It has been few days since Eirlys had researched on the Celestials. She had visited Heliodic Hymn where her simulacrum was being eccentrically displeased yet again, something about the First Warden dumping all her paycheck in the guild’s coffer that she didn’t have the authority to touch without the senate–approved guild membership. The solution is quite simple, Eirlys thought, just bully Lames into spitting out a few gold. But with Ehsaling departed for Taffeta and the very likeliness of that woman martyring for her old country, Eirlys didn’t have the heart to give the simulacrum ideas as to how to cut into the potential resurrection funds.
The mage had little regrets about her own spendings on the folks she loved but there was a certain nuisance—nagging—upon seeing Ehsaling carry more than the two. Perhaps, money is of less value to the First Warden. And perhaps, Eirlys is projecting her sire’s, and by extension her family’s, financial insecurity on a woman who is not her bethroted. But the guild is family, a sinister voice pokes at her mind. But kins use you, and discard you, and stab you at the back all the time. Truth or fallacy, it had been one of the reasons as to why Eirlys chose to be not more involved than she is with the Wayfarer as a ‘consultant mage’ and to an extent with the paladin’s life. Her own vows were rather onesided anyways.
The simulacrum operated in opposite ways to that of Eirlys. If you can’t change something, exploit it! And it has been rather unimpressed by the “lack of effort” on Ehsaling's part when it came to helping out with fitting title. “Lack of imagination, not effort.” Eirlys reminded gently, not impolite, for they have had this talk before but it only gets her a roll of the simulacrum’s starry-eyes and a mirroed laugh when she reminds her that, technically, Ehsa has already given them a pet name—Tiddles.
“Count your contributions and hassle her when she is back in one piece, all right?” Eirlys tells her simulacrum before leaving the magic shop, at last.
🥖🍓☁️
It is a mistimed growl of her stomach that has Eirlys' snowworn boots turned facing the tiny cottage next to the humongous mansion that is Heliodic Hymn. This one has a dimly lit door with bakery scrawled on a sign nailed to it, the only inviting parts being the colorful doodles of strawberries, breads and clouds pasted around the shaky font. She wonders if the baker is the mother of a child or two. Keenly aware of her growing hesitation these past days, Eirlys takes a sharp breath and pushes what appears like the backdoor to someone’s kitchen than a bakery's storefront. A woman is hunched over at the countertop, the sleeves of her tunic rolled up, fingers digging into the sourdough in a way that’s too brutal for just kneading. The owner frowns at Eirlys.
There has to be a mistake, but oh, the tempting, mouth-watering, savory-sweet aroma of freshly baked buns is just coming from that clay oven! The poor mage’s stomach lets out another pitiful growl and Eirlys is certain she tastes something foul at the back of her throat. Hungry ... An establishment this small means her purse won’t feel it too much, right? “It is written bakery at the door sign.” She begins and then trails, foolishly.
The woman glances up from kneading dough, striking gold eyes familiar in a way that makes Eirlys’ heart flip and ache at the same time. Then she is moving, rummaging with something underneath the counter, no wonder busy. “That was the idea. What do you want?” The bread in the trays looked all but the same, were the fillings different? The brick–walled room was also oddly arranged for a kitchen, a roundtable and chair by the window, too narrow, too intimately close to the hearth and the woman behind the counter. She raises one thick brow in question.
“I was thinking—wow, not much room for patrons to dine in!” She claps, nervous laughter ringing in the air.
The woman shrugs, pulling out a tray of freshly baked dough from the clay oven and resting it on the counter. “They are not supposed to.”
“Oh.” She mouths, pale blue darting around the place nervously. “Do I leave?”
Another shrug. “If you wish to.”
If you wish to. The words settle in her stomach with a pang. Eirlys reacts unfairly, then. She worries her bottom lip, frail shoulders tensing, and storms out of the bakery, leaving a perplexed Solmere behind. The woman runs a hand through her thick coral waves, blinking at the door now slammed shut. The lass must have been in a hurry. Then she puts a tray on the borrowed roundable, testing. Was there so little room, or did it just not look inviting enough?
12.5gb … ptn pls compress your game. doodled this while waiting to see my wife rahu.
ehsaling belongs to ellixer. modern au eir makes ehsa pose for her art projects, i should draw them together sometime …
