Tomato Or Potato

Lupecyll-Atlon house, late afternoon.

Daeshen and autumn at large are in full swing now, with the turning of tree leaves to autumn colors and the swirling of colors in the sky to the setting light of Daeus's autumnal palette: gold, orange, and a hint of purple on the horizon. A crisp breeze of the fall air means that people are beginning to wear thicker garments than the summer season permitted.

In the Lupecyll-Atlon house that's located in the University District, the chilled drinks have been exchanged for the warmer ones as a result, although one visitor today in the house hasn't quite gotten the memo on the direction of thicker garments. The man known gently within the four walls as Grandfather lounges in his typical open-chested robe and mantle of feathers in the rocking chair within the living room, his taloned hands curled around a cup of apple cider. Pothy's curled up on his shoulder, affectionately receiving scratches and pets from the man as he's engaged in conversation with Telamon.

"This is really quite good," Grandfather hums appreciatively. "You said this is Cor'lana's recipe?" It's so easy to forget from the amiable way his deep-toned voice carries warmth that the man is... _what_ he is. There's a glint of mirth in his violet eyes, a perfect match for Cor'lana's own, but there's something that prevents most from reading the rest.

Some things have changed, but some things are the same. Already, small planting pots have been set out here and there for the garden pixies to play with when the Alexandria winter comes into its fullness. But the house still radiates that indefinable sense of a home, not just a residence, and that's what matters most.

Telamon refills Grandfather's cup, before his own, as he nods. "Indeed. I suspect she got the idea from that partial tome on libations I've been working through. Regardless, she blended in a little pear with the apple, and mulled it -- the result is -very- good." He chuckles. "I feel like someone's plucked one of my tail feathers, figuratively speaking. But I don't mind."

Dressed in a loosely laced white silk tunic over woolen trousers and house slippers, Tel leans back in the couch and grins up at the ceiling fresco, before continuing, "In any case, Grandfather, I'll have to show you the greenhouse later. I modeled it off your library -- vertical construction."

The Goblin runs along the street, occasionally wobbling when a strong gust of wind goes by. She chases a few leaves along the way, catching one to examine its colouring, which closely matches the copper of her priestly robes.

Simony hops up the pathway to the Lupecyll-Atlon's front door, where she knocks loudly. Turning part way to glance at the street, she eyes a few of the folks passing by. "Hmmm, the chill's in the air, soon all the leaves will be fallen, and Winter will be here soon after. Brr." She hugs herself a moment, imagining the future chill.

"Oh, I'd love to see it," Grandfather replies to Telamon's notion of the greenhouse, before he takes another sip of the apple cider. It's then that the knock comes and Grandfather raises a brow. "Do you suppose that's Cor'lana now? How about I greet her." Before Telamon can insist otherwise--and really, there is no telling Grandfather to do anything once his mind is made up, he relieves the rocking chair of his form and glides smoothly across the house to the front door.

Which means when he opens up the door, if there's a chill for Simony, it might well be of a different kind altogether. It's not Telamon who opens the door, but a tall man, standing at six feet tall with gray skin so pale that, were it not for his prodigious height, he could be confused for a lighter-skinned mul'niessa, what with his pronounced ears and graceful features. Wrinkles touch his face here and there in small places, such as underneath his eyes and the curve of the lips. His muscular physique is rather evident from the open-chested robe he wears underneath the mantle of golden feathers that fade out into darker raven-feathers.

But there are two rather terrifying things about him. His violet eyes glow, for one.

And his hands are less of hands and rather monstrous-looking talons, seemingly dipped into ink and stained from just above the wrist down the hands.

But those violet eyes blink as he looks down to see the little goblin. "Ah--hello. Are you one of Cor'lana and Telamon's friends?" His deep voice echoes like the toll of bells. He smiles politely.

Pothy, still riding his shoulder, looks down at Simony and says, "Hello!" It's a friendly enough sight and a friendly enough sound in contrast to the rather tall gentleman in the doorway.

Telamon smiles at Grandfather, his starry eyes glinting. "Absolutely. Even with all that's happened, even now, you have to cling to certain things that bring you joy." He takes a sip from his cider as well. "And for all my devotion to the stars, there is something very comforting about growing things."

At the knock, his eyebrows rise, and he looks at Grandfather. "No. She's still in the Theatre District." He taps his temple with a crooked, mischievous grin. "But even our friends knock, so..." He pauses as Grandfather goes to get the door, standing up as he does so. Sotto voce, he quips, "If that's the guy trying to reach us about extended wagon warranties this is going to be -hilarious..."

Swiftly he follows Grandfather, stepping around to see... "Oh! Simony, good to see you!" He can't hide a little smile because he just knows meeting Grandfather is probably going to leave her poleaxed.

The Goblin turns as Grandfather opens the door, "Hello Telam..." Her cheerful expression drains out of her face, her eyes widening in surprise, for it is definitely not Telamon standing in the doorway. Her eyes take in his height, clothing and facial features, and after a few moments, she swallows noisily, and nods lightly. Her voice is low and soft when she speaks then. "I... I am a friend of Cor'Lana and T.t.telamon."

At Pothy's voice, she begins to rummage in a small pouch on her belt, pulling out a small, paper-wrapped treat. Her hands shake as she struggles to unwrap it. "Toffee, P.pothy?", she asks, offering up the bare toffee treat.

With Telamon arriving shortly afterwards, Simony looks a little relieved, and she does a deep curtsey. "I am guessing I am in the presence of one of Cor'Lana's relatives? An older brother, perhaps? Your eyes are a striking family trait, I am told."

"Why thank you!" Pothy says in reply to Simony, flapping down from the tall man's shoulder to Simony's arm, taking the treat delicately from her hand. He's a nice bird. He'll totally defend her from tall gentlemen who have... taloned... hands...

The gentleman who has taloned hands continues to smile in spite of Simony's shivering and stammering. In fact, the smile widens just a little when Simony calls him an 'older brother' of Cor'lana. "Ahhh, no, my dear," he says, a little dignified flourish on the mode of address. "Not her older brother, but I am certainly flattered you might think such. Come on in, please, and then I'll be happy to make the proper introductions." He acts as though he is the host and not Telamon, but such is the way of the older man.

Once the door's shut behind Simony, he returns to that rocking chair, taking a seat and picking up his cup of cider again. "I am called Alud'rigan, the Feathered One," he says, "but I prefer most to call me 'Grandfather', as, well--I am that to our beloved Cor'lana. Many times over, of course, but I am that, a position I consider to be the highest of honors that a man could ever ascribe to be, beyond 'devoted husband' and 'ardent father', of course."

"He talks a lot," Pothy warns Simony politely in that boyish voice of his that can only come out within the confines of the Lupecyll-Atlon house. "Nice snacks though."

Telamon covers his mouth to hide the grin as poor Simony is sandbagged by Grandfather's personality and looks. But once Simony is safely inside, he shuts the door. "Already starting to get chilly out there," he grumbles. "Ah well..."

As Grandfather takes his seat and introduces himself, Telamon collects another mug for Simony, and pours her a measure of that mulled cider. "Sip it slowly," he advises. "You don't want it to go to your head too fast." Once that's done, he returns to his somewhat deceptively indolent-looking sprawl on the couch.

"Grandfather, this is Temperance Simony Smithsdottir. She's a friend of ours, and painted the ceiling fresco for our newly-renovated home."

The Gobbo smiles at Pothy, and offers a delicate patting as the raven lands upon her arm. "You're most welcome, Little Brother.", she says quietly, a hint of a smile on her face.

Simony follows Alud'rigen into the house proper, and remains standing as the older man settles into the rocking chair. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, G.grandfather.", she says softly. A giggle escapes her as Pothy warns of a potential for long winded conversation, yet delicious snacks. Worth it.

She accepts the cider from Telamon, and as he sits, she does so as well... and settles as close to Telamon as possible. His advice to drink the cider slowly is missed, or ignored, and she quickly swallows the mug's contents. "T.thank you, Tel, it is a perfect drink for the chill weather."

Grandfather looks thoughtful for a moment with Telamon's introduction. "Temperance--is that... Ah, no, I recall. That is the name of the clergy for the Raven in the common mortal tongue here, is it not? That would make Simony your name, then. I am pleased to meet you, Simony--it is not every day one meets the person behind the art." His way of saying Simony's name is like it's a musical measure all on its own, but maybe that's to be expected considering _what_ he is.

Pothy takes a short flight over to the table, where there's a plate of shortbread cookies that appear to be rather freshly-baked. They smell of lavender and honey, which is perhaps entirely expected considering what Grandfather's relation to Cor'lana happens to be. He picks one up and politely begins to break it apart.

"You really should _savor_ the cider," Grandfather advises, and as though he's about to demonstrate, he lifts his cup back up to his mouth. "Otherwise you might miss it, and that would be a shame in of itself, wouldn't it be, Simony? What brings you by today?"

Telamon sits back with his own mug in hand, though he blinks as Simony scrambles up next to him. "I assure you, Simony, he won't bite," he teases gently. "Though he might take a little getting used to... but then, that's true of many friends. You learn what makes them who they are, and you're both the better for it."

He pauses, and adds, "Also, slow down. This cider isn't very strong -- Lana prefers it that way -- but you don't want to be wobble-kneed. Here, Pothy's got the right idea -- have a cookie."

His eyes sparkle, as he looks to Grandfather. "Grandfather and I are just catching up, and making plans."

"Yes, I am a servant of Navos the Raven, one of his adherents. Er. A priestess." Simony stumbles over the words slightly. The mention of her art brings her smile back fully, and she relaxes a little, leaning against Telamon. "You have seen the fresco?", she wonders of Grandfather. "It was a joy to make." Her stomach gurgles as the prospect of cookies looms nearby. "I will wait on the cookie, for now, Telamon, but thank you very much."

The Goblin rolls her shoulders in a light shrugs. "We Goblins tend to eat and drink things quickly. This doesn't lessen our enjoyment of it, nor does it spoil the flavour."

"There are very important plans afoot," Grandfather says in a low tone of voice that suggests a conspiratorial state of mind, a little rumble at the edge of his last word that promises something to someone that is unseen and unheard. "After all..."

Grandfather smiles brightly. "It will be Telamon and Cor'lana's one-year wedding anniversary in a month's time," he says. "Which means there are plans in motion to make such an occasion a happy one. It is not every day that one commemorates the first year of a soulmate-marriage, now, is it not?"

Pothy chokes on a fraction of a cookie. He recovers quickly, swallowing the portion, but he looks at Grandfather. "Please don't tell me this is your scheme to get a real grandchild out of Cor'lana and Telamon."

"I make no promises," Grandfather purrs, like the cat who has caught the canary. He takes a sip of his cider. "Telamon, could I trouble you for a refill?"

Telamon just looks at the ceiling fresco, his expression serene, at Grandfather's rather blatant wheedling for a new child. "Of course," he says mildly, "It's hard to believe it's only been a year. It feels like we've been together all our lives -- perhaps she is right, about fate, and being connected." He pauses, then smirks. "You and mother, Grandfather, I swear..."

Refilling Grandfather's cup, and Simony's, he continues, "Food and cooking among the peoples has always been an interesting side hobby of mine. For a long time, tomatoes were thought to be poisonous, and there was that absolutely -hilarious- story I heard about potatoes once." His eyes glint merrily. "While the khazadi make great use of the potato, in some locales it's thought to be, ah, helpful in resolving certain 'issues' among married couples."

GAME: Simony rolls knowledge/nature: (4)+8: 12

"Oh, erm, I was simply intending to stop in to say hello to Telamon and Cor'lana." Simony nods to Alud'rigan then, "I should go then, perhaps?" Her cheeks colour brightly. "A year already? How time flies when you're having fun and saving civilization as we know it.

The Goblin giggles at Pothy when he chokes on a cookie momentarily. "What was that about taking things slowly? And surely, you mean great-grandchild, Pothy?"

She eyes the liquid pouring into her mug, and she lets out a slow breath. "Hmm, indeed, red in nature is meant to be a warning, and since tomatoes are red, well.." Simony shrugs. "It's also why many peppers are red when ripe." The Goblin blinks at Telamon. "The potato is meant to help in... child bearing? I... how?"

"Oh, no, do not go, Simony," Grandfather replies with a voice that is far too smooth in its soothing tone. He nods to Telamon politely, acknowledging the refill but not speaking out gratitude, as is the custom of his kind. "I just was simply curious what brought you by. Far be it from me to dismiss the pleasure of your company when it has only just recently arrived in all of its splendor." He offers Simony another amiable smile, a thing that's handsome on his graceful features.

He looks at Pothy then and offers the bird a little sigh. "I can hope, can I not? Do not deny an old man his dreams." Then he looks to Simony and clarifies, "I am Cor'lana's grandfather by many generations over--long enough that the number of 'greats' that would have to be appended to my name would be far beyond reasonable expectation. So I keep it simple: I am merely Grandfather."

"Potatoes are in the same family as the nightshade," Pothy offers far too cheerfully. "Ask me how I know!"

The smooth talking from Grandfather draws a long look from Telamon. "Don't let him fool you, Simony. Grandfather is also very protective of Lana and I. Indeed, it's only his nature as a fey lord that prevents him from decamping to the mortal plane full time to encourage us."

Tel grins at Grandfather, before continuing, "Well, the potato thing... after some conversations with dwarves, I think it comes out of the old myth about khazadi literally springing out of earth or stone. Potatoes grow in the same way, and somewhere it got conflated together." He shakes his head. "Myth is a weird thing. There was one that went around about, oh, fifty years ago that my father told me about. People thought egalrin feathers would let them fly. I'm -so- glad that one fell out of the common beliefs."

GAME: Simony rolls spellcraft: (16)+6: 22

The Goblin can't help but smile at Grandfather. "My company? In all its splendor?" She rubs at her reddening cheeks. "You have a way of making people feel welcome and comfortable, Grandfather." Simony nods then, "Ah, such is the curse of a long and fruitful life, your titles are so lengthy."

She sips daintily at the mug, apparently to savour the flavour, and then taps at her chin. "Surely there's someone he might entrust with his duties for a while, to allow him more time to spoil his grandchildren, Telamon?" The Gobbo's eyes widen. "Wait, people believed egalrin feathers would help them fly? Er, well.. technically they're not wrong... if they know the spell that allows them to fly for a time."

"The moniker of 'fey lord' is a bit of a misnomer, my dear," Grandfather replies with a little smile, perhaps a little wider for the reddening of Simony's cheeks. "I have my domain, I have my birds, my gardens--but I otherwise do not participate in politics. I have no people to lord over. I live a quiet life in my woods to the very best of my abilities."

Here he peers more meaningfully at Telamon. "It would be nice if you came and visited more often when this whole... affair is handled. Pardon my phrasing. But yes, I am protective, and I will wear that descriptor as a badge of honor. Why, even knowing the truth, I still am halfway expecting to meet the cur who spread such lies about my granddaughter and to--"

"OHHHHH look at these NICE COOKIES," Pothy declares, panicking a little so as to stop Grandfather from terrifying Simony with whatever he was about to say.

Telamon takes a sip of his cider, and grins at Simony. "Ah, now you see where the myth came from. Being a sorcerer I don't usually need those little accoutrements -- but it makes sense. Sometimes there's a scrap of truth buried in a myth, after all."

Tel gives Grandfather a hard grin. "Now now, Grandfather, Lana and I have 'dibs' as the saying goes. And I can guarantee Lana will not hold back. Nor will I." He picks up a cookie, and munches on it contemplatively. "The loose ends will be trimmed back. And then, I think, Lana and I should take a little vacation. Ylvaliel first, then Quelynos. Spend some time with our loved ones. But don't think we'll be gone too long." He looks around at the house. "This home has seen some rough times, but some good ones, and I don't think we want to walk away from it just yet."

Simony stiffens, and she frowns ever so slightly. "I am forbidden to speak about it.", she says darkly. "But I am sure you will get to revel in the story, once Telamon and Cor'lana have succeeded in the task. Besides, you have surely learned in your long life that one must delegate responsibilities sometimes."

The Goblin reaches up a small, pale hand, to tug at Telamon's sleeve. "If there is anything you need that I can provide or help with, you need only ask. Even if it only be a blessing or a word of encouragement."

"One day, one day, one day soon--both in the fulfillment of current affairs and my ardent wish to have a new grandchild to dote on," Grandfather says with a little smile. "Until then, we do have merry little distractions until then, do we not? Despite the dolor of those that haunt us, despite the arrows of misfortune that sling down from the skies--we live, and that is a fortune rich all on its own."

He takes a sip of his apple cider. "Now then. Surely I can regale the two of you with a little story about this matter I overheard while at the Cheerful Corvid earlier today..."

There's conversations had over lavender-honey shortbread cookies and apple cider, and those are the little jewels hidden within an autumn afternoon.