#lighthouse shenanigans

Usually he is quite a patient man. One must be with the dead.

But this is trying even his good will. .

“Rook we have been to three different blacksmith shops this morning alone,” he protests as Rook veers to the left where a sign promises “Genuine Dragon Hide Hilt Wraps!”

Lucanis does not help. Lucanis’s eyes light up more than Spite’s and he follows Rook with the anticipation of a much younger person spotting candy.

Rather than be dragged after them, Emmrich releases Rook’s hand, and sighs as Rook answers his protest with a weak, “Just one more, Em. Promise.”

And so he finds a shaded fountain to sit beside. And he waits.

He is only there a short while when a woman, surrounded by a small brood of excited children settles beside him, sets down numerous bags of shopping.

“You don’t mind, do you love?” she says, with the unabashed openness of most of the people of Rivain. “This road is murder on my feet.”

It takes Emmrich half a moment to realise she is addressing him and not one of the half dozen, chattering urchins bouncing around her.

“Oh, not at all, please,” Emmrich motions to the public fountain into which two of the children have already climbed.

“A hot day,” she says conversationally, “but there’s so much to do, and the weather waits for no man, nor woman.”

“Indeed,” Emmrich concedes, glancing up at the punishing sun. He’s grateful now that Taash insisted he cake himself in the cream meant to protect one’s skin from burning.

Her children play for a few moments as she fans herself and they watch the lively activity.

“Do you have any little ones?” she asks.

Manfred, immediately springs to mind. He is spending the day with Bellara, examining the artifacts they gathered from Arlathan last week. No doubt they are elbow bone deep in cogs by now.

The woman see’s Emmrich’s reminiscent smile, “tell me of them.”

By the time Rook and Lucanis wander from the shop, clutching their purchases, they are anticipating at the very least a disapproving tut, and maybe some foot tapping.

Instead they find a smiling Emmrich, surrounded by a dozen entranced children, watching the little dragon he has created from water fly in the air, running and shrieking when it sprays them. No less than four grateful parents are soaking their feet in the fountain.

“Gods, he’s cute,” Rook says and hurries off to that fruit seller Emmrich likes. It’s almost lunchtime and he’ll be hungry after an audience like this.

Investigation

Thank you @datvcompanionweeks for hosting! This is also a much delayed entry for "A Word With Friends" started by @hedwigoprah (Peregrination: Noun- a travel or journey, especially by foot.) Thank you @blackwall-my-tiny-husband for the tag!

There is that moment in classic detective stories where the investigator gets to confront the suspects and reveal the twists and turns and trail of clues to the cast and the audience as they solve the case. Neve deserves to have that moment (even if the case is kind of silly!) (Also on AO3)

Neve stood facing the fireplace, hands clasped behind her back. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

She could hear the group spread out behind her shifting in their spots. No one spoke. Good. Always worth it to let people stew a bit when unraveling a mystery. Made it much more likely someone would give something away.

Not that they needed to. This one was already in the bag.

For Part 1, please go here to read:

Emmrich’s quarters are quiet, methodical, and built for both study and comfort. The lower level holds his well-worn books, vials of carefully labeled reagents, and a workspace kept precisely in order. The second level, accessed by a curved staircase, serves as a lofted reading nook with additional shelves and a desk overlooking the lower study.

Spite and Manfred are perched up there now.

Waiting.

Spite presses himself against the railing, wings tucked tight, his glowing purple eyes barely visible through the wooden slats. Manfred is in his arms, held in a careful grip, glowing green eyes eerily bright in the dim candlelight.

The plan is simple.

The moment Emmrich walks in, Spite will glide from the upper floor, carrying Manfred in his arms, eyes flaring bright as they descend upon their unsuspecting target.

It will be dramatic. Startling. Impossible to ignore.

The door swings open. Emmrich steps inside.

Without even glancing up, he smiles.

“Ah, Spite! What a pleasant surprise.”

Spite stiffens. Manfred lets out a confused hiss, why have they not jumped?

The moment—the perfect moment—is already ruined.

Emmrich sets his books down, entirely at ease. “I was hoping you’d visit. It’s been a few days, hasn’t it?”

Spite slowly lowers Manfred back onto his feet, shoulders slumping slightly.

Manfred tilts his skull toward Spite. Confused hiss.

Spite leans over the railing. “…You saw?”

Emmrich glances up for the first time. “No. But I assumed. You have a certain… presence.”

Spite narrows his eyes. “We were hidden. We were going to swoop down. Glide. Eyes glowing.”

“Oh,” Emmrich says, looking genuinely intrigued. “Well, that does sound impressive. Should I step back outside so you can try again?”

Spite huffs. "It would not be the same."

“No,” Emmrich agrees. “Surprise only works once.” He gestures to the staircase. “Well? Come down properly, then. And please be careful, Manfred doesn't have the same kind of cushioning between his joints. A tumble from a height could hurt him.”

Manfred hisses enthusiastically, moving toward the steps. Spite glides down anyway, landing lightly beside Emmrich, still faintly disgruntled.

Emmrich smiles as he gestures toward the hearth. “Since you’re here, would you like to stay for a while. I was about to make tea.”

Manfred lets out an immediate, happy hiss.

Spite tilts his head, still debating whether he should consider this a failure or not.

Manfred tugs on his sleeve, nudging him toward the seating area. Encouraging hiss.

Spite grumbles under his breath but moves.

Emmrich turns, already preparing cups. “Even if your plan failed, I must say—this was still a pleasant surprise.”

Spite huffs again.

Fine.

Not the surprise he planned.

But still a success.

—

Neve’s quarters are a study in careful organization, layered with quiet chaos. Case files stacked in precise columns, maps pinned with strategic markings, coded messages half-deciphered beside her inkpot. The room hums with the soft glow of blue-white wisps that normally drift aimlessly, watching, listening.

But tonight, they are watching something else.

Spite and Manfred are waiting.

They have found the perfect hiding place—her wardrobe.

Spite presses himself into the shadowed corner, wings drawn tight, eyes dimmed to a flicker. Manfred perches beside him, perfectly still, gemstone eyes hidden among coats and hanging scarves. A hat carefully balanced on his skull.

The wisps gather around them, curious.

Spite, delighted by the attention, whispers his plan. "A game. A surprise. She will not know we are here."

The wisps chitter, intrigued.

Then—one by one—they scatter.

They hide.

Spite, pleased, tucks himself deeper into the wardrobe. Manfred clicks his jaw, satisfied.

The plan is flawless.

The door opens.

Neve steps in, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, already glancing toward her desk.

Then—she pauses.

The room is too quiet.

The wisps, her ever-present company, are nowhere to be seen.

Neve’s brow furrows slightly.

Then—she hears it.

A faint, high-pitched chittering, like dozens of tiny voices whispering together in barely-contained glee.

Neve’s eyes move over the room. She knows every detail of this space, and right now, something is off.

Her gaze lands on the wardrobe.

She sets her coffee down, silent, deliberate.

Inside, Spite is utterly still.

Then—one wisp snickers.

Neve tilts her head slightly.

Another giggles.

Spite hisses. "Quiet. She will hear you."

Neve exhales slowly, voice dry, unimpressed.

“I already have.”

The wardrobe bursts open.

Spite curses, wings flaring. Manfred hisses in alarm as they spill forward, their attempt at a grand reveal utterly destroyed.

Neve stares down at them, unimpressed. “What was that?”

Spite scowls. "They betrayed us."

The wisps swirl out of their hiding places, chittering like children who just won a game.

Manfred takes the hat off his head and puts it back in the wardrobe.

Neve folds her arms.

“Hi, Fred.”

Apologetic hiss.

Spite starts sulking toward the door. “We leave now.”

Neve lets them go without stopping them.

But the moment the door closes, the laughter she was holding back finally escapes.

It’s brief, barely audible—but enough.

And just for a second—her eyes glow.

The wisps chitter in delight.

Neve presses a hand over her mouth, shaking her head, ignoring the faint shimmer of magic at her fingertips.

“…Traitors,” she mutters, reaching for her coffee.

She’s still smirking when she sits back down at her desk.

---

Part 3 is Harding and Rook!

all the individual frames of the lighthouse animatic!!!

It was her own fault really. She'd been exhausted last night but knew Davrin was dealing with a bit of a crisis after finding out the First Warden of the Fourth Blight had deliberately ordered that the griffons be blighted. She thought a short visit from "Ginger" might cheer him up, even though he swore to the others he only put up with the orange cat for Assan's sake.

Davrin had permitted Ginger and Assan to curl up on the bed with him, maybe needing the solid reassurance that Assan was safe and unblighted. She'd meant to sneak out after griffon and Warden fell asleep but ended up falling asleep herself.

She awoke to frantic voices asking Davrin if he'd seen Rook. The Warden sounded frazzled himself when he realized Rook was "missing" and came to rouse Assan to try and track her.

"Ginger" now had to figure out how to slip past the entire damn team and at least make it to the Crossroads where she could resume her human form and come up with some excuse for why she hadn't been in the Lighthouse.

As she tried to sneak out of Davrin's quarters, Taash noticed her. They reached towards her to try and pick her up. "Hey so is this Ginger?" They asked Davrin.

Ginger hissed, then quickly darted around Taash, yowling as she proceeded to avoid Harding, Lucanis, and Neve to get through the library and to the eluvian room. Knowing they'd be hot on her heels.

The cat rushed to the ferry, knowing that the Caretaker wouldn't give her away. Only once the ferry was out of sight of the Lighthouse island did Rook assume her property elven form with a sigh.

Now she had to come up with a plausible explanation for why she might have spent the night away from the Lighthouse without telling anyone.