Caelia Kerrigan

Caelia Kerrigan

Dawndrinker
Weaver
A letter had come for one Caelia Kerrigan, the parchment folded with meticulous folds and sealed with a waxed crest embedded into the midnight blue. Upon seeing it, holding it in ungloved hands, Caelia felt her breath struggle through a shudder as she recognised the Kerrigan crest. Suddenly, she did not want to open it. No amount of curiosity could ever will her fingers to snap the wax seal and unfurl the letter to read it's contents. Her family had never once showed they wanted her. They had hoped to darken her and speak ill of her weaving, all in hopes that it would stop her.

She had been a willful child. Had to learn to be stubborn and selfish. It made her into a survivor, had it not?

The letter was shoved into the pocket of her leather bag, the small thing attached to her belt. It left a weight she felt with every step she took, her wits turning erratic and out of order, unable to settle.

She had meant to go to the stables, to go for a ride into the lush forestry in their surrounds. Flower picking and harvest, things she had been meaning to do all week but the summer had turned to day's of pitter pattering rain. Today still had clouds in cover of grey, turning a gloom on what would have been a nice afternoon. No. She would walk. A walk would do her well, theoretically. If she fretted too much, her horse would feed on that anxiety and there would be no way she would be coaxed from her stable.

Caelia inhaled a long breath, holding it for a count of three seconds before expelling it from her person as slowly as she could. It was just a letter. From her family she had abandoned, yes, but what news would it bear for her to be reached out to in such a fashion? She should have dropped the family name once she had gotten here, but she had been younger then, more sentimental.

"Syr Kerrigan! Did Lyall find you and give you that letter?" Called someone to her left. Caelia's head shot up, eyes wide in slight terror before a smile was fixed over her expression. She nodded, patting her bag in answer.

It had been too easy for anyone to find the elusive Syr Kerrigan, for she had her usual haunts that made it so. She could be found in the gardens, or the library, or more frequently than any other, the Knoll. The energy could go from boisterous to a calm lull, but in any way, Caelia always found solace being surrounded by so many of those she saw as family.

Caelia shifted in her seat as if to prepare to leave. She turned, fetching her riding gloves that she had dropped to the floor an hour ago.
 
Syr Kerrigan! A voice called out near the stables. Even through the muffle of rain, Matvi could make out Alinard's sure voice, boom over the din.

So Caelia was about?

A smile curled about his lip. And a twinkle gleamed in his eye. He had grown quite curious about the Dawndrinker. Haunting as she was. Didn't mind getting up to a bit of melancholy either. As the mood struck about. And the way she seemed to glow in it all.

He figured, the rain would just add to the stun of her, and when he finally set eyes upon her. Well.

"If it isn't the lovely Syr Kerrigan," he seemed to sing. "I'd ask if you are off to enjoy a ride but," he cocked a brow. Tilt his head. "You look too, twisted up for any such escapade," he looked for more clues. "Everything alright?" he asked. Easy and calm with all of his concern.
 
She stood under the shelter of a tree's overhang, only a few droplets of rain managing to find a path down to her. Cael went rigid, her eyes glancing about before they fell upon Syr Iramene.

There was something devastating about the way he moved through the gentle rain, how it seemed to merely mist upon him. No, the rain was far lighter now than it had been an hour ago after she had left the Knoll. She had wanted to be alone, to not be seen, and the heavens heard her plea and sent a downpour that soaked her almost through.

"I... am drying off." Her smile was nervous, not the sort of nervous Syr Iramene usually elicited from her. "My cloak..."

Her summer cloak was hanging from a branch behind her, no longer dripping at it's ends, but coloured deeply from dampness. Even her loose attire seemed to drag, weighed by not yet being dry. Her hair, what had started out in a braid early this morning was now let loose to dry, and turned wild from her fingers combing through it.

Caelia sized him up by the time he joined her beneath the tree's cover. "My, oh, my. Syr Iramene, you look as if you are glimmering from the rain's mist." Now a true smile pulled along her lips. It reached her eyes, and those eyes seemed to lock onto his hair. She had once brushed leaves from his hair once before, and now she felt compelled to run her fingers through his hair again. "Your hair looks as if they are blades of grass with dew drops upon them."
 
"Glimmering blades of grass, you say?" he chimed. A coo to his voice. "Well, I do love the sound of such a site," he confessed. Yet, had his hands cross his chest and hold onto his shoulders. Mimed a shiver and shake. "But it is a bit, clammy," he laughed. Stepped easy under the tree cover beside her.

His own coat hadn't quite soaked through. Used to working in the damp of the nympaheum chamber, and amidst the medicae unit where liquid of any manner had a habit of spilling, his long cotton coat was waxed. Its collar interior, well oiled sued. He wore the wings of the neck pulled up, to flare them more snugly about his neck.

He spied her coat. "Trouble that," he said. "But, a happy coincidence, such trouble would have us cross each others paths so soon," eyes easy on her. "All, grassy haired, and wild maned," a bounce of his brows, and tilt of his head. A hint of humor on his breath.
 
If she ever needed a moment of distraction, conversing with Syr Iramene certainly was a quick and sure way to forget the weight of that letter. Caelia looked to her coat, afforded it with a shallow sigh.
"Yes, I got caught in the great downpour earlier. I would not test my Fire, I am awfully attached to that coat and would hate to singe it beyond repair." She chuckled.

It faltered a little at the end, playing it off awkwardly as her hands began to wring out her gloves in hand. They had been a right pain to pull off once the leather had gotten soaked, hence her frustrations causing Caelia to toss them to the cover of fallen leaves at their feet.

"You are right, it is rather cold." She agreed with a sheepish expression. "Perhaps instead of a ride, I ought to seek somewhere to dry off lest I catch a poorly cold." Her first thought was the Knoll, the suggestion ready upon her tongue before a rumble in the distance cut her off.

She blinked, paused a moment to listen. Was that thunder on it's way? "I suppose this rain would not be letting up anytime soon... would you like to, uh, accompany me? To the Knoll! Of course..." Panicked laughter filled the space between herself and Syr Iramene. They had made promise last they saw each other to make the effort to meet again, after all.
 
Matvi's lip twist with a curious curl. Hands already undoing the buttons of his coat. Pulling it off his shoulders, and offering up to her. "If that is where you'd like to dry off," he shrugged. Still holding the coat open. Easy enough to step into, if she would only let him drape it about her shoulders. "It would be my privilege," he said brightly.
 
Caelia stood straighter as a shiver ran through her, but the sight of Syr Iramene offering her his coat had her unable to hide her beaming grin. She took it as invitation to take a few steps closer before turning around. Her hands gripped the length of her hair, twisting it around her hand as Caelia pulled it over a shoulder. "I think a busy environment would be a great distraction."

Once he placed his coat over her shoulders, she was unable to keep the smile from her face. It was warm, his warmth, and it provided her with the same comfort as a hug.

"Thank you." She turned on the spot to catch a glimpse of him. "But... what about you, Syr Iramene?"
 
His hands held just a moment longer. Fingers cupped around her shoulders. "Of course, Syr Kerrigan," he said, a measured step behind her that turned to a step to her side. Adjusted his cuffs. "I have been practicing a new trick that may prove useful on the road," twinkled his fingers, as if he were putting on a fresh pair of gloves.

Let out a breath, and willed strands of the shroud about him like a spider, gathering its web. Traced a circle over himself as he stepped out.

The rain cascaded over him. As if some unseen parasol had been opened up above him. The droplets of rain even raced down across the invisible membrane of the shroud.

"Now," he said as he turned around, all smirk. "We just have to make sure Master Brambleshell doesn't catch us on our walk," with a turn of he chin, he bade she follow.
 
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"Incredible!" Caelia gasped as her eyes watched droplets plop against hidden cover and roll down the face of the shroud woven work. She smiled, so widely and happily, it twitched as the muscles tried to contain her excitement.

To watch how others weaved always made her feel at home, that she was not alone. Seeing how such a genius thought could be applied to weaving truly delighted the poisoner. "You must teach me how to do that. I am afraid I must insist, and I shall keep it secret so that no other Master may ruin our fun."

And thus avoid another lesson. Caelia enjoyed learning through practice and instruction, but Syr Iramene certainly gave her a taste of wanting to have fun.

Out into the sheets of rain, away from the cover the low branches that kept her dry for the past hour, Caelia felt the cool sting of droplets on her face. It was not the torrential downpour that she had gotten swept up in earlier, but something of a softer caress. Syr Iramene's coat was holding up well, repelling the water. "Oh! Good!" Relieved that this was all working out better. "Such luxury you live with!" She mused teasingly, starting to slowly meander towards the Knoll.
 
Matvi but smiled at Caelia's excitement. "It's a simple trick, really," he explained as they strolled across the Monastery grounds. "You have to," he slid one hand over the other. Like rolling out dough for flat bread. "Get the shroud veil, nice and thin," he grabbed the invisible pie, and twirled it up to the air.

"In fact, now that I think on it, its a lot like making a pizza," he laughed. gave a little shrug. "In that, once you have the shroud thinned out you, stretch it. And then, well, that's where it stops being like a pizza really, so one must wonder, is it like making a pizza at all, " his thoughts grew far away a moment.

"Do you fancy, pizza, Caelia?" he teased with a smile.
 
She could not help but leave the smile on her face, for Syr Iramene had a penchant for flair and flourish. The way he weaved story, even if there was not one existing, he could make anything seem like so.

Caelia laughed, undisturbed by the droplets of soft rain that fell onto her tongue and lips as her head had fallen backwards to launch the mirth to the mournful grey cirrus that lingered beneath the rain clouds.

"Not as much as you, it seems!" But her laughter faltered once she registered he had said her name, not Syr Kerrigan, and she was quick to smile something smug and smitten. Mayhaps he had used it before, but she only recently heard it on his tongue now and liked the way it sounded coming from him. "I... cannot recall if I have even tried it before, Matvi."

She spoke slowly, as if working herself to also dropping the honorifics of title between them. Casual, friendly, at last moved past something.
 
She was just as lovely when she laughed, as when she hung beneath her clouds of gloom. His brow arched. A wordless. Well then. All bothered, as a cat that wanted more treats.

"Oh, its a wonderful little snack," he said as they carried on. "Best when crispy, and thin, if you ask me, with a nice crunch and pillowy chew," he gave a small shrug as they strolled on, a step a tad closer, and the magicked umbrella, all pitter patter and catch, kept the rain from gathering any further across her darling freckles. "People put all manner of delectable toppings and sauces on it, the whats and whys of the thing, as varied and proud as the banners of noble houses,"
 
"Cheese." She piped up, after shooting him an appreciative smile as the shelter made from shroud now rested above her too. "I have heard it is served with a good portion of cheese."

Their destination was within sight now, and despite the rain giving them urgency to hasten their pace, the two Knights continued to dawdle forward. Doing her best not to walk directly into him in order to remain beneath the shared umbrella shroud's protection, Caelia drifted in and out from under it. The rain no longer was a bother to her, for present company kept her thoughts occupied enough to not realise the burden of a letter waited for her to open it and read.

"The day I try it, I will let you know of my experience." She promised, drifting out again and feeling the droplets hit her nose. "At your recommendation, too. Crispy and thin."

Stepping inside the Knoll was a wash of warmth, so thick did it stay within these walls, Caelia felt as if it were a warm hug that she had stepped into. To be somewhere of a comfort to her, she could feel herself ease out of relief, letting go of tension she had not been aware she had been shouldering. Of course, Syr Iramene would know the Knoll very well, as would every other Knight. But he worked behind the bar a lot of the time, at least most times while she had been there, and possibly would not know where the best seats were.

She began to shrug out of his coat. "Best find a spot to sit before the rain brings in more people."

Caelia did not lead him towards the fireplace, the obvious choice for warmth, but alas, the seats were already taken. Instead, she nudged him with her arm still in the sleeve of his coat towards the corner where her favourite armchair to haunt could be found. It was vacant, luckily, but the chair beside it also was free. Caelia claimed her seat, folding Matvi's coat on her lap. She let out a deep sigh as she sank into it's plush cushions. "Oh, this is comfort..." Came the weary tone.
 
"Well," he said with a little rise from his throat. Seeing how the drops of rain clung greedily against her skin. Like little beads of crystal, only making her the more beautiful. "I would be delighted to hear about your delights, Caelia," he smiled, and in they went. His hold on the shroud loosed, and all the caught rain let splash at the door.

All the familiar charms of their order's haunt. The table where Syr Maygos had stood up and sang, So the Sun Burns to the object of his affections, Syr Lemok. Paid off for him too, if the rumors were to be believed. And they were, more often then not, pretty true. Though Lemok, a Grennfelt boy, never admitted to finding much fancy in Syr Ahrtor til Maygos, of Cloud's Keep, something did change in how the young man would smile at the mention of the night whenever Casson or Heren felt warm enough to recall the tale.

Or, the spot where she had sat, fiddling with the pages of her book, or spying him at the bar as he served up another round, on those nights the mixing took him.

She began to peel out of his coat, and the quiet rasp of the twilled cotton against her dress drawing his eye to her. He moved to help her out of it, but she was away too soon. Plunked right down in a seat he had seen he away in so many a time.

He eased into the chair opposite. Fingers on the armrest as his bottom came snug to the leather. "A relief, indeed," he sounded. Arched a brow, still all easy smile curled on his lip. "Is something on your mind, Caelia?" his eye, too keen to not have noticed the way her shoulders had been tensed when first he spied her.
 
Her first instinct, an old one that she could never shrug off, was to lie to him.

To smile and deliver him a look of amused concern, perhaps even ask him why would he think of such. She wanted to shake her head and laugh, to assure him all was well. A busy night of transcribing perhaps. A weariness from the weather.

Anything other than the truth.

But Caelia had been brave already. Had taken strides to befriend and open up passage for him to learn more about her. She had wanted to impress him after admiring from afar, to let him in on a secret that was her own life. She had expected him to be charming and leave it at that, but Matvi had shown her understanding as well putting on that charm.

And so, Caelia Kerrigan looked at him. Saw the man he was when he did not stand behind the counter and poured drinks. The man that did not wander the gardens to speak with a sun drenched white rose. He was a man that wanted to help, as if he would ask this of anyone else of the Order.

"I..." She hesitated. Matvi gave no indication to rush her, merely a patient and open face. Her hands moved, reaching for the letter hidden in the pouch fastened to her hip. It must of been spelled, for it was still dry even when she copped the downpour. "A letter came from... my family."

The wax seal turned towards him. Bronzed brown wax, a perfect imprint depicting grand iron gates. She remembered when her father had to pay for a new wax seal stamp, recalling the high fee he had to pay in order to get the details of the curling ivy to show on the seals.

"I cannot tell you how petrified I am to crack the seal and open this. How much I cannot bear to even read the contents." It was a good thing they were not seated by the fire, for she knew she would have been powerless to the temptation of tossing it in to feed the flames.
 
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