“Whaaaaa~?”
Maria chuckles as she enters her priest’s vicar only to find the out-of-town priest and his recovering friend crowded around a wonderfully smelling dish and the supper plates to go with it. She shakes her head.
They grin.
“What’s going on in here, boys?”
~
Áesta takes his time coming back from the Wet Wagon.
Jarl finds he really doesn’t mind, enjoying the time away from him while knowing they aren’t arguing (thankfully). Beside him, Manus sits with his (well, technically they’re using Mariti’s dishes, but…) bowl full, pallor now basically gone, and smiling with more gratitude than Jarl’s seen in a while (Okay, that’s not true: Manus always seems eternally grateful when the people of Shantown make him feel welcome and at home; really, it’s just that Jarl rarely ever did that for him and so he rarely if ever got that same grateful face…).
“It’s just a little thank you for all your help this day; we really needed it.”
Maria laughs, her dark brown eyes glittering with immense amusement. “I’ll say!” she replies, face warm from flattery and mirth. “YOU could hardly move, THAT ONE—” she points her spoon (So rude!) at Jarl, “Wouldn’t stop pouting, and—”
Áesta finally returns, albeit hesitantly—as though worried the first person he’ll see is Mariti, which is fair—as Manus busts a gut laughing.
The daemon raises a brow, one olive-brown hand raising to shake a tumble of crystalline water from his hair. Maria grins, moving to point her spoon now at the disguised devil, “PSYCHIATRIST here was running away!”
Aforementioned ethereal being gawks, “Ah was NOT!”
Maria only snorts, appearing perfectly comfortable in the monster’s gaze (then again, she doesn’t know…). “Really? Then what’d ya call hiddin’ out in a bar so ya don’t have to talk to HIM?”
Áesta scowls but remains quiet.
Bailenac’ringy’s Head Nun sighs, “I really like you boys. But you’re all horribly flawed. Please try to remember: it’s always better to talk to one another than avoid each other; TRUST in how much you three CARE.”
~
Supper was wonderful.
Once the three of them agreed to Maria’s suggestion, Áesta joined the party with a gift from the Wet Wagon. “It’s from Gwendolyn, really!” he explains as Jarl uncorks the red wine he brought home. Manus cheers as Maria finds Mariti’s wine glasses for them. “She sends her regards to the wicked witch and proud priest.”
“Wha—‽”
Maria joins Áesta in a laugh as Manus playfully complains about the receptionist’s choice of words. Meanwhile, however, Jarl frowns in confusion and concern, “… I am prideful?” (But that’s a sin!)
The table quiets.
Maria looks slightly concerned as well but Manus only looks pitying. It’s Áesta whom answers him, “‘Course ye are: don’t ye take pride in yer work, in bein’ a priest, in touchin’ people’s lives t’e way ye do?”
“I…”
“T’ere’s not’in’ wrong wit’ bein’ proud o’ hwo ye ar’, Earl.”
(“Just, maybe don’t be so proud that you take my sick arse to somewhere Áesta doesn’t want to be, again.”)
~
The evening passes rather smoothly after that.
Mariti doesn’t return to his home, presumably avoiding his curser and its party until they all leave. Surprisingly, Maria seems perfectly fine with this: she doesn’t ask any questions about her priest’s location or why he’s suddenly staying clear of his own home.
She doesn’t even hold them literally stealing his house against them.
Jarl thinks it’s at least mildly suspicious (Mariti is still HER priest, after all) but says nothing.
~
“He’s not actually your psychiatrist, is he?”
Jarl jolts as Maria joins him outside for some fresh air. The wine Áesta brought them (which he didn’t drink, by the by; Jarl isn’t sure if this is because he literally can’t eat or drink, either—perhaps he should ask?) quickly went to their heads over the course of their meal, even with all the food in their stomachs; and so: Manus required assistance getting back to bed (where he’ll either sleep it off or they’ll perform some magic that’ll allow the mage to sober up eerily fast) which Áesta provided, having not drank and thus kept his head, and Jarl left them to their devices while heading outside to clear his mind, Maria in tow, apparently.
To shock him sober, apparently.
“I-I…” Jarl swallows, not entirely sure what to say. He wishes one of the other two in his party where here: Jarl was by no means a good liar and both of the other two were infinitely better at twisting the truth.
“It’s ok,” Maria sooths, a gentle smile once again on her face; “I think he’s still good for you.”
The out-of-town priest laughs derisively, head shaking in disbelief. O, if only she knew…
“So don’t be afraid of what you feel for him, ok?”
"... What???"
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