2018-09-20: The Lucky Ones
- Cutscene: The Lucky Ones
- Cast: Gwen Whitlock, Silas Madigan (NPC)
- Where: Little Twister
- Date: September 20th, 2018
- Summary: Gwen catches up with her old priest friend. Subjects of Janus and the past comes up, but something else manages to cut off the conversation entirely.
===TWO NIGHTS AGO===
"Don't fool yourself into thinking you owe them anything, Gwen." A large hand presses against the plain Granas symbol hanging from the priest's chest. "Don't forget: you and I are the lucky ones, Gwen. We got out before the town could kill us, or our spirit. We don't see the world the same as he or his friends do."
Curtains fluttered in the desert night breeze, their fabric something that would've qualified as 'white' once upon a time. A lantern cast the quiet room in a dull, but cozy glow, flickering slightly as the orphanage made its nightly complaints in the sagging of old wood boards.
In center of the room sat the young priest and his friend the courier, a half-empty bottle of apple wine between them and two glasses half-full of the amber liquid. The priest shifts forward in his chair, resting his elbows against the wood. "Your involvement in this scheme of his is built on this shoddy premise that you are responsible for any negative repercussions it might have."
Gwen smiles, lifting her glass to her lips. "Really, it's an insurance policy. I go with 'em, and it turns out to be some angry demon king or whatever like that old rumor Auntie told me, I'll slap some sense into the lot o' 'em and we'll nip the problem in the bud. If it's some wacky treasure, well, it's all good. He might get it into his head t'backstab me, but that's why I'll have folks with me."
"You mean this Ragnell person?" The priest's lips deepen into a frown. "She didn't sound to me like someone trustworthy."
"Oh, she'll come. And if she doesn't, I got tons of other people I can ask." Gwen's eyes touch on his face, and the struggle hidden within his neutral expression. Ultimately, he wouldn't join her, of course, for many reasons.
One of which existed in the room nearby, the priestess's wrinkled face grimacing from a cough only dampened by Gwen's shipment of medication. "Is the medicine working?" she asks. "I can deliver more if you run out."
"She has made it clear that if it is her time, she will welcome herself into Granas's embrace gladly." The priest pours from the bottle, and sighs. "You... know her name isn't Ursa, right? It's Urma. She just never corrected us. All these years, and we've been calling her by the wrong name."
"Maybe she didn't like her name? Bears are known for being tough n' protective. Suits her to a T, I think." Gwen's smile saddens, dipping into something more melancholic. "Why didn't you tell me she was sick sooner, Silas? You knew I was back."
Silas grunts, his shoulders sinking in that guilty manner he assumed so easily when around her. "It was her decision, ultimately. I, ah, went behind her back, to be honest. Please don't tell her, if you would."
"No one'll know a thing. I just happened to have some medicine on me, is all." The redhead grins. "And don't worry about this whole Janus deal. I don't think those rumors are even true in the first place. The Badlands run on tall tales like that. I mean, you've made no secret of your dislike of Janus, much less Dario n' Romero for followin' him, so I get why you're not too thrilled 'bout all this either."
"I mostly wanted to make sure you had thought this through. But, I suppose..." Silas's voice trails off, hearing the distinct coughing of a child sleeping in the room down the hallway.
... The same cough that had echoed in Mother Ursa's own room.
".... Granas protect us." SIlas stands up slowly. "Would you be willing to make another delivery?"