He smiles, but it's a little distant. "Hard to keep it straight sometimes." After a moment he takes a sip and nods to Deacon. "Enjoy your time, but maybe don't stick around too long actually. Who knows if things shift around, you might not actually be able to shift out again. Or, however that works."

"Hrm.." Deacon seemed contemplative. "I s'pose I can head back an leave a watcher here ta monitor things here an see if there is any sorta deviation from normal functions. Thing is, they'd just be tradin one nexus fer another. No guarantee we'd have ther home worlds on file, or if they'd even be able to identify ther world of origin, fer that matter."

Haut shrugs. "Up to you either way. Frankly, despite the somewhat fucked up construction of the place, there's some pretty beautiful sights." He leans over and nudges Jillian as if indicating her as said sights. Still he takes a chance to rub at his chin and actually take in Deacon as if for the first time. "Don't suppose you're some kind of, outer power sent around to manage various dimensional rifts in an attempt to stop them from either violently breaking apart or encroaching into other realities? Because frankly that's some work we could use around here."

"Actually, me an my organization er sorta a group of emergency crisis responders, mediators an explorers. We've saved a few worlds, stopped a few multi world crisis, but when things ain't dire we head on through portals ta see what alls on th'other side. It's how I ended up here. You folks needin a hand with somethin specific?"

Deacon peered at Haut and Jillian over the rims of his tinted glasses, he was sitting just a littel straighter now, but his eyes were full of a hunger for knowledge and a determined curiosity.

Jillian seems to have taken a backseat to this general conversation since she knew that Deacon and Haut would probably find some common ground if the latter had ended up finding her here. She continues to lavish Gus with pets and general people-based attention as she listens between the two of them, and a grin is not missed when Haut nudges her. "I did give him a pretty thorough rundown of most things that I was aware of," she eventually says. "But stepping back a bit, yes, one of the biggest problems the Cleft has is its uncanny ability to infiltrate other worlds and siphon people away to deposit them here. And people who aren't as keen on inter-dimensional navigation tend to be forced into a permanent residential state. But the Cleft has been around for so long, by now, that we've had generations come and go long enough to generate their own family trees." She glances from Haut to Deacon. "Most of the time, people who can use planar travel don't have any issues, but like Haut mentioned, there are occasional times where the Cleft won't have any of it and causes issues. Trying to go one place and having the Cleft decide that you need to go somewhere far different is probably not a desirable outcome."

She frowns slightly. "Right now, in fact, I'm feeling like things might be veering toward some level of instability," she admits, lowering her eyes so that she's not looking at either of them. "There's a lot of weird things going on that don't have answers, and the people who are supposed to be giving us those answers are mute. And it bothers me a little bit more with each day that passes, lately."

The frankenbun was now sprawled out on his back, all four little paws stuck up in the air with his tentacles lazily swaying as he basks in the pets. His little fluffy body was actually fairly covered in marks and scars that have been fixed with needle and thread or have healed on their own. Considering his small size it seems the little critter has probably been through more than just being patched together from meal leftovers.

Jillian grins in spite of herself and the topic she's opened, not seeming to mind or inquire at all about the obvious patchwork processes that go beyond what's visible, and makes sure Gus' tum-tum gets the rubs it deserves.

Haut gives Jillian a nod as she explains while he drinks. The mead was starting to cool down a little but he was making good headway on it. "Turns out, the hodgepodge reality that sucks at keeping itself consistent also sucks at not eating shit from other places. Always wondered what happened to the home dimensions. Is there some kind of automatic correction? How do the people there react? Is it that everyone who comes here ends up cloned? Or are there just big fuckoff holes in the world where an entire city used to be." He grins actually, finding a chance to talk with someone about the topic was, unusual.

"Imagine the fuckin' boom made by the air rushing in to fill the void."

"It's definitely somethin I can look into when I get back. Our records ain't complete by any means, too many worlds out there fer our lil organization ta cover em all, but I might be able ta dig up some incidents that might serve as a puzzle piece."

He reached up a hand, stroking his chin. "It could be somethin akin ta when two extra planar items come in contact...An explosion of sorts that ends with a good chunk of whatever were nearby driftin through the Astral. I must say, I find my curiosity piqued."

Jillian actually stops in mid-pet over Gus at Haut's remark about cloning. That thought had entered her mind at least once, and she'd also heard a couple of theorists mention that it was a possibility, but since nobody was able to go back to their original world to verify, there was no proof. She looks up at him as he continues to speak, silent, but firmly attentive. That last part doesn't sit too well with her, either. "We think about how awful it must be for peoples' lives to be upended because they're suddenly brought here, but I occasionally forget about entire landmasses that find themselves suddenly here." She was embarrassed to even admit this, because she had been an Immortal, once, and knew what it was to organize and form a 'structure' that the Cleft could deal with, in order to not be too chaotic about the way things were laid out. "Entire worlds are probably wrecked in the aftermath, because you can't just take an entire landmass and break it off an existing one without some sort of global consequence." This actually sounds like the thought is upsetting her a little bit, which is possibly weird because she's supposed to be neutral regarding most things.

Then again, it had become apparent over the last few years since she had been living with Haut that her emotions had become easier to divulge, rather than the flippant and carefree 'scout' she'd been during their travels prior. He had a way of drawing them out of her, even just by being nearby, and she didn't exactly dislike it. It made her feel... 'normal'.

"If we didn't have the Immortals essentially landscaping the Cleft for us on a regular basis, we'd probably all be up multiple Shit Creeks on a semi-regular basis, too," she adds.

Haut notices the upset starting to work it's way up in Jillian and coughs. "Look, I'm sure they're fine. Multiverse theory is a fucking mess to begin with, for all we know the places that are getting culled and pulled here are from doomed timelines. Y'know, real 'two seconds after this a meteor hit the planet and obliterated all life' kinda shit. Either way, it's impossible to know the state of the home plane, so it's basically some Schrodinger's cat level shit."

That counts as smoothing the situation over, totally. His eye flicks over to Deacon, wordlessly prompting him to try and help out with confirming the fact that they shouldn't worry about it.

He was a fairly keen eye when it came to subtle signals and Deacon picked up on Haut's glance readily.

"That isn't at all unlikely. If there are any similarities with The Cleft and The Between, our own nexus, that is actually a trait that most of our agents have in common. They were plucked out of the jaws of a fatal situation to end up at our Citadel. It is entirely possible that The Cleft works on a similar level, but rather than stealing away individuals it steals away the lands those individuals are on."

Deacon reached up and pulled off his tinted spectacles to clean them with a silk cloth he pulled from his breast pocket. Some back home may have considered him to be a fairly callous sort, but he had his moments. Not many but he did have them.

"When I return to The Between I'll do some research, see if we don't have any files on missin places."

"Appreciated, even if you don't manage to make it back, it'll be good to know we've got someone looking over the place. Kind of weirdly reassuring actually. And, I just wanna ask this question as sort of a," Haut rolls his hand around in the air, buffering as he gathers his thoughts. "Qualifier isn't really the right word. Screening! Yeah, that." He snaps and grins, a little proud of getting the word finally and also maybe a little inebriated.

"You aren't some kind of deific being right? Just a normal 'snatched from the jaws o' death' kinda guy?"

She does look a little thoughtful at the two of them coinciding with the same concept and its theoretical possibility or likeliness, but her frown doesn't quite disperse as far as it should. Her thoughts continue to roll into each other and bump around like some kind of Japanese lottery roller, but they stop when Haut asks Deacon that question, slowly raising her head to look in the latter's direction with interest. He'd mentioned being quite old, but then again, so was she, so that didn't mean anything.

Deacon quirked an eyebrow and picked up his mug of coffee to take a sip. "I ain't no deity, but I ain't a snatched-from-death sort neither. Probably don't count as human no more fer that matter. Spose I'm just a clever sort that don't know when ta quit. I'm a fleshsmith and alchemist with some magical capabilities tossed in fer good measure."

He met both Haut and Jillian's eyes, with the spectacles off, his mismatched eyes were more easily visible. The left one a vibrant green reptilian eye, the right, a deep purple.

"That a problem?" He asked, his tone a relaxed drawl.

Jillian actually, even up to this point, did not notice that Deacon had two different-colored eyes. The differences between him and a regular guy were pretty obvious, but that kind of takes her off guard a little bit. So off guard, in fact, that a bit of color re-finds its way into her cheeks, and she forces herself to look away, back down at Gus, whom she proceeds to apply more pets to, and allow Haut to respond instead of her. She didn't need to be obvious about that kind of reaction, but it wasn't exactly something she could control, either.

It's probably easier for Jillian to notice the tension leave Haut. It's not like he had been majorly tense before asking the question, but he does seem to relax some. "Nah, no problem. Just had to check. Consider it a little bit of personal curiosity." He slugs a little more mead, before sitting back again with a grunt.

"Fleshmancer and alchemist, huh? Kinda puts us on similar grounds, if different methodologies. If I wasn't quite so fucked up I'd even ask you for some help. But." He shrugs simply, before looking over to the octobun. "Guessing he's an older project then?"

He replaced his spectacles and refolded his silk cloth and tucked it away. "Second one actually." He glanced over at the bun that was a puddle of contentedness. "First one sorta made me a wanted man. Full disclosure."

He's had a bit of a rough start to his "career" once upon a time, there was no denying that. "Were a kid at the time, but ya know how kids are."

Haut snorts. "Yeah, fair. Been there. Not exactly like we'd have much reason or ability to try and claim the bounty, so you don't really need to worry about it." Being on both sides of the morality spectrum is something everyone at the table could understand. "Any idea how long you're planning on sticking around, by the way?"

Jillian looks up, now boasting a smirk. "Yes," she adds. "Feels like, once you jump ship to another world, you get a clean slate handed to you. Unless, you know, you have interplanar bounty hunters to worry about."

She kind of.. 'double pats' Gus, using both hands on either side of him to fluff him up a bit. "We could use one of these," she muses. "But pets are probably not something we need running around the place while you have projects going twenty-four-seven."

Haut hums. "Here I was thinking Mero counted for that. But, if you want some kinda little guy, I could see about cleaning up around the house some."

"I was intendin on stayin a week er so, but I can likely stay longer, I can do some of my work remotely. I can even call in some extra help if heed be. I've got some clever folk back home, extra sets of eyes on a problem can help."

The frankenbun seemed to rouse from his semi-slumber upon being fluffed and he drowsily flips back onto his feet, one tentacle covering his mouth as he lets out a littel soundless yaw.

Jillian shakes her head. "It was a joke, I don't think a pet is a good idea right now, in any capacity," she clarifies. "It's not... that I couldn't take care of one, since I spend enough time not doing anything else..." Haut's ready agreement flustered her a bit, like she really wasn't expecting such an easy 'Okay let's do it' response. "Mero is more like I am than a pet, since he comes and goes mostly at whatever pace he wants. And we don't have to clean up after him."

Haut laughs, once. "True. Mike was smart enough to be bathroom trained too, so it's been a while since I had to do anything involving that part of pets." He stops a moment after he's said that, sort of startled before he clears his throat instead.

"Right, a week. Well, like I said, could be a nice vacation assuimg you can go back after. And while I'm not trying to rush anyone out the door given:" He waves for the window. "I'll say that if you find yourself needing some help, feel free to look us up."

"Always good havin allies, even if they do live in a pitcher plant." Deacon said in a jesting manner, a bit of an easy smile creeping onto his expression. He was actually enjoying himself.

"The offer ta dry ya off still stands by the way. Though I assume yer barely damp after all this time. And if ya happen ta have a threat that needs a bit more umph ta deal with, me an my people can be here quick. Response times fer a place we are familiar with tend ta be right roun fifteen minutes fer a team of six. If more are needed the time frame goes up simply fer logistics purposes."

Jillian listens to Deacon's offer but remains silent, wondering if it was actually a good idea to involve him in their problems. Especially after what the other Shade had told her about Erim's return. Between Ambience's death, the silence from the Holyland, the Sinistral of Death suddenly showing up, and random shadows stealing peoples' emotions, there was kindling being laid out in a variety of different locations, and she was afraid that, once the fire started, it wouldn't be so easy to put out. Her unease is apparent in her face, but she continues to gently run her fingers through Gus' fur, regardless.

Haut shakes his head. "I'm good. Wettest thing about me are the clothes, and I don't really feel the chill right now anyways." He peers at the mead, trying to mentally place what the alcoholic content of it was before simply throwing back the rest of the mug. "Thought of havin' someone around t' back us up sometimes is nice. 'Specially since we're probably off t' kill Sinistrals soon. But also, not really your fight, spaceman."

Jillian notably winces at Haut's remark about the Sinistrals.

Gus shifted in Jillian's lap and wraped his primary tentacles around her hands in a "I'm here for you." sort of way, as he peered up at her with his beady little eyeballs.

"Sinistrals?" he asked curiously, looking mildly amused by being called "spaceman" "I could use some information on these creatures, the more information my people have the more effective they tend ta be."

Jillian looks up, and she's really not happy at the moment as she looks toward Deacon. "That 'opposing group' that my group fought against, which I mentioned to you about, back at the fountain, who wanted to bring the Cleft under its thumb," she clarifies. "They were the Sinistrals." That's all she says, figuring Haut would probably have more (arguably angrier) things to say that she'd just let him take the reins for.

Haut breathes in. There's a moment where his expression clouds. "Four rank ass cunts that wanna pretend like they're some kinda end of the world scenario. Fuckers out here with a goddamn flying fortress shitting out enough mana to obliterate cities. Fuckin' havin' it out because some bitch in a tree ain't their person of the century so they're gonna try to corrupt? or kill? I don't know which and frankly I'd wanna scrape shit off my shoe with my teeth more than I'd wanna fuckin' ask them drooling fuckin' assholes what they're on about."

He breathes out, eye close for a moment as he composes himself. "I'm betting there's only one on the ground right now, but if I'm gonna be real it's probably one of the ones that's a fucking ache in my nutsack to deal with. God I wish it was Gades. Even if I don't have a portable nuclear reactor right now I could probably kill Gades."

The storm outside seems to have subsided considerably over the length of time they've spent in the inn's lobby, and while the rain still continues to hit against the nearby window, the electrical phenomenon aspects of the storm become much less frequent.

Jillian wants to watch Haut as he tells his heavily-summarized version of the story, but she can't. Her eyes fall back to Gus, and she actually hugs him a little closely, his words taking a different kind of toll on her. His phrasing could use work, and he wasn't exactly wrong in his portrayal in a 'very broad strokes' kind of way, but some of the more delicate details weren't quite accurate, or left out entirely, but she wasn't going to say anything, because it wouldn't have made a difference.

He steepled his hands, the remnants of his coffee having been forgotten and left cold off to the side by this point.

"I see. I'm somewhat familiar with flying fortresses, we may have something that could be of assistance with that. I don't suppose ya could give me some sorta...power scalin? Are we talkin someone able ta...I donno, cleave a mountain with a fork? Er we talkin yer standard sorta baddie accumulatin power fer some big move that we could maybe stick a complication in, instead of a fork?"

"No," Jillian says, lifting her head up immediately as soon as Deacon mentions wanting to be of assistance with the Fortress. She's frowning real deep at this point, and this kind of expression really isn't something she gets on about very often.

"It's not as simple as that," she continues. "The Mana Fortress isn't..." She stops, suddenly and abruptly finding herself at a loss for words, but not really understanding why. So she just frowns, in silence.

Haut crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, the topic leaving him scowling. "Outside of their dragon-god-or-whatever-powered fortress? I dunno, not like universal scale threats. But you gotta remember there's artifacts laying all over this fuckin' patchworked ass world that they might be able to find and use to jack themselves up. Cunty as they are, they're smart."

Jill's reaction isn't lost to him though, and he clears his throat. "Look, we don't even know if they're all back, again. And if it's just one, then I dunno. Maybe city-scale. This is handled already." He transitions to a reassuring tone that was as much for Deacon as for Jill, forcing some of the scowl from his face. "Push comes to shove, Just gotta find- ugh. Sunflash again."

"Seems ta me dealin with em before all four of em are in play would be th' smart thing." He raised his hands up in a bit of a sign of surrender. "I can tell it ain't really a topic yer fond of, we can let it lie fer now if ya don't wanna be goin over the details. I can just as easily focus my efforts on findin those worlds that got a piece nicked from em." He lowered his hands back down to the tabletop.

"But, just so ya know what sorta game piece ya got in reserve I can give ya a general list of my skills, if yer still interested in a lendin hand."

Jillian exhales through her nose, thankful that Haut pushed some of it back a bit, but feels like she needs to provide a bit more exposition from her own standpoint on things. But, by the time she actually gets herself up to that point, it seems to have been swept under the rug already. So she just... doesn't, instead. The frown stays, though.

"I mean if you're an alchemist I wouldn't argue with a fresh sample of U-235. Or like, C-59. Honestly kind of hard to get good examples in this place, most people just use fucking, magic to power their shit."

Jillian did inform Deacon a couple times that people do tend to just use fucking magic to power their shit.

The frankenbun moved to put it's front paws up on Jillian's chest and reached up with a tentacle to pat her on the cheek, attempting to fulfill the role of an emotional support abomination as best he can.

"The Uranium isotope I can make, can't say I'm familiar with C-59 by that name though. May be known by a different term fer me. But if ya tell me quantities, I can see what I can do."

Haut sighs. The fact that science and magic never fuckin' fit well together was the result of people using magic FOR science. He'd never get over how many newcomers just didn't know some shit because they always just used 'create fire' for making flame or some shit like that. "Just like, a nice rod of it maybe. I can crack it down to size when I get a generator ready for use." He isn't, exactly expecting this guy to actually produce such a thing, but he does pause for a second after the request.

"In uh, a nice coat if you don't mind. Lookin' to avoid poisoning everyone in the area."

Jillian actually picks up Gus from her lap and hugs him to her chest, holding him in a way that he's supported from underneath. She's glad that the two of them are getting on well about the topics at hand, but those same topics at hand are opening up old wounds in her that she had been trying to get to heal over and just turn into damn scars, but stubbornly refused. She knew that the Cleft was a volatile bitch of a world and that things like what was currently going on were inescapable from era to era, but she just... wanted to have a normal life, just for a little while. Just for a little while. But nope. Just Sinistrals, and a continued war against them. No happy home, no family, no children. Just a constant stream of 'who do we point the world-ending cannon at, next?' sort of shit.

All these thoughts brought Jillian's frown from sad to angry, and it began to show much more prominently on her face. She wasn't squeezing Gus, by any means, but she had a pretty firm grip on him. She retains her silence, nontheless, through it all. She wanted to get up and leave, but there was no way to do that without causing a scene, and that was the last thing she wanted, right now.

"I wouldn't dream of given it to ya raw an uncontained. I assure ya. I'll see if I can't find out what other name yer C-59 may go by too. Aside from alchemy, an brawlin, I've also got a bit of magics, as Miss Jillian said. Healin ability, both biologica an magic based. I like keepin a spread of tools in my kit. Been ta too many places that cancel out one side of th' coin er the other."

Deacon stretched slightly, an action he had taken to doing after a set amount of time to seem like perhaps he wasn't quite as odd as he was, it seemed to help people associate him with a normal human, getting stiff after sitting for a long time seemed pretty normal for them. Yawning was another thing he had taken to faking, considering he no longer slept, but he ddin't feel that one was needed just yet.

The frankenbun petted Jillian as best he could, casting a glance back over to Deacon as his master continued to talk business on his vacation. Fully intending to tattle on said master when they got back.

Jillian loosens her grip on Gus as she realizes her emotions are getting the better of her, and is suddenly afraid she might be hurting the bun by accident. In the process of this, with a burst of fancy purple sparkles, a bat-winged spirit suddenly re-emerges from thin air, casting its vertical silver iris across the group in a sweeping gaze before settling it on Jillian, as it hovers over the top of the table a few feet in front of her.

She looks surprised to see it after it left in such a huff earlier, and tilts her head slightly to indicate as much. The Shade proceeds to kind of bop around in the air a few paces, doing its general "vague gesture that may or may not mean anything" expositional for a few seconds, and something flickers behind Jillian's eyes, but she doesn't speak of it right away; her eyes very briefly flick toward Haut and Deacon before going right back to Mero, and she nods, clearing her throat. "That's fine. We're okay, too," she said.

The Shade kind of looks... confused, in the way that it half-tilts itself at Jillian's response.

Haut shrugs. "The 235 will be plenty good for now, thanks." The sudden appearance of the spirit catches his attention, ripping him from the excitement of getting new fissile materials to notice the expression on Jill's face. He did feel bad, she had been saying she wanted to push things off somewhat. But, they needed to prepare somewhat at the least. Especially after the last attack had come so close to home.

"Things good over there, Jill?"

She doesn't respond right away. Probably a full two seconds, but then Jillian looks up and attempts to break through her frown and offer the faintest of smirks, and a nod in Haut's direction. "Yes," she said. "I think I just upset him earlier, when I was joking about having my emotions ripped out of me. He didn't think it was too funny."

The Shade looks from Jillian to Haut, and then back again, its eyeball going half-lidded in some sort of unspoken gesture.

Deacon nodded and he relaxed back into his seat a little. "Buisness aside, I must say this evening has been very enjoyable, regardless of how wet we ended up at one point."

Deacon most definitely was the sort to completely ignore or simply not notice innuendos, when they came up in conversation, and certain never intended to use any in his own speech, which had on occassion gotten giggles out of some of the planeswalkers back at The Between.

"I thank you both for tolerating my questions. Even if they were on topics that seemed to cause discomfort."

Haut's eye flicks between Jill and the Shade, gears turning in his mind before he shrugs. "Serious fella, doesn't take jokes well. It is how it is." He shakes his head in Deacon's direction, offering a lame little shrug. "It's nice to meet new locals. Or, people who are local for a bit anyways. You see chill, at the least."

Both Jillian and Mero turn their attention to Deacon, and the former speaks up, albeit in a quieter tone than before. "There will always be uncomfortable topics," she says, "some of them just hit a little closer to home than others. Since the Sinistrals were removed, we were forced to move on without certain things, I feel, that we took for granted along the way. It hasn't been unpleasant, but some aspects of the last five years have been decidedly rocky, if I may say so. For some of us, anyway; it is easier to keep inside on some days than others."

"But... we also still have people to watch our backs, during those times." Jillian manages a little bit of a smile, with some amount of genuine attribution to it. "Sometimes it is just easier to complain about what we don't have than it is to be thankful for what we do."

"Damn, Jill. I said I was sorry about the ice cream, you don't gotta vaguepost at me." The half-grin says he's trying to joke, but Haut's mostly trying to cover up. Despite the eagerness, he's also had about enough of the sudden shattering of the comfortable life they've been leading until recently. It's just a matter of wanting to get it done sooner rather than later. A train of thought Jill would know Haut's had before.

Jillian smirks at the remark, but says nothing outwardly.

The sound of rain becomes more faint as the bulk of the storm seems to have moved on by this time. A little more than a sprinke, at this point, but not a whole lot more.

"I think that I may cut my vacation short, I'm far more interested in being productive here, than I am in sippin alcohol and kickin my feet up fer a week. Kruskan is just gonna try ta lecture me, but lucky fer me, I'm rather good at tunin out things I don't feel like listenin ta. Ya think it might be alright ta post one of our scouts ta act as a communication point when I ain't able ta be roun?"

Jillian casts a side glance at Haut, but nods for her own part. "I don't see why that would be an issue," she says agreeably. "Do they have the same travel capability between there and here as you do, or would they only be able to return if you were to come and relieve them of their post?"

"Our planeswalkers are able ta call fer us ta open a portal to em. Ain't able ta open one themselves. It ain't a perfect system, but it's a secure one."

"I mean if you wanna have a scout down, just introduce him. It'll be fine, honestly." Haut stretches bigly, hands over his head with a soft grunt before his eye returns to Gus. Please don't make it Gus. He didn't wanna learn how to potty train that thing.

Jillian continues to hold Gus to her chest, but nods. "That works, then," she said. "Just don't want anyone to be stranded."

"I got two possible candidates, seein as how this place has a not inconsequential amount of magic, I'm actually leanin ta Zen. Good with magic and bow. Only drawback is the girl is sorta shy an quiet."

Gus was eyeballing his master, not particularly keen on the idea of abandoning his attention farm, er, supportive duties.

"If you're planning to leave someone for scouting and reconnaissance, I feel like those are two of the more-ideal qualities they could have," Jillian remarks. "Less-likely to get themselves involved in things they otherwise shouldn't, that way."

"Shy and quiet isn't really a bad thing for a scout to be. And, if you end up needing some help with getting them acclimated we can probably talk 'em out."

He nodded as he climbed to his feet, picking up his abandoned coffee mug to take it back over to the counter. "I'll give her your images so she can make contact if need be, or so she isn't concerned if you approach. I hate ta interrupt yer pettin session, Miss Jillian, but I'm gonna need that there fuzzball back."

He made his way over to the door and opened it, a mechanical and biological fusion of a raven swooping in to land on his shoulder, drenched to the bone before he returned toward the table to gather the frankenbun.

"Ah, I suppose that was inevitable, wasn't it?" she says with a small grin. With obvious reluctance, Jillian stands up and offers Gus back to his owner, being notably careful during the transition. "Just bring him back at some point, okay?"

Upon being offered back to Deacon, the little abomination latched itself onto his master's arm.

"I'll be sure ta bring him back fer a visit soon enough." He turned his attention to the bunnytopus. "Seems ya made yerself a friend."

"Better. We'd hate to have to find whatever transitway you're using to make our way to you instead. Fuck knows what kinda issues that might cause."

This gets a laugh out of Jillian. Not a big one, nor a long one, but she laughs just the same.

"I'll see you lot again soon enough, maybe I'll brin ya a few lil presents with me too." Deacon save a relaxed wave and started toward the door. "Stay outta trouble, eh?"

"Never do."

"No promises!" Jillian calls back.

Deacon shook his head amusedly "Ya sound like my people already." And with that, he strolled out the door of the tavern, completely ignoring the fact that he had paid for a room at the inn earlier. Through one of the windows, there was a flickery flash of blue-white light that could have been one last remnant of the lightning storm, but no thunder, distant or otherwise was ever heard.

Jillian watches him go all the way out, as does Mero, who has returned himself to one of Jillian's shoulders at this time, ever the lookout. Her ongoing smirk falters a bit at the subtle lightshow that announced his departure.

Haut sighs and nods, before looking back over to Jill with a little grin. "You wanna go somewhere a little fancier for lunch? Or, I guess dinner at this point. My treat, of course." Spoken like it was a question, but it's a distraction. Hopefully one she'll take well.

This comment causes her smirk to falter a little but further, which has the effect of bringing her to a pretty neutral expression. "Actually," she says, turning her attention back to Haut, fully. "There was something I wanted to talk to you about. I think here is as good a place as any, because it's kind of important."

She seems a little unsettled, but visibly determined.

Haut's grin slides off his face as well, but if Jill wanted to have a chat, serious or not, then it was time to talk. He leans forwards in his seat, elbows on the table as he focuses on her fully. "Alright, I'm game. Let's have it."

Jillian hesitates briefly, but only briefly. "First," she says, "I need to hear you say that you trust me. And I need to be able to believe you, when you say it." She looks at him with unabashed openness, her vertical green eyes firm but also hopeful.

Trust and Haut has always been an issue. Well, between him and everyone else really. It was hard to sit down and list all the people that he did trust completely, and even Jillian herself wouldn't have made that list at first. Far from it, in fact, he had spent the first month or so knowing her expecting she was going to turn at any moment and eviscerate him.

But that was then, and this is now. His sole grey eye locks back to those beautiful greens. "I trust you." There's no sense of hesitation of wavering on that. They had been together longer than Haut had stuck with anyone else. The trust was there.

Jillian smiles, just a trace. "Alright," she said. "So, here's the thing. I need to go to Mandala. And I need to go by myself. I was planning on, essentially, skipping town and going without saying anything to you, in the hopes that I would be back before I was noticed, but I don't like playing those games anymore, and you don't deserve that kind of behind-the-back deceit. So I wanted to let you know, first." She pauses, then adds, "Not immediately. I will wait until tomorrow, so we still have the rest of today to ourselves."

Her expression is completely neutral and even. No trace of anything, whatsoever, can be made out from anything on her face, in her eyes, or anything in-between.

Haut opens his mouth for a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly before he closes his mouth, and nods. "Right. If that's what you need to do, then go for it." He sits back again, just a little smile on his face. "You're a grown ass woman. If you say you need to go, then you need to go. And if you say it's solo, then I get it. I'd drop everything to watch your back if you wanted, but I trust you."

Slapping down his breast pocket, he pulls out a couple of mints. One for himself, and another to offer to her. "You want a cell phone in case you need to hit somewhere else afterwards?"

Jillian's smile grows a bit and she takes the offered mint, giving a faint implication that she was expecting that to be a lot harder than it ended up being. "No," she said, "I'm capable of moving to most places with ease, as long as the terrain is capable of generating shadows. It shouldn't be a long visit, but it is necessary." She looks at the mint for a second, not putting it in her mouth right away. "And there's one last thing, too. This one is probably at least as important as the first, possibly more."

"You've got me here, hit me with as much as you need to hit me with." Haut unwraps his and pops it in his mouth, bringing minty oblivion to his tastebuds. He does resist the urge to quip, given how important these are. Jill put up with him for a long time, he's happy to support her where possible. Even in hard questions.

Jillian looks at him, dead in the eye(s). "If you follow me, I will know," she says, in the most deadly-serious tone she's probably ever spoken to him before, outside of maybe one or two instances during their travels prior to the Sinistrals' engagement. "And if that happens, I will leave. And you will never see me again. That's not a threat, Haut. That's a promise." She pauses, her smile fading a little, but the lingering hope for understanding still remains in her own eyes. "Okay?"

Haut blinks for a moment. The seriousness of her tone was a little chilling, yes. But more than that: he actually frowns a little. "You said solo, which means it's solo. That means I don't show up, and you take care of it. That's what you being a grown ass woman means." There's no indication in his tone to betray any kind of intent to follow her. Beyond maybe being the tiniest bit hurt that she thought he might to the point of warning him.

"I'm gonna take some time off, let my entropics charge up, do a little work on some projects. And when you're done with what you're doing, you'll come back." He doesn't ask 'right' at the end of that to make it a question, but it does hover a little.

His response was exactly what she wanted to hear, and the look of relief on her face, as soon as he says what he does, is clear evidence of this. "I didn't feel like I had anything to really worry about," she says, sitting back in her chair and relaxing a little. "I just needed you to understand how serious it was. You know the need for things like that better than anyone else I know." She smiles, this time genuinely. "And maybe I just wanted to flex on you, a little bit."

Jillian holds up two fingers, a quarter-inch apart. "Just a little bit."

Haut blows out a puff of air as a laugh, before shaking his head. "Aight, aight, fair. How about instead of flexing on me you figure out where we're gonna grab some dinner. We've got the rest of the day and now I'm the one putting my foot down. We chill out. We don't get too serious. Sound good to you?"

Jillian nods. "It sounds perfect to me," she agrees. "I'm feeling peckish more than outright hungry, so maybe we can just go grab something quick, and then go..." she trails off, remembering as she glances out the nearby window. "...oh, right. It's all wet and gross outside."

"I wanted to go grab something and then go over by the Lete to eat outside," she said, pouting. "It's still a little chilly outside, but it's getting warmer. I'm just not keen on sitting in the mud to do so."

"I mean, we can always stop by the house, grab a picnic blanket to sit on. I think the last inhabitants left one behind in a closet." He takes a moment to try and recall the exact location. "Yeah, let's have a little picnic. I'll bring my best mixtape and I can try and serenade you like all the highschool hearthrobs do."

Jillian laughs. And then she laughs a little more. It isn't meant to be rude or cruel, it was just such an unexpected comment that this was just her knee-jerk reaction. "You know what?" she says, after taking a moment to compose herself. "Let's do that. Probably still going to get our asses wet since it's barely stopped raining out there, but hell, why not?"

"Alright fine, you twisted my wrist. I'll bring two blankets. But that's about as much as I can do, missy."

"You should probably consider yourself lucky, Haut," she said, standing up and pushing her chair back up to the table with her bare foot. "I really hate getting wet outside, except under special circumstances, but you're one of the only people I'll make an exception for." And yes, she makes it clearly obvious that her comment was meant to sound like what it sounded like.

Her useage of the innuendo keeps him from having to go there himself. Haut pushes himself up with a little grunt and kicks his chair back in place. "Well, in that case it's time for me to abuse my privileges." He offers an arm out to Jillian, as if he were some kind of fancy gentleman-type before they head out for a nice, totally un-butt-wetting dinner date.

Jillian giggles and takes said arm, taking off with him to do just that.