The birds are out when Jarl wakes up.

Their twittering through the windowpanes of his cabin home are a familiar sound, one Jasey always loved, and relaxes him more than his however many hours of sleep just did (not).

It’s a wonderful reprieve.

Until he realizes there’s a too warm body pressed against him and a too blunt nose buried in his neck.

~

His scream 100% wakes up anyone still asleep in the parish—never mind just the house.

Áesta, however, isn’t in that category; Jarl can tell from the giggling.

It’s too cheerful.

The little daemon peers over the mess of sheets tangled around the priest’s feet, forest green hair ruffled and orange carnelians ringed in chrysoprase green scintillating brightly in the morning light; he then purrs: “Mornin’!”

(Jarl really hates him.)

~

Manus is sniggering behind his coffee cup when Jarl hauls himself into the kitchen.

His morning had gone from alarming to awkward when he had to somehow explain to Áesta what privacy is. He’d ultimately failed, however, and only managed to dress in peace after offering the daemon his shower; but still.

Why don’t daemons understand… never mind: they’re beings of fleshy pleasures; of course, they don’t get it.

Jarl grumbles at the witch to hush up while serving himself some coffee, too. He pauses, for a moment, at Jasey’s favorite mug—a bright yellow thing with the words Keep Smiling written in the shape of a grin—and fights the urge to use it.

Jasey’ll want it when he gets back.

And he will get back.

~

Hagen is not a morning person.

He and Jarl have always had that in common. It usually takes anywhere from 3 to 4 cups of bog water for either of them to truly wake and, until then, they’re typically the grumpiest of grouches—do not interact!

All jokes aside, however: Hagen’s already on his third cup and isn’t looking any better.

Something’s wrong.

~

“Ich cannot go viz’ you.”

Jarl and Manus nearly drop their cups in surprise. The witch’s cold brew also almost makes it to Hagen’s face.

Then, they’re both screaming: “What‽” (A giggle is also heard from the bathroom but it is easily ignored.)

“I cannot go viz’ you on z’is journey.” Hagen’s fourth cup of piping hot bean water is pushed aside so he can look both of his long-time friends in the eyes, “I have multiple orders to prepare and several patients to see. It vould be ‘rong on me to cancel on z’em suddenly and impossible to treat z’em from z’e road.”

Jarl rubs tiredly at his face, “Of course: how could you have planned for this trip when even I didn’t.”

Manus nods but also frowns, “What will we do if we need medical attention, though? You are vital.”

The priest nods in agreement but the doctor only cracks a smile, “Z’ank you; but I can communicate viz’ you boz’ z’rough z’e usual means (z’ough I vill hate all z’e glitter) and send v’atever medicines you need z’e same."

And, like that, their leaving party is down to three.

~

The Reverend Mother is none too happy when she arrives third thing in the morning.

Jarl can feel the heat of her anger before he even opens the door. Not that he blames her.

“Sophie.”

“Don’t you Sophie me!” The furious brunette woman howls while shoving past the casually dressed priest. Her long veil trails after her like the feathers of a particularly pissed off phoenix and almost whack Jarl’s face.

The priest tries not to laugh.

“You have missed 3 consecutive masses this week and I am certain they will not be your last! Explain yourself!!!”

~

Manus and Hagen have retreated to the wooden home’s study.

Jarl can’t hear them (or Áesta, for that matter; but he’s probably still in the bath: soaking in the tub), but Sophie has always been a heaven-sent spitfire that neither of them knew how to handle so he’s unsurprised they hid away when they could. And, even if they hadn’t: it’s him Sophie’s after, not them.

Time to face judgement…

“Where in the parish have you been‽” The furious woman crosses her arms and stands like a vengeful wraith in the center of Jarl’s living room. Her stormy blue eyes are particularly cloudy this morning as they’re also reigning over the twin fields that are really dark bags hanging above her normally healthy cheekbones. Sophie’s usually glowing face is now downtrodden with stress and hollow with the strain of trying to keep the parish running without Jarl or the knowledge of what he’s doing or why he’s suddenly missing in action.

Guilt wracks Jarl’s heart.

But he needs to save his brother. “Planning.”

Sophie looks confused, “Wha—?”

“Jasey is missing,” Jarl continues, suddenly unable to stop. He’s talked about this situation before, yes, with his friends and even Áesta; but this is Sophie—the head of his church’s convent and his closest confidant: if he has just asked Áesta to make him a superhero, then Sophie (however unknowing) must be his sidekick. “No one in the parish has seen him in months; I asked neighboring parishes for him by telephone but they haven’t seen him either; Manus checked with his people and Hagen with his; no one has seen my brother.”

Jarl is shaking.

It occurs to him that, since becoming a priest, he has yet to actually confess anything to anyone in years. And, while he’s not really confessing his sins (That would require telling her about Áesta which is just… NO!), this act of revealing unto another all the stressful things he’s been dealing with, both recently and for months… It’s cathartic and liberating, reminding him of just how important confession, mass, and… everything holy is.

He groans and covers his face—mostly his wet eyes—with still shaking hands, “I’m sorry…”

“…” Sophie’s hands are soft and warm (not hot like Áesta’s; hers are gentler) as she silently pries his away. “Hey… It’s ok.” She smiles sadly at him while patting the hands held in hers, “Love is never wrong, Father.”

Jarl cracks a smile, relieved, “No… no it is not.”

Now he just has to tell her he’s leaving.