withintenfeet | TLV Inbox

[ There's that silent beat of surprise, but it's quickly followed by gentle sympathy. ]

I'm holding up well enough to share a drink.

Iris turned me and could probably kick my ass if I lose control, but I'd prefer not to test that theory.

My place or yours? I can deliver.

That depends on if you want extra company.

[ He's just gonna direct the camera at Tempus, who's sprawled in front of the fireplace. ]

That raises the very interesting question of whether my fear of large mammals carries over to gryphons, who are only half mammal. Canines have always been an exception for me personally, because I loved them, but my world's virus infected all mammals, not just humans.

Fuck it. Sweeney's been working with me for months. I can even ride a horse now. I can deal with a gryphon.

I'll be there in a few. [And she's bringing him cookies as well as alcohol.]

He'll be on his best behaviour. Right, Tempus?

[ Tempus makes a point of rolling his eyes at Zerxus but dipping his head to Maggie. ]

[That startles a laugh from her, and they'll hear a knock as soon as she's had time to gather cookies and a couple liquor options. Also salmon jerky. Does she know what Tempus eats? No. But she'll bring it just in case.]

[ The door opens immediately, though it's just Zerxus in the doorway; Tempus is hanging back, curled up next to the fireplace.

His head does jerk up when he catches that scent, though, and Zerxus's eyes widen slightly in what, for him, counts as delighted surprise. ]

He already likes you best, I think. [ He steps back to reveal - well, very obviously a bedroom in a Knightly Tower, from the meticulous stonework to the rack of armour to the grand balcony. ]

"I'm used to bribing my way into canine affections," she tells Zerxus. "I hardly ever show up empty-handed. You get cookies, and alcohol if you want it. Tempus gets homemade salmon jerky."

To the gryphon, she'll add, "Which I assume you're interested in from that look you're giving me?"

Despite the intent interest, Tempus rises slowly and pads towards Maggie with a gentle, languid pace. He doesn't step into her space, just chirps his agreement and tilts his head up towards her and, of course, her treats.

Sotto voice, Zerxus says, "He doesn't actually have to eat, he just enjoys it."

"I'll keep that in mind if the Barge ever has another food shortage. But in the meantime..." Maggie appreciates the reprieve of Tempus's manners. She has a second to take a slow breath, to brace herself as she reaches into her bag. And then she'll hold out some jerky, hand steady even though she's biting her lip at first.

"You know you're gorgeous, don't you?" she asks him. "Bet you charm everyone. I'm half scared and half charmed, so thank you for your patience."

The sound Tempus makes is strange - half avian chirp and half feline huff - but it's low and soft, and his head dips in understanding before he reaches for the jerky. That gleaming beak is wickedly sharp, but he plucks the treat from her fingers with delicate precision.

Then he tosses it into the air and swallows it whole. He's already purring by the time he's finished, gaze blazing with delight as much as starlight. There's a reflection of that in Zerxus, significantly muted, but his tone is warmly amused.

"He wants you to know that it was delicious, and that you're a better cook than I am."

Maggie laughs softly. "That's how I lure friends out for visits back home. I live in the woods miles from anywhere most people want to go, and I'm extremely bad at being alone. So I make sure my house is as comfortable as possible. Which includes good cooking."

She'll offer Tempus one more piece before she brings out cookies and passes them to Zerxus. "Company is always appreciated."

His expression turns gently wistful. "That sounds kind of like paradise, honestly."

Growing up, he couldn't wait to leave his quiet little village on the edge of the forest, yearning for the bustle and bombast of Cathmoíra. He'll never regret moving to the city and becoming a knight, but he misses that steady, solid tranquillity.

"Especially with these. Who taught you to cook?" As he asks, he gestures for Tempus (who has already gobbled down that second piece of jerky) to step back a bit, so he can lead Maggie to the drawing room.

"My parents taught me a little, because they were very against bringing up a spoiled brat. The rest is self taught from recipes. My abuela wasn't around to teach me, but I live in my grandparents' old house and some of hers were still in the kitchen when I inherited it."

She takes a bite of a cookie and offers the container to Zerxus as she elaborates, "I am super privileged, just not a complete brat. My parents offered me anything I wanted for my twenty first birthday, so I asked for my grandparents' house and enough security to make living in the middle of nowhere safe even with the walking dead. Dad must have bribed people. My security system is military grade, not available for general sale. He's a little overprotective." She raises one hand idly to her collarbone, where a microchip monitors and transmits her vital signs, so her parents never have to wonder if she's still among the living.

"...I think that's actually the correct amount of protectiveness." He's trying to keep his tone warmly amused, but there's a strain to the words; his son is going to grow up in the midst of an apocalypse, too.

He distracts himself with a cookie (just as delicious as he remembers, unsurprisingly) and steps through the archway into the biggest room in the tower. There are two armchairs in here, along with a sofa and side tables. He puts the cookies on one of those, after snagging a second one.

It's also the most personalised room, mostly because he hasn't changed anything Evandrin did. There are paintings on the walls of the two of them - with Elias, with Nydas, with Laerryn - and a bookshelf full to bursting with not only novels, but journals and sketchpads. The same starlight of the deck streams through stained glass windows, each portraying something different.

"Fair," Maggie concedes. "The point where most people start looking at me like I'm crazy is when I mention the device in my body broadcasting my vital signs so they never have to wonder if I'm okay. Which I did consent to, when I was old enough to understand what that meant, but I lobbied for no location monitoring. Otherwise my teenage rebellious phase would've been cut very short."

But the room brings a slow smile to her face. "This is lovely."

Is it bad that he is not, in fact, looking at her like she's crazy? "We would use magic for that."

The we in question is - very clear, from those paintings, and he does his best to muster a smile. It's crooked, strained, but warm all the same. "All my husband. Well, Laerryn did the windows for us."

He gestures to one of the paintings. Evandrin in is it, wearing a beautifully intricate leather armour, but at his side is Laerryn in her work clothes wielding a gleaming golden wrench. The artist has captured their connection, in the way they're leaning against each other with exhausted, satisfied smiles.

Maggie's lips quirk into a crooked smile. "Pre-Rising, people only microchipped their pets, not their children. Even post-Rising, it's not especially common. So from the background half of this ship came from, it's disconcerting." But not really important right now.

"Also lovely," she tells him when he points out the painting, her voice soft and warm, appreciative with a touch of reverence. She loves it when people manage to capture care and emotion properly. She knows there has to be a heavy dose of grief there, with the strain in his voice. She recognizes that tone well enough - after Buffy, after Dave. And she hadn't even settled down and built a life with either of them. (The voice in her head whispering 'maybe' about Dave, if Iris can go back and save him like she offered to, needs to quiet down. At least until she has him back and she's made sure she won't wreck Dave and Alaric's friendship by staying with one or both of them.)

With how clearly parts of his life are written on the walls, she's grateful Zerxus was willing to invite her in at all.

He is trying to imagine, gazing at that portrait, what it would have been like if they had the chance to keep raising Elias together, in a world that wasn't broken. Avalir was one of the safest places to do that, at least when it came to physical danger, but how long would it have taken for their son to start taking risks every time the city stopped, and he could experience the rest of the world?

Laerryn didn't really consider herself his mother - he was Evandrin's son, and then Zerxus's as well - but oh, she'd have whipped up a marvel of arcane ingenuity just to alert them the moment his breath so much as hitched, and if he was ever in real danger -

"We would probably have driven him insane." His voice is rough, and he swallows hard before tearing his eyes away from the past and heading towards the sofa, which Tempus is already lounging in front of. "Ah - you can sit anywhere, obviously. And let me know if you want - tea, or water, or - "

It is painfully obvious that entertaining guests is not a skill he's had to keep honed.

Maggie folds herself into a chair. "Tea later, maybe. In the meantime, I would like to drink my feelings about being left behind again. ...If you're still sure you don't mind babysitting in case I wind up an angry drunk wolf. Or transform and start howling, or something. Not that that isn't a valid coping mechanism, but I'd prefer to do it in the Enclosure, or at least out on deck, like a considerate neighbor."

His sympathetic grimace shifts into something gently wry as he shakes his head. "I honestly don't. For a long time a lot of my neighbours were druids."

A moment later, when he realises she probably doesn't have the context for that explanation, "They can also turn into wolves whenever they like, at least if they've seen one before."

Maggie laughs softly. "Well, at least I came to the right place."

She pulls a bottle of tequila from her bag, because even though she won't even make a dent in it, just a few sips at her lowered tolerance (the bottle will be drunk mostly by Iris, she's sure), she wanted something with a kick. Something she could feel going down. No mellow red wine today.

"I brought enough baggage about losing people with me. And the thing that eats at me the most is... I have a girlfriend with a ship that could take me anywhere and anywhen. Transportation is sorted. But until I have a deal safely in hand, this is it. I can't even promise visits; my virus is airborne back home, and the only reason it isn't here is weird Barge magic. I visit anyone, or anyone visits me, I doom their whole world. So every time someone I love leaves absolutely guts me. And then I feel guilty because my inmate feels guilty, and he has enough damn pressure on him already without me adding to it."

His expression is already sympathetic, but it strengthens into a grimace by the end; it's hard, knowing your pain can worsen someone else's, someone you're responsible for.

There are two lives he remembers, now, where he tried to be strong for Elias. He did well enough in the first, but the latest, in this port - well, there's a reason he's reaching over to grab his own bottle.

"The Barge is harder on him than most of us." There's an aimless, helpless frustration in his voice. "And it isn't really anyone's fault, except maybe the Admiral's." Even then, his tone lacks the harshness it once would have had. He's starting to believe the Admiral really is doing his best, and that does matter even when it falls short.

"I think - venting like this, with other people, is probably the best thing you can do." It's certainly a healthier option than he's ever taken.

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