Relations and Toast

Fernwood Pub, Late Morning

The inbetween of hangovers of the night being staved off and the lunch rush of the usual populace is a usual quiet lull, especially on the weekdays. The main room of the Fernwood on this fair weathered day is mostly quiet, the staff cleaning in preparation for lunch in several hours, and the last vestiges of breakfast is being served to those that decided to linger.

Well, mostly quiet. "And then- and then I got lifted up suuuuper high! It was so cool!" a teen human girl with black hair enthuses to a similarly aged Avek Nar teen of grey tone and a faintly yellow tinged nose. Both have an array of half eaten breakfast set before them.

"Did you get flung?" the Nar girl deadpans, though the curl of their lip was nothing more except jest.

"I wish!"

Several tables away, reading the Tribune, was that of a middle aged Eldanar man with a grey overcoat hanging on his chair. Working on his coffee, occasional glances taken to the table of teens, but for the most part, ignoring their discussions as he turns pages with his scarred and tattooed arm.

The timing is opportune to avoid the majority of patrons. This tends to make meals more quiet and with less interruption. Verna enters the establishment and makes her way towards the counter, doffing hood en route. This only makes the excited discussion all the more apparent and draws her eyes briefly towards. At least one of whom seems familiar.

"And now that you got that out of your system, what are you going to do now?" the Nar girl asks, picking up a glass of juice.

"I dunno!" Cynthia throws her hands up, slumping into her seat dramatically. "I'm probably-" she looks over to her father before whispering (badly) "-gonna sneak into the Society to see what's going on!"

Warrick totally didn't hear that, him sipping on his coffee. But he peers into his cup, seeing it nearly empty, and shifts his attention towards the bar. And that, Verna. He raises his mug. "Mourner Verna. Good morning," he greets while the two girls conspire. "Here for a bite?"

Verna places her order for simple fare for one, readily portable. She remains aware of the greeting, and more, turning to Warrick afterwards. "Good day to you as well and I am, indeed." Her eyes shift past him to the chatting young women before she adds, "They appear most energetic and animated for the hour. I have received speculation that children of varying ages require only brief moments of rest, and often succumb to such at inopportune moments. After which, they are fully re-invigorated to continue."

Looking back to Warrick she adds, with slightly more volume, "I suggest one acquire authorization and escort before venturing into the Arcanist Society."

Warrick can't help but chuckle quietly at that. "Those two burn fast, then crash, only to get back up again and continue again, so you are correct on that manner. They wanted brunch after her friend spent the night, so, here we are."

The suggestion gets the two to silence, eyes wide. Only for Warrick to reply to Verna with the same match of volume. "I agree. I tend to stop by the receptionist to ensure I can meander the their grounds."

A glance to the girls, a faint nod, then he turns his attention on Verna as the two teens quietly resume plans within plans. "They'll be good," he says softer before gesturing to a chair at the table. "Care for a seat? You look... forgive my bluntness, Mourner, but you seem exhausted."

Verna makes a mental note of confirmation concerning youthful energy levels whilst nodding lightly to Warrick's statement concerning the Society for Progressive Arcanists. His invitation and comment draw some mild surprise and a brow raise, followed by a glance to the counter and there preparations behind. "They may require some time to complete my order," she admits. "Thank you." She accepts and moves to the seat before she further notes, "Much has occured as of late, and in a short span of time. Such can be ...wearying."

The girls continue their conspiring, but it seems like it gets interrupted by one challenging another to a toast eating competition. Even though Cynthia's friend doesn't show much emotion, they match Warrick's daughter enthusiasm.

Ignoring the monching of poor bread, Warrick folds his copy of the Tribune away to rest on the table. "I can relate to that," Warrick mentions, crossing his arms, marred tattoo of Serriel's symbol on display. "Perhaps... not to the extent that people of your caliber deal with, but in smaller manners."

Verna gestures a gloved hand to the scarred arm. "It seems apparent that you are well aware of risks and trials and I would not qualify one trial, nor one individual, over another. We are all people, regardless of talent, training, experience, or knowledge. All seek a similar life: comfort, security," a nod towards the girls, "family, and so forth. I would propose that you are far more successful on those goals than I."

Warrick shifts a bit, sitting more upright, only to lean against the table on an elbow. "A fair observation," he concedes while inspecting his scarred arm before looking off towards the teens. Which... it seems like Cynthia's friend is winning, but that only spurs her on more.

He shifts to Verna, a brow rising. "Success is... a goal attained based on individual merits. I am mostly lucky that I can have some sort of semblance of normalcy. Though after serving the Watch, that's been... harder to maintain."

The man regards her, watching for a moment. "How do you mean 'than I'? Forgive my... breadth of knowledge, but you are recently married, no? With a home and hearth? Family is what one makes of it."

A ripple crosses Verna's countenance, particularly her lips; the neutral line warbled in a flicker of both smile and frown before levelling off again. "I am, and I have. However, achieving such and enjoying the fruits of one's labors are not the same. A home one rarely dwells within and a spouse one cannot accompany then serve as those things in title only. Some semblance of normalcy is a goal I yet strive for."

Her eyes pan to the teens. "Competition is a strong motivation, and far more pleasant than survival," she opines.

Warrick raises a brow at Verna's answer, only for him to spy the teens. Both have demolished any and all bread products before them, only for them to have seemingly went onto another food item before they slow to a crawl. Pause. Then faces meet table wood as they groan in pain. The man quietly chuckles. "They'll make their mistakes. If I tell them to not do it, they'll do it anyways. Doesn't mean I don't worry, but as long as they're having a good time, that's all I care about."

He downs the last of his coffee and regards the smaller woman. Pondering. A sigh leaves his nose. "I can understand that. After her mother passed," he nods towards Cynthia, "I sort of... got absorbed into work. It's only now I've learned to cull back on it to spend time with Cinny. How do you mean you cannot accompany your wife?"

"In a similar manner to your work," Verna explains, "my duties and responsibilities oft kept us apart, in addition to her own interests and activities. I have lessened my involvement with, or removed completely, many prior arrangements and obligations in order to less this. However, this does not preclude great threats or emergencies, of which there are far too many as of late."

She observes the young women again. "Now, she is off to tend to what she wishes, what she must. I do not begrudge her this. My only lament is her absence, and I do not know when she might return."

The door to the Pub opens, as it always does and as it should keep doing - and this time a flash of reds and shades of autumn scales steps in with an unusual amount of energy. Holding a wooden crate of sorts in his hands, the short sith-makar steps to the bar and puts the box down. "A silver and a taste, Keep." The draconian flashes his teeth, moving to pull away the red ribboned, gold decorated glaive from around his back. "Fresh off the port."

Tilting his hip and indulgent stretch of his body, Aelwyn leans against the counter and glances around. As he waits, tbartender puts away the box and starts working on the sith's drink, but the sith's eyes were already scanning the room. "Mourner," He greets - and he also bows his head towards Warrick. "Stranger."

"From what I'm vaguely aware of from my minor time in the Explorer's Guild, it seems as if there is always /something/ of great threat or emergency," Warrick concurs. "And yourself and your capabilities seem quite apt for them."

That factoid gets him to fall silent for a moment. Less in an uncomfortable manner, and more in choosing his words. "Persephone, my wife," he starts, quieter to not be overheard, "had similar concerns. My job with the Watch had me out often and to various places. Such times were hard for her, especially since Cinny was barely a few years old. It's never easy. But the way she handled it was knowing that what I was doing was right for us, and she kept herself busy. Lots of painting helped, too."

He runs a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping him. "I guess what I am trying to say is: distance is hard. But sometimes finding one's best self is by oneself. I... wish I knew it earlier, but you're never /really/ alone. They're there. If not in body, then in spirit."

A newcomer gets the grizzled man to sit upright, him wiping at his eyes with his forearm. "... Stranger? I guess I'm none too important, Aelwyn. Dragoon. Makari that dances in a fight- that still makes zero sense to how that even works."

Verna wholly confirms Warrick's observation of emergencies with a frown. "Always. As much as I serve the community, I am but one individual and cannot do all things nor be in all places at all times." Her frown remains as she agrees on the other portion as well. "It is best for her to find her best self in this way... though I regret I could not aid her more myself."

She turns at the greeting of another, shifting to Aelwyn. "Good day to you." The last comments from Warrick have her look back to him, then back to the red Makari, with some confusion.

Aelwyn was returning his attention towards the bartender to accept his new bottle - before Warrick stands up like that. Surprised, he turns his head towards the human. "Tch?" He clicks his tongue with a cant of his head. Glaive and bottle in hand, he steps off the counter and saunters over with a roll of his hips - and flicks his tongue near the air between Verna and Warrick.

Moment of consideration.

A wide grin. "This one jests; how can this one forget the crossbow?" And with his lips twisting towards the side, he leans against the glaive. "Or the armor - this one could barely see into the helmet." He rumbles with a flick of his tail. "It is good to see one well - though what is strange to dance in battle? Is combat not a form of deadly performance?"

Warrick gives a slow, sage nod. "And I regret I could not do more to help Persephone. The best that can be done is to wait for them to come back to you. And... well. Being involved with friends help. Something I'm trying to learn for myself still to this day. You'll get through this, Verna," he tries to assuage with a ghost of a smile.

Confused expression gets Warrick to explain to Verna- "We worked together before." Lacking his armor and in just a shirt and pants with a sword nearby, he crosses his arms. "Thanks, I try to use it well. But... no? A fight is a fight, not some pirouetting thing. I want to get home after being done with it, not getting stabbed in the side while doing some twirly things."

The two teens at the table are quietly giggling to themselves and are giving-not-so-subtle pointings towards Aelwyn.

Verna nods to Warrick. "I shall keep such in mind." She then looks to Aelwyn and between them on the topic of acrobatics and swordplay. "Given that I avoid physical confrontation wherever possible, I shall leave that debate between the both of you. I am no more adept at fighting than I am at pirouetting."

Aelwyn holds his hand out towards Warrick. "There is brutal truth to that - but where one seeks to end with one pull of a trigger, this one seeks to flow around the said blade looking for gut." He glances towards Verna, then towards Warrick, towards whom he then takes a step forward and lightly bumps hips with. "Yet Crossbow should not sell his trade short - this one is certain one's feet move smooth with appropriate company."

"May the skies bless, it was good to see each of you." The Dragoon says. Glancing at the teens pointing at him, the ruddy sith-makar glances at them. A wide 'grin' (expose of sharp teeth) is given to them along with a slight bow of his head, before his attention returns to the adults. Bask in attention. With a final twist of tail, he heads towards the end of the Pub.

Warrick is still sitting, but he rises to shake the hand with a firm grasp. But then his hip is bumped, and he blinks. "...I'm not interested," he mentions flatly before pulling his handshake away. "Just... wear more armor when you twirl. Or take the Mourner's idea and keep distance."

The teens pretend to not see Aelwyn as he smiles at them, both having a hand blocking the side of their face before breaking into rapid gossip as the Dragoon leaves.

"Have a nice day," Warrick says, waving him away before turning towards Verna. "Your practice is something foreign to me, as I'd leave any magic concepts to you. Last time I interrupted magic I... went to another place for a little bit. Weirdest place." He shakes his head slowly.

Cynthia pipes across the way. "Yo Dad! Are you hitting on him?!" she grins cheekily.

He rolls his eyes to deadpan stare at his daughter, which just makes the two girls burst into laughter.

Verna dips her head in a nod to Aelwyn. "Fare well." The hip bump is paid little mind, and it is more the reaction of the girls afterwards that draws her attention to it. She glances to them, then back to Warrick. "The manipulation of mana is, at its core, merely a tool for the wielder. Thus we are merely users of differing tools." After a pause in consideration, she opines, "It appears that she is interested in and supportive of your interpersonal relationships. Would you consider that boon or bane?"

Warrick gives a firm nod. "On that, I can agree. Many different tools to get the same job done. I wouldn't go into a magic filled room, and you wouldn't strap on armor and pick up a sword."

The question gets an actual emotion to surface on his features. A hint, a tinge, a smidge of embarrassment. "I... Cinny means well. It's helpful when getting me out of the house to go make friends. But not very helpful when-" he picks his volume up, "-I'm merely trying to speak with collogues and two little match makers try and shove me with every person that looks vaguely similar to all the posters-"

Cynthai suddenly stands up, her face red. "N-No! That's not, uhh, Lomi, we gotta run!" she informs briskly. Lomi, too, red in the face, concurs by getting up. Several breakfast pastries are shoved into pockets and they bolt out of the establishment. "ThanksforthefoodI'mgoingtoLomi'sbyeIloveyou!"

Warrick leans back, a faintly successful grin on his lips. "But boon, sometimes."

"Indeed," Verna concurs with the the first, nods with the second portion, and then watches as the two young women vacate the premise in an expedited fashion. "Perhaps all is as it should be? While I cannot speak with much depth of experience in the matter, the actions of match-makers with good intentations proved most helpful in the past."

As she turns her attention back to Warrick, she notes the keep gesturing to her and to the bundle upon the counter. Acknowledging him with a nod, she rises from her seat before looking to Warrick. "I thank you for your hospitality, but it appears that my meal is prepared. It is just as well that I leave you to enjoy your reading now that you might do so in peace."

Warrick gives an honest chuckle at that. "I'll keep that in mind, Mourner Verna. I don't dismiss her, I'm just not looking for that sort of thing just yet."

Seeing as her meal was ready, Warrick picks up his Tribune paper and gives her a respectful nod in return. "Thanks for the chat, Mourner. I'll get this finished and maybe actually get something written down. Take care. And... don't be afraid to do something for yourself. I hear that the river banks are opening up their craft sales soon on the up coming weekend."

The same keep gestures at Warrick, and then to the scattered table. "... well, after I pay for their mess, I can write. Take care."

-End Scene-