Sheryl’s and Dory’s containers have proven themselves surprisingly useful these past few days.
From the original stew made by the women themselves to that of Maria and now Gina, too, the containers continue to be reused and refilled—recycled—in a way that ensures both the food’s and their own longevity.
Which is important as, at first, Jarl had been worried the dishes would just slow and weigh them down.
Now, however, he’s grateful: the containers have become their lifesavers.
~
“There’s a farm right north ‘f ‘ere.”
Jarl looks inquisitively at Gina as they stand together in the kitchen, loading up Dory’s and Sheryl’s dishes. “Yea?”
The witch nods, somehow managing to more expertly dish out food than the priest who’s been to countless food drives, soup kitchens, and his own kitchen where he fed not only himself but Jasey as he grew up; suffice to say: teens really do eat a LOT (and Jarl has no idea how his mother put up with HIM), “He knows—at least enough that he comes to me for help with his crops instead of using chemicals and pesticides.”
Jarl starts to nod before it occurs to him exactly what she said. He raises an eyebrow and then looks at her pointedly, “I thought you said magic was all about using the elements as they're meant to combine?”
Gina pauses and appears to mentally splutter.
Jarl laughs. As the witch of the where calms down and realizes he was just joking with her, the priest smiles. She’s different to Manus, but their passion for what they call magic is literally the same; and it’s comforting, somehow (perhaps because it’s become familiar; or because it’s similar to Manus’ passion for [saving] Jasey; or, just maybe, it’s because Manus has proven himself to be a good/valuable friend… so Gina must be, too).
“O, you!” the witch huffs while gently shoving Jarl’s shoulder.
They both chuckle. “Sorry, sorry.”
Gina giggles, again seeming younger than Jarl would expect her to, and waves him off, “Happy ta see ya joke. Seriously, though: Tanin knows about magic and lives just 100 meters north o’ this clearin’ in his own. Here.”
Jarl pauses in his mission to fill up his food bag with Gina’s stew (in Sheryl’s and Dory’s dishes) to take a note the witch holds out to him. “What’s this?” he asks as he glances over the lettering. In a neat script, it reads:
Tan, please allow my friends to use your yard for a quick teleport. Thanks, Gin.
He smirks, wanting to laugh but not wanting to be rude, and wonders if the grandmother’s nickname had anything to do with the granddaughter becoming a bartender. He wouldn’t be surprised, really.
Manus even joked once that there’s really no difference between a tonic and a brew.
Gina seems to fully agree with this joke, too, when she knowingly grins.
~
“Gina’s friend is going to let us use his yard for the Axis Mundi.”
“Tanin?” Manus and Jarl both look at Áesta in surprise as the little daemon nods, “Makes sense.”
“How so?” the magician asks, confused; even Jarl is despite the fact that he was just told Tanin knows.
“Ah—b’f’er Gina started ta help ‘em out, t’e Tanin Lot had a big mold problem. Famine grade stuff. T’e blight. Mrs. Tanin Lot—t’is guy’s great grandmot’er—asked fer Gina’s help one year and she’s been helpin’ since.”
Jarl raises an eyebrow, “GREAT grandmother???”
“Ceart. Ah—Gina were younger back t’en: a… teen? Little adult? T’at thing?”
Manus laughs, probably both at Jarl’s reaction to Gina being something like 100 and Áesta’s forever struggle with humans and age, “She was a teenage witch and Tanin’s bisabuela was probably in her thirties. Remember, Gina’s GWEN’s yana, Jarl; they’d only be apart by a generation.”
“O-oh… right.” He’d forgotten. He spent so much time with her, seeing her youth whenever she laughs, that… he’d even forgotten she was a grandmother, herself. (… How many people think THAT is witchcraft?)
“Right,” Áesta repeats, either to affirm or simply get back on track, “So, Mrs. Tanin Lot, who suspected Gina, offered her an ultimatum: be exposed as a witch or help t’em wit’ t’eir crops. A’course Gina picked ta ‘elp.”
Jarl… isn’t entirely sure what to say to that. Manus, however, nods almost expectantly. Is this… normal?
Exploiting magicians and their fear?
“At least he’s repaying his debt…”
(… Apparently…)
~
“Ya should come back—a-after getting’ Jasey, o’ course!”
Gina and Áesta both giggle at Cael’s floundering, finding it endearing, while Manus offers a sympathetic grin. Meanwhile, Jarl smiles understandingly at the earnest Boathand and nods comfortingly, “We will. I promise.”
“Ah already miss yer sheep!”
The group laughs.
~
“I’ll be sure ta tell Bessy,” Cael tells Áesta as the group finally gathers their things (as in: Jarl and Manus do; Áesta still carries pretty much nothing—but part of that is because he genuinely has nothing to actually carry: while he could help them with the food or thermoses [which are filled with herbal tea from Gina, this time], they only have one bag of each; and the reality is that he doesn’t have personal items because he’s a daemon—everything about his image is just that: an image created by Manus for him to interact with them; as such, it doesn’t require clothes or toiletries like Jarl and Manus do; so, it’s a lot fairer than it first seems), “So ya can see ‘em again when ya come back.”
Áesta cheers, seemingly genuinely happy about this. “Ah’d love t’at, Ferryman,” he giggles as Cael blushes, appearing embarrassed at receiving a nickname (although whether it’s because he understands the meaning or because he thinks Áesta’s flirting with him… well, who’s to say Áesta isn’t?) from the pretty little daemon.
Jarl wonders if the tiny devil is eating; or if this is just
a part of who he is; he’s not jealous, though—really.
(Idly, he wonders what Áesta’s nickname for HIM is—or is Priesty Boy really it?)
Gina playfully nudges the Boathand in amusement, causing him to blush even more, as Manus snorts and grabs Áesta with his free hand. “Come on, vamos, Áine.” Jarl raises his eyebrow inquisitively at the nickname (and surprisedly at the rare no-nonsense attitude) as the mage starts dragging the giggling daemon away and out the door. The remaining mage smiles after them, clearly aware of why Manus reacted that way, and hollers a goodbye (Jarl thinks: it wasn’t in English so he’s not sure) to their strangely fast retreating backs. Áesta turns to holler the same goodbye; but Manus only waves over his shoulder, too set on leaving to turn.
Cael watches all of this in confusion, no more understanding of Manus’ sudden personality change than Jarl (whom makes a note to ask about it), as Gina turns to smile at the priest, “Take good care of them for me.”
The holy man can only nod, “Of course.”
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