Lakeside Picnic
Two unlikely companions trek through the forest surrounding Anfitrian. One is a chef who had once catered to a divine palette; the other is a diminutive dragon in spirit. Although they share a destination, they cannot but eye each other with suspicion. After all, those with patience to deal with fair folk griped by avarice have always been few, and they were less so now. It is compounded by their fickle nature and natural penchant for trickery, which makes something truly terrible even by the standards of their kin.
"Don't you have plenty in that hollow? What else do you think she could add?" The words are spat out by Chef less so as an accusation and more as a matter of fact. There was little for she and the fairy to have bumped into each other like this otherwise. She must want something.
For her part, Twinkle does not act shocked. Her pride moves her to huff and fume, but she can hardly deny it. "Guess you aren't that close, huh? She keeps lots of shiny stuff at the bottom of that lake, and all it takes is a little song to get them~!"
"Figures you'd extort her grief." Chef rolls her eyes, mind wandering to thoughts of drawing her pan and smashing the little trickster with it. "I'll boil you if you cause any problems."
"Hmph! It's a completely fair exchange, and she practically, begs me to take them! Besides, you're obviously trying to butter her up for something!" Twinkle's wings beat angrily as she sticks one of her dainty digits out towards the basket that Chef carries in one hand. Even covered as it is, the smell of foodstuff makes her stomach turn on itself in frustration at not being filled.
Before Chef has the chance to retort, someone else interjects. "Miss Chef explained before that your friend has been experiencing difficulties eating, my lady. It would seem that her aim is to ensure that she does not starve."
"That doesn't mean she doesn't want something, Mr. Woodsworth." Twinkle punctuates her assertion with a "Hmph!" and shakes the staff. "It just means she hasn't asked for anything, yet. She's just waiting to...to have her fetch a dragon tongue or something!"
Chef's face twists and her eyes seem to glimmer as she processes the idea. Maybe not hunting a dragon just yet, but having someone to assist her in acquiring ingredients on the exotic side would be more than helpful. Whether the paladin could be convinced and if she would be a good fit for the role were separate matters, however. The awkwardness between them had lessened only a little since their impromptu reunion, but maybe a trip together would help break the ice.
"You're thinking about it! See Mr. Woodsworth?" The fairy titters and flies in front of Chef to stick her tongue out, prompting the undead to swat at her.
Chef shakes the idea out of her, an uncomfortably easy task. "As if. Not everyone's as conniving as you."
The beginnings of a retort rumble in Twinkle's throat, but the high-pitched sounds of aggravation aren't given a chance to turn into anything meaningful. Instead, the fairy becomes distracted by the sight of the lake. It comes as something of a surprise. While they had been walking for a while, the lack of the sobbing they'd come to associate the area with made it difficult to recognize they were so close.
And as the fairy flutters about, it seems that the clearing is absent of any presence besides their own. The eerie silence turns into an overwhelming sense of stillness, not even the ubiquitous sounds of trees swaying in the wind and animals skittering across the forest floor reaching them.
Setting the basket down and walking a bit into the water, Chef scratches her head as she glances around. "She told Sir she'd be here all day, but I guess she got bored. Tch. Going out on an empty stomach's no good, Mar..."
"Ahem, might I suggest directing your gaze towards the water?" Mr. Woodsworth pipes up again, prompting his master to shake the staff and slip out an "I was just about to do that!" before she takes a look down at the lake that she's been buzzing over for a few minutes now.
Despite the stillness, there's clear movement on the water's surface. Although slightly distorted, below is the familiar form of Marjukka doing something most unfamiliar: she dances. Although her movements share similarities with her swordplay, the constant grip kept on her blade has been released, and she appears almost at peace rather than her usual gloomy self as the lake's other inhabitants waltz with her to unheard music. Or perhaps it would be better to say she seems a little more like her old self.
Twinkle flies close to the water for a better view. She can't shake the feeling that she's seeing something she shouldn't, but that only makes her watch more greedily. After all, while the fairy enjoys the little trinkets the paladin offers a great deal, there is also this kind of treasure that she finds harder to keep but nonetheless alluring. Chef's feelings on the scene are frustratingly more complicated. It reminds her of something. Something warm. Something that she's hopeless to remember. But she does know that there's a piece to the scene missing, and she thinks that if it were put back, she might know more of herself.
If the night's motion was hidden in the water, perhaps its sound was also. The undead dips her head beneath the water, ignoring the chill. Instantly, her ears are greeted by a flood of song. It's not mesmerizingly beautiful like a Siren's, but the familiar notes still manage to stir up feelings in an entirely mundane way. Why the words move her so can't be recalled, but she finds them leaving her mouth as well.
Marjukka suddenly stops, her eyes snapping open. They dart to where the other voice comes from, seeing Chef's head stuck in the water. Waving frantically with Mr. Woodsworth, Twinkle also manages to catch her attention. Bewilderment sets in. Then, realization and a hint of shame as she lowers her head. Finally, when she raises it again, the sorrow bubbles to the forefront of her being as she swims to the surface.
"My apologies for making you wait. I...it slipped my mind that someone may visit." As Twinkle flutters around her head, her eyes go back to Chef, and she glances at the basket nearby. A light frown takes shape, and she looks away. "You've brought food."
Twinkle giggles as a devious thought takes shape. "Yep! It's soooo lonely out here, so we thought we'd join you for a picnic."
It's not exactly a lie. The only untruth in the declaration is the assertion that the fairy was intended to be a part of it. She was here, however, and she was bound to make her displeasure known if the two other women dined without her. Chef shoots her a glare, and Twinkle blows a raspberry in response. If Marjukka takes note of the animosity between the two, she doesn't say as much. Instead, she focuses on swimming back to land with Twinkle in tow.
What Chef lays out on the lakeside isn't a feast, but it is plenty for the three of them. Especially so considering the circumstances surrounding their appetites. Despite Twinkle's stature, she is still quite ravenous, but there's only so much she can fit into her tiny body before she feels she's about to pop and eventually resigns to swimming in her wine cup while letting a song slip out free of charge. On the opposite end of the scale, Marjukka only slowly picks at a single plate while in a trance-like state. She steals glances at her visitors and looks as if she wants to say something, but another bite finds her mouth before it can find the right words without fail. Only a few compliments over the and other small talk is offered. When the fairy begins to sing, a little of the tension in her comes undone, and she begins nursing the cup she'd previously left untouched.
The undead strikes a balance between them, enjoying the more iron-rich dishes at a steady pace. Her eyes flick to the paladin's form, and when there's a lull in the empty chatter, she asks the question that has been gnawing at her mind since they began: "What was that you were singing?"
Marjukka hastily downs the contents of her cup like she needs the ichor within to survive. When she brings it down from her lips, her voice is quiet and solemn. "So you did hear." And you don't remember. Her brow knits together, and she hesitates for a moment. "I still know the songs She enjoyed."
"You mean..." Of course, there is only one 'She' could refer to. Why it sounded so familiar clicks into place in her mind, and Chef's lone crimson orb pleads with Marjukka's deep blue pools. "Could you sing it again?"
"No." The answer is quick and has a note of finality, but then her features fill with panic and regret. "I cannot. The Blessed Lady did not gift me with a voice." She gestures to Twinkle, trying to offer some consolation. "The little one would do it far greater justice than I."
The drunken fairy doesn't seem to take much notice of their chatter as she continues her song. The humanoid form of Mr. Woodsworth leans in to get her attention. "I believe Lady Marjukka and Lady Chef desire your attention. It seems that they have something they would like you to sing, my lady."
"Mmm. Whadda I get for it?" Twinkle sits on the cup's rim, tilting her head from side to side.
"Yes, I suppose you would want some remuneration, wouldn't you?" Marjukka begins to stand so that she might retrieve something from the lake. After all, she'd lived a full and still had the mementos to prove it. It makes her sick; giving up a medal she no longer deserves is a small price to pay for a song.
However, something stops her. Chef's hand catches the paladin's, and she shoots Twinkle a piercing look. "You've enjoyed yourself plenty already, and I can't remember you contributing anything to this little get-together."
"C-Contribute?" The fairy instantly becomes flustered, fluttering between Chef and her multiple empty plates. "That's not fair! How was I s'posed to know you'd want something for it?"
"You know now. Since I brought the food and Mar's let us her place as the venue, what are you going to do to stop being a leech?" Claiming that the paladin let them be here is a bit of a stretch — it's not as if she owns this section of the forest, and it's doubtful that she would've cared to chase them off. For a tipsy Twinkle, however, the explanation is sound enough to make her go into a slight panic.
"Ugh...fine!" The fairy deflates, slowly sinking back down to her cup with her cheeks puffed out. "I guess a meal's worth a song. What's it you want me to sing, anyway?"
Focus is once again placed on Marjukka. She had not the courage to utter its name when asked before, but now there is no escaping it. "Sea Eternal," she says with a voice that sounds distant even as she sits alongside the others. Her head lifts toward the twilight sky, denying the tears that want to fall. "It was her favorite."
"Oh! That one's easy. I think it goes like..." Despite her claim, Twinkle makes several false starts as she tries to find the right words and cadence. After all, she'd been literally swimming in wine moments before. Marjukka, and even more so Chef, are left waiting in anticipation of hearing the song in proper form.
So, the paladin lends her a few. The longing that makes her chest ache trumps her reluctance and forces the melody from her throat. It's crude — below even the unnoteworthy performance she gave to the fish — but it serves its purpose. Twinkle finds her way, and her deceptively powerful voice easily takes the lead. It penetrates into Marjukka's core, urging her to give more to it. Such a song has no room for meekness. No, it demands attention. To be heard and listened to. To be remembered.
And so it is.
Even though they cannot be fully understood, the stray emotions that swell up in Chef cause her voice to join the chorus soon enough. With a bit of prodding from Twinkle, Mr. Woodsworth adds his as well. The forest itself even seems to sing, the wind whistling through the trees to match their tune. But it's not enough. Not nearly so. There should be hundreds more voices, at least. More wine, more food, and an orchestra. There should be celebration and decadence — none should even think of letting a tear slip.
Yet, Marjukka's emotions betray her. Her sobbing is so quiet, but it is as disruptive as the most blood-curdling of screams. It doesn't belong here. She doesn't belong here. For a while, she might be able to pretend, but it is only that, for all she has to offer is grief and despair. The voices of the others gradually fade out as they notice her absence and find themselves unsure of how to ease her pain. Eventually, the singing disappears entirely, and only her whimpering and crying remain.
"Forgive me." It's all she can muster, her voice raspy. It takes a bout of silence as she attempts to hold back the tide before more words find their way out. "The fault is mine. I should never have uttered a word when it could not be sung true."
Twinkle immediately goes on the defensive as a hint of embarrassment creeps inside her. "W-What? I know I stumbled a bit, but I'm not that drunk!"
Marjukka shakes her head and allows herself a melancholic smile as she stares the fairy in the eyes. "Nay, it is sweetest when it passes through the lips of the drunk and happy." Her eyes look past Twinkle into the darkness. There is nothing to see but what is not there. "But this is hardly a joyous scene, and I only degrade it further."
"There are surely still people enjoying the festival. Getting some to sing along shouldn't be too hard." There is at least one woman she knew wouldn't hesitate to lend her instrument, and few would deny their heroes some enjoyment at a festival in their honor. "If they don't know the words, we can teach them."
"Perhaps." Will any of them still know this song? How has it changed? What does it mean to them? There's no escaping that things cannot be as they were. Not truly. Something will always be missing, different, new. Still, still, she yearns for memories to be conjured into reality. Her eyes focus on what is real again, and something nests within them. Not quite hope, but perhaps foolish desperation. "But would it not be more proper to have Her children dance about her throne again?"
Chef understands, and she knows that such a thing is quite impractical. With how long it's been, how it must have suffered decay and desecration at the hands of the demon, there can be little left. Yet, it doesn't register as impossible. At the moment, it is a nice idea, and that's all it must be. "Seeing the palace would be nice. Think there's anything left in the kitchen?"
"Oh! Oh! There's gotta be some hidden vaults those demons didn't find!" Twinkle's eyes become saucers just from imagining what she might be able to add to her collection. The possibility of looting aside, a visit would be useful for updating her notes.
"What a covetous thing you are, shamelessly announcing your intent to take whatever might remain." Although the paladin's words are harsh, and her loathing for the notion is certainly real, a slight smile manifests as they leave her lips.
So, they bicker, feast, and sing some less painful songs. Once Marjukka is properly intoxicated, she even finds herself dancing. The pain doesn't leave, but it's different. At this moment, she worries about a thousand things that don't matter. Who might renovate the sacred palace, what dishes should be first to leave its kitchen, whether they will sing on the only tongue or the new, and every other little thing that comes to mind is discussed.
It allows them to forget that, even should their dreams come to pass, the throne will still lie empty. Things have still changed.