"The Re-Fledging of the Rook (Part 2)" Log Date: 12/12, 12/14/00 Log Cast: Julian, Cynara, Jenara, Grace Log Intro: It has been months since Julian made his bargain with Cynara to run the Thieves' Guild of Haven for her in exchange for her assistance in taking back his House, his daughter, and his true name -- and the returning to him of the wings he had lost fifteen years ago, at the hands of his brother Cleon. Months in which Julian has, oddly enough, not approached the Lady of Thorns to uphold her part of the deal... and at last, Cynara has come to him to ask him _why_. The simple fact of the matter has been, Julian has been afraid, and unwilling to admit to himself that he has been greatly nervous about the prospect of what it will do to him to have his wings back -- and it seems that Cynara has suspected this, for she has come by night and taken him by surprise with her offer to do the healing work for him right then. Or at least, the first part of it. Determined to overcome his nervousness, Julian has agreed to submit himself to her power, and so the stubs of the wings he has not borne in fifteen years now ride upon his back. But Cynara must come again with her protege Grace to complete the work that they've begun, while the residents of House Nemea gossip amongst themselves as to what exactly has befallen their Deus.... ---------- Servants and guards, Mongrels and Empyreans, public and not-so-public individuals connected to House Nemea have been whispering for the last two days over the rumors that the Deus is... 'indisposed'. No one save Jenara and the guardsman Meiadre and the children have been permitted into his chambers to see him -- and neither Jenara nor Meiadre nor the Deus' daughter Moirae have uttered word one to the rest of the House about what's going on. Not even the smaller children have said anything, though Roki and Elette and even stolid little Momus have been spotted with curious looks on their childish faces, alternating between outright wonderment and the craftiness of youngsters with secrets. And if this wasn't impossible enough to miss, the amount of food being ordered up to Julian's bedchamber is another puzzling clue. The Deus has never been a heavy eater, but in the second day of his being 'indisposed', there's been a slow but steady flow of nourishment carried upstairs. Meat. Bread. Cheese. Water. Still, though, as night has fallen the House has reluctantly headed to bed, having to content itself with wondering whether their Deus will choose on the morrow to enlighten them as to the mysterious business at hand. In the midst of the night, again a cloaked stranger calls. The cloak is so voluminous that it is difficult to detect if it is just material, or if there are wings beneath, and the cowl is pulled down to conceal her face until she lifts it to allow the guard to see within. This time, both women arrive at once, expecting to be shown upstairs without delay. Jenara appears , no surprise there and leads the women upstairs with hardly a word except a murmured "he be restin' at the moment". With no hestiation she leads them into the Nemeides Deus' chambers. Within finds the Deus, a backless chair..and a bottle of pear brandy. Jena walks to the bed and gently nugdes Julian "Deus..they be here" she says softly. A shroud of dark color masks the second figure, not quite a cloak, or perhaps it is. Patchwork green covers her head and loops around her shoulders and apparently falls across her shoulders and back as well, but the wind does not twitch its folds as it ought. Smaller of the two, the slight figure shadows the first, slipping along in silence. When the women enter the quiet bedchamber, its occupant might be found lying upon his side, his breathing soft and light; that, and the swiftness with which he opens his eyes, announces that Julian Nemeides had been dozing and nothing more. At first glance he is much as the pair of winged healers had left him, two days past; the breeches he wears are a different pair, but he is still shirtless. At second glance, though... the Deus' elegant features are just a trifle worn, just a trifle haggard, and even though he sits up readily enough from his bed, he's moving with the slightly bemused care of a man who's had something strange happen to his body, to which he is not entirely accustomed. The cause of his distress is obvious: the stubs of flesh and bone along his scarred back. They make no sound as he moves, no more sound than the rest of him does, but there's an instant of bemusement in his eyes nevertheless as he feels them shift back there. "Thank you, Jenara," he breathes, and then twilight eyes lift and focus upon the visitors. "Ave, dominae." One other change: he's noticeably less tense this time, perhaps because he's had enough time to prepare himself for what's coming. Not even the presence of Cynara's student seems to faze him, though he does give the young woman a measuring look. As Cynara enters the room, she removes her cloak and hands it toward Jenara who saw to the cloak last time. She nods in greeting to Julian and looks over his face and body as he moves. "Ave, Dominus. Have you had any pain?" she inquires. No reason to delay, right? She just jumps right on in. "You look tired, have you been sleeping?" A touch of reproof in her voice. Grace tosses her head, the patchwork scarf sliding from silvery tresses to pool around her shoulders. Each patch a leaf of green, it fades into her wings as if they were one cloth until she pulls it from herself in a whisper of silk against feather. Then, it is merely a puddle of mismatched color in her hands, and her wings an oddity of dye. Her eyes, however, are quick to splash over Julian, measuring with as much precision and chill as Cynara's questions bring to bear. Jenara takes the cloak and spirits it away to be retrived later as the lady wishes. She'll take care of stuff like that, the minutia. In order that the true business at hand can be done as swiftly as possible. She approves of Cynara's brisk effienccy not that her approval counts for much. She pauses and will take the other woman's..wrap as well if she so desires. "Save for enough time taken to assure the children," Julian evenly answers, "I've been doing nothing but sleeping and eating for the last two days." Conserving his strength even now, he doesn't rise off the bed, not quite yet. Nor does he bother to mention the dreams that have flitted in and out of his consciousness for most of this afternoon and night, glimpses of tantalizingly open sky, stirred up by old sensations coming to life again in muscles that have not led out to pinion and feather in a decade and a half. There is only his steady blue regard, holding up for now quite well under the dual precise stares of the healers, and a momentary twitch of a muscle in one fine-boned cheek. "I've been... a trifle sore," he appends. Which may mean exactly that... or that he's felt as if a wyvern has trampled up and down his spine. He doesn't clarify which. Jenara remains discreetly out of the way. Pouring a glass of brandy to have ready and waits until she is needed. Truth be told she doesn't look like she's slept much in the last 2 days. The pain that he feels can be felt quite clearly by the healers and there is little need for his elaboration. Cynara moves over toward the chair that she occupied a couple of days earlier and waits for him to move towards his before she even considers sitting. "You will be much more sore after today, the weight of your wings will weigh on you once more after so many years without them. It will take some time to regain the muscle control and cooridination you once had. Shall we begin?" She asks both her apprentice and the patient. Grace murmurs quietly between lips that hardly move, "We c'ld leave painkiller tea, Cynara." Not that its is likely she needs to suggest such. Simply something to fill the space between words. The cloth in her hands she pulls over her head and around her neck again to hang like a leafy stole. The girl steps forward with a lifted chin and then a nod. "As you are, Cynara." There is a momentary flicker of surprise in Julian's expression; is that a bit of concern, from one of Cynara's students? Or does the girl with green wings and pointed ears -- what _is_ her name, anyway? It occurs to the Deus that he isn't entirely certain that they've been properly introduced -- simply speak with the same clinical detachment he'd expect from the Lady of Thorns? Not that now is the time to worry about such things, however. Quite aware of Cynara's expectation, he finally rises from the bed and steps over to settle himself upon the chair, still moving with the precise care of one keeping careful control over a body he doesn't currently entirely trust. As he sits he considers Grace, though, and it's as much to her as to her teacher that he says lowly, succintly, "I'll defer to your judgement, dominae." Irony gleams for a moment in his eyes; this can't be a man accustomed to saying such things to Cynara. And he's clearly aware of it... but he says it all the same. So concern for people has never been one of Cynara's strong suits. She gets the job done, doesn't she? And Grace has always been the one concerned for the pain involved in whatever is being healed, the trauma it is caused. It has long been a source of tension between the teacher and student. However, this time, the teacher nods to Grace's suggestion, "We could do that." she replies in a thoughtful manner, "You feel the type of pain within him, and you know what we are about here. What would you give him for his pain, how much and when?" She asks Grace, while holding out her hand for Julian's hand. "Jenara, can you Grace a chair please?" She waits for Grace's answer before she starts. A chair. And someone to get it for her. It's hard to say which exactly causes the odd look she gives Cynara. For sure it is not the questions, for they simply bring Grace's chin up again in a stubborn line, "Tincture o' heartleaf inna tea might do, 'specially b'fore sleep. Otherwise," She makes a show of musing, but the answers dance in quick sucession behind bright eyes, "'v a couple o' powders from my trades lately tha' don' rightly have a name that'd do better." The chair is readily provided by the Mongrel lingering nearby, though Jenara does pause -- at least when no one is looking -- to give Julian a measuring look of her own while whatever pain he is masterfully hiding is under discussion. Hiding, at least, from the eyes even if not from the magical senses. For his own part, the Deus frowns slightly, not entirely comfortable with hearing himself discussed as a subject for instruction even if he's intellectually aware that the instruction needs to take place. "Am I going to need such things, Cynara?" he asks, voice tautening a bit, and even if it galls him to have to say so he goes ahead and adds, "I can't afford not to remain functional." Cynara seems to consider the suggestion of her student thoughtfully and then nods, "Just before sleep or more before sleep?" she asks. Heartleaf, as most painkillers is a muscle relaxant. There is a point Cynara wishes to make here, but she is hoping that Grace will come to the conclusion on her own. "What do the powders do?" She wants to know. And perhaps if she were not in front of Julian, she might ask, 'and why have you not told me of them before?' but she doesn't right now. To Julian, she gives a small, assuring smile, rare from this particular healer, "We'll not give you anything that incapacitates you." she states evenly. "Given that he wants his mind to remain clear, would you prescribe Heartsleaf, Grace?" Still her hand is held out for Julian's. She makes no apologies for using him as a test subject, just as she made no apologies to Grace when she first tried to teach her by trying to make her cut open healthy animals. Grace's lips quirk slightly and she nods to Jenara a thank-you before taking the seat. Delicate fingers tug absently at the cloth around her neck as the girl listens to Cynara's questioning, weighing it carefully for anything else the Healer might be probing for in an answer. Finally, Grace simply shrugs. "Heartleaf tincture'll make e'n a hulkin' V'rati sleep, 'ventually. Tha's why s'better b'fore bed. S'pecially if'n th' pain's keepin' y' from sleepin'. Bu' it' don' leave y' all muddleheaded in th' mornin' like oh.. bluecap mushroom might. Less likely t' kill y' than tha', too." She grins impishly and continues, "Th' new stuff's pretty good, but there's no' much y' can put in th' body t' dull pain tha' won' dull other things, too. They's just do it less." Cynara's small smile isn't quite enough to make Julian do a double-take, but it does make his brows quirk up a bit. One corner of his own mouth quirks up slightly in reply, a glimmer of appreciation for the fact that she _is_ acknowledging his wishes here -- as is only sensible, given what he's taken on at her behest. He puts forth his hand to take that of the senior healer while casting a glance sideways at the junior one, noting the name with which she is addressed and a small chord of memory ringing somewhere in the back of his mind about it. But the recollection doesn't come through, and for now he dismisses it. And when contact is made between his hand and Cynara's, the soreness in his flesh, for all that he's shoving it to the back of his consciousness, becomes all the more apparent. It isn't rendering him helpless now, as it had done when he first awoke, but it's no surprise that the proto-wings now stretching out from his scarred shoulderblades are drooping. Cynara gives an approving nod to Grace's assessment of the drugs she speaks on, "Very true. Alright, come put your hand on his arm and watch... So what exactly would you prescribe for him then, how much, and when?" She asks the question again, looking for a precise answer. "What would your instructions for him be?" And as she asks this, the magic begins to flow within Julian's body. Easing the pain is done quickly enough, loosening the muscles that have cramped up and become painful around their new additions. And just as she showed Grace before, she begins to gather the cells into the area of those little nubs and change the nature of the cells from one type to another, hardening them into bone. The rest of the bones, those in the wings themselves will be hollow, so they will not take quite so long to create. The process is far beyond the abilities of the younger student, but it is truely a marvel to watch, when you have the gift to see the aether at work. Grace leans forward to lay her hand on Julian with a small, wry smile for the man. Her voice, as she recites, is remote. It is quite clear that her full attention is elsewhere, but some small part still follows on with Cynara's instruction. "Like I said.. s'm tincture o' heartleaf fer th' night. You'll prob'bly want i' then. I could leave a little o' the other fer times it's really bad. Times when th' pain'd cloud yer head as bad as th' herb. Other'n that--m'be a few things t' be takin' as y' want just fer th's stomach an' whatnot. Bein' tha' tired wears on other parts o' the body an' s'best t' keep whatcha can happy while the rest does what it needs t' fix it'self up. The Baths'd probably be a good place t' rest. Hot water does good." It helps, that smile. Just a bit. For Julian, knowing that the girl with the green wings seems to have a friendly spirit about her in addition to speaking with assurance about the business of healing in general and what is about to happen to him in particular is another support to his resolve -- not necessarily needed, but not unwelcome, either. It helps, too, to have a name for her. A bit less troubling it is, having to be vulnerable before someone you can identify than it is to be so before a stranger. He nods his disheveled dark head to her and then settles himself in for the long haul, drawing in a breath as he feels his muscles relaxing, then letting it out again. "What sort of pain do you think he will have during the times when he is not sleeping, as a result of this?" she asks Grace quietly, while she continues to work. Slowly the skin is stretched as more thin, hollow bones are generated. Cynara has done this before, and the first time she started with one wing and then the other, but this time, to the outward sight, both wings seem to grow as if from nowhere at the same rate. It is slow, and the pain increases as the nerves and skin are tugged and pulled and thinned to cover the new shape. She seems to be paying no attention now to Julian himself and her mind is only partly on the quiz she gives Grace. "Real pain, an' not." Grace shakes her head slightly, the corners of her mouth turning down. "Th' joint's new, an' all the muscles. They'll ha' t'all fit back t'gether again. An' then there's th' part o' 'is head tha'll remember no' bein' the way t'is now.." That part of Julian's head, indeed, that's gotten itself used to open air at his back... to the diminished overall sense of how much space he's occupied in any given place at any given time, a sense that had to alter with the simple fact that a good deal of his rightful form had been brutally removed. That part of his head has spent much of the last few days remembering fifteen-year-old pain in Julian's sleep, ghost sensations interwoven with the _real_ one of the new protrusions Cynara had pulled out of his flesh. Now, though... now, Julian merely grimaces against the feel of his body beginning to change again. Breathe, Rook. Breathe, think _down_ and _centered_, and try to stay as relaxed as possible...! Cynara is unconcerned with the part of his head that will be different. That has always been a periphery matter for her in healing, but she'll allow Grace to address it if she likes. Whatever. Instead, she continues on with the rest of the lesson as the wings begin to grow slowly, painfully from the nubs she'd created earlier. Just beginning to spread out in their first filmy existance in fifteen years. "Should the muscles be relaxed when he is not sleeping in order to ease his pain?" She asks Grace. Such a question brings about a particularly bird-like gesture from Grace, her head cocking abruptly and bright eyes piercing Cynara with a searching gaze as various unconsidered ideas dance and war behind that seemingly innocent gaze. Things other that Healing come into the ponderance, like her own recent forray into sailing and the strength that required to work the lines properly. "S'prob'ably feel better.. but I don' know that'd make a p'ticular difference one way 'r another. Muscles gotta work t' get stronger. If'nt they don' work 'nough, they won' ever stop bein' sore. If'n they're all relaxed, 'e won't be gettin' the work outta 'em they might need. So's I think 'less it was only fer th' pain, s'no a good idea." From her corner she frowns slightly as she watches the vict..err..patient of this healing process. Pouring yet another glass of brandy Jena pads over slipping into Julian's hand."'ere. Try this" If nothing else it's a distraction from the clinical talk about what's being done to him. His back -- no, he tells himself, it's not really his back anymore, for the sensation is farther behind him than that -- is beginning to itch. Julian frowns tightly, registering unnerving feelings of stretching and sliding back there, and it is with a flash of gratitude in his twilight eyes that he accepts the glass from Jenara. He takes his time sipping it though. It gives his free hand something to do, even as the one Cynara's grasping holds her fingers steadily. Cynara's eyes raise to meet those of her student curiously, "So, he'll have to endure some of the pain without us lessening for him then?" She wonders in a teaching tone. The proceedure seems to go on for a good long time, with lots of these questions being asked of Grace, and gradually the wings form themselves, coming into Julian's view from the sides, featherless, thin-skinned wings that extend thirty feet from tip to tip. Grace's lip quirks to the side suddenly, with a wry and amused expression. "Doesn't everyone? Unless he feels like tyin' a Healer t' 'is side. ... an' 'e can manage t' convince sommat t' spend themselves that way. Yes. H'll ha' t deal wi' pain, just like anyone tryin' t' make their muscles stronger. But I don' think it'll be much worse than.. a gladiator on a bad day." Jenara looks thoughtful for a moment and then perches on the edge of the bed nearer to the chair where she watches with wide eyes for a second as if wings sprout like some strange flower out of stranger soil from her Deus' back. Without even thinking about it she starts to sing very softly. Much as she does to soothe and distract the cranky Momus or the fretful Moirae or any of the other children who occasionally need soothing. Only this time she stands ready with the bottle of brandy in case more is needed. Her song is a old old lullabye and sung rather well in mellow contralto that hopefully does not disturb the Healers. With every fraction of a inch gained by the substance of his very body stretching farther and farther outward, Julian has to fight a little harder to repress a shudder of reaction. It is fundamentally unnerving... especially when the products of the ongoing power begin to rise up in his peripheral vision... and it _hurts_. "I'll... manage," he rasps, frowning, both at the notion that he might need a healer overseeing him more than occasionally... and at the suspicion that he's a little more vulnerable to the brandy at the moment than he'd like. The stuff can be felt by the healers to soak through his system, not quite yet fully recovered from the first work Cynara did upon him, and beginning to put a veil of distance between himself and what's happening to his body. And whether or not the healers are paying attention to the Mongrel, his dark head turns fractionally in her direction, some of his awareness taking in the lulling murmur of her voice. Cynara grins proudly at this assumption from Grace. It is a matter she wasnt' sure she'd be able to convince the girl of. She nods in answer and then finally, slowly, she stops the growth of the wings, they are done. "Alright, Grace, you can help with this part. Lets grow our naked Deus some pretty green feathers, shall we?" She knows Grace has no control over the color, but they had originally grown in black, so they will again, without need of being changed manually. It is his nature, he is a darkling. Grace laughs softly, "They won' wanna do that, Cynara. Bu' it'be a fun thing, tryin'." Her fingers shift on Julian's shoulder lightly and she peers at him, eyes still dancing with humor and strangely distant at the same time, as if she were searching for something unseen. "Blue might be easier. Sommat like th' raven's wings. Blue shine. An' purple." Jenara 's song warbles softly as a bit laughter rises within it as she tries to imagine Julian with parrot green wings. She gives him a look as if saying oO what it's funny!Oo. Still she sings adding verses as they pop into her head. Partly due to the brandy, but mostly due to the fierce, determined effort to hold himself upright upon his seat, a sheen of sweat has arisen over Julian's brow and throat. His attention comes off Jenara, and though he does his best to scowl at the pair of healers, his features can't quite seem to arrange themselves into as perturbed an expression as he would wish. "Black," he croaks, dark brows knitting together at the sound of his own voice and at the bizarre, insubstantial feeling stealing over his entire being. _Tyche, don't tell me I'm getting drunk already on one glass of brandy..._ "I want them black. Like... they grew in the first time." Cynara chuckles at the man and mentions offhandedly, "The alcohol is absorbing quicker because of the stress we are putting on your body, nothing to worry about." she nods to Grace and blinks wearily as she wills the beautiful ebon feathers into being, letting Grace watch and giving small tips where they are needed so that the other healer can add her magic in as well. It is hard not to be drawn in, but now, where there is something upon which her magic can actually take purchase, it is a joy to weave filiments into the orchestra of Healing that Cynara already conducts. Grace beams and looks to the wings--stark and bare but for the patches where the first black hints of feathers are already stretching into being. Grace focuses far from that area, on the wing nearer her, so that the two efforts will not collide to possibly-bizarre results. The music stills in her throat as she watches inky feathers bloom. She always knew that he was Empyrean despite the man's unwinged state but this just drives it all home. Unknowingly her jaw drops as she observes 30 feet of wings slowly grow their plumage. Magic. Something all mongrels are denied and something she's never trusted not being imbued with it herself. Dark blue eyes still wide and staring she takes a swig from the brandy bottle. And here, now, is another new and strange and alarming sensation. For Julian, it is as if a thousand, if tens of thousands, of tiny barbs are springing up out of his flesh and bone and blood. His eyes go wide as the feathers begin to sprout into being, and the sweat that already sheens his brow spreads to cast a pale gleam along his shoulders, the very top of his back. He misses Jenara deciding to sample the brandy she'd been intending to hold for him... and then his awareness of her begins to slide away, too taxed by the plumage sprouting into life behind him. _Upon_ him. His features twist, eyes closing... and eventually, by the time Cynara can safely pause to address her student, his head is beginning to droop. Though Cynara's energy is quickly draining, she manages a little more humor to tease the half drunk man, "Nono, a little less blue, more purple." she grins at Grace. The feathers are the easiest part, and so they sprout with relative quickness upon the wings as she guides them into existance upon her wing, while Grace does the same on the wing she has taken. It does not take long before a lush covering of ebon feathers are fully grown upon Cynara's wing, and then her attention shifts to assist Grace with whatever small bits she still has left to do. When it is complete, she steps back, careful not to wobble and blinks blearily at her work. With an approving nod, she instructs, "Rest for a few days, don't do anything strenuous, but when you do start walking around, be sure you do not let your wings start dragging behind you. Keep them up, use them, flex them often, if you don't use the muscles you will lose them." To Grace she nods, "Well done. Now, if you would like to prescribe anything for him, I'll leave that to you, and then we'll be on our way." She has not done nearly so much, so when the last of the feathers sprouts like some sort of bizarre plant from the bare flesh of Julian's wings, Grace looks up without any of the wobble that mars Cynara's pose. She bites her lip and then reaches out to Julian's shoulder, again, her touch light and short as she does her best to run through his body and clear out the poisons that fatigue of swift Healing has left behind, leaving him only drained of resources, and then turns to Cynara in turn, offering her hand. "D'.. D'y'need any help, Cynara? A tisane 'r tea?" Or a 'boost' as she gave Julian. It will clearly stress the girl, as well, but Grace is just like that. Oops. She's on. Jena sets the bottle down quickly and moves to catch Julian in case he drops any farther. "Eh now..back tae bed wit ye" she looks toward the healers.."He gonna be as hungry as he be afore?" wonderfing what she should plan for?? Cynara gathers her cloak and unsteadily drapes it around her shoulders. Shaking her head at Grace she smiles a thank you, but there is no way she will allow herself to be seen as so weak that she needs help. She'd have to be on her death bed for such a thing. With her wings hanging low behind her, she nods to Jenara, "He will be famished for at least two days, prepare a lot of food. Vale." She trusts the girl was paying attention to the instructions given to tell him later if he doesn't remember. With that she gestures to Grace and moves out of the room, pulling up the hood of her cloak before leaving the house and walking toward her own little alcove where she will be able to sleep. He doesn't quite keel over... not this time. Julian retains enough awareness to turn his gaze left... and then right; eyes that had clamped shut at the feel of the magic in progress now grow wide, and a strange expression begins to steal over his exhausted features. One might attribute it to the fact that the Deus is in fact half-drunk... but nevertheless, there's a detectable wonder in his eyes, and it stays there even long enough for his gaze to flash to Cynara and follow her out as she goes. Grace isn't quite as quick to follow on Cynara's heels this time. She pauses and turns back to touch the point of Julian's shoulder with her fingertips in a gesture that does not invoke the assumption that she is reaching out with her magic as well. Instead, it is her slow smile that warms, her careful words bearing little of the earlier roughness of a gutter accent, "You should take care of yourself, Dominus. Tyche's winds are fickle, and fate can take back what we've labored here to give you. I'd rather not see that." The twinkle doubles as she withdraws her hand, and the gutter rears its head in her accent once more as she teases, "An' I rather prefer you in thi' guise." Jenara laughs softly over Julian's shoulder as she watches the Healers make their exits. "Aye ye do good work..but I still woulda rather hae seen them rainbow hued." she says impishly. She doens't bother to see the women out being rather occupied at the moment and knowing that a discreet servant will see them out "Vale" A weight he has not felt in fifteen years is pulling at Julian's shoulders now, and he can't seem to stop trying to turn his head, right and left and back again, at the shadow-hued feathers now visible just behind him if he only looks far enough over his bare shoulders. Torn between a lingering dislocation and a new, fragile sense of what could almost be called completion, it takes him a moment before he realizes Grace is addressing him -- and then, belatedly, he turns his oddly vulnerable twilight eyes upon her. Perhaps because of what she and her teacher have just accomplished... or perhaps because of the brandy... a suspicious tinge of color momentarily darkens his cheeks. Is Julian Nemeides actually _blushing_? "I'll... keep your advice in mind," he murmurs, beginning to sound like a man not entirely certain whether he is dreaming or awake. "Fortunately, I... appear to be out of brothers and have no plans to invoke any other husbands' wrath." Grace glances aside at Jenara, guaging that woman's reactions. She is not too forward. Not too obvious. But there's something entertaining about the byplay of words. Her hand drifts from shoulder to wing where she might run her fingertips through the new plumes and then withdraw a step. Her quirky grin remains, "Tyche doesn't think much of plans." With a broad wink and a final toss of her hair, she turns to go. Jenara can't but laugh again at that for she agrees whole heartedly being a devout follower of the Goddess of Luck. A friendly smile for the lovely halfbreed before she turns her attention once more toward the slighly drunk, drunk on brandy and wonder it seems, Deus lifting a brow and asking.."Can ye make it tae yer bed on yer own?" For a few moments, after the second soft closing of the door heralds Grace's departure, it seems as though Julian didn't quite hear the question from the woman who remains. But then his head turns, and even as it does, the ebon pinions just behind his shoulders shift, as for the first time in a decade and a half nerves and muscles back there have something to move when he wills it so. And as he tries this, the truth of what has happened seems to roll over him, all at once. His features are still those of a man in his thirties... but his eyes have turned almost boyish. Awestruck. "I've," he croaks, and his voice can't quite make it into being. He tries again: "Jenara, I've... got wings." Her expression is strange. Both happy for you and sad somehow. Nodding with a gentle sort of smile "Aye I'd noticed that. And right beautiful they are too." She tugs on you lightly "Come now..afore ye fall over. Get into bed and dream about the day soon when ye'll fly again aye? The wind liftin' ye up?" her voice soft as she leans over to pick up the brandy bottle. [And as Julian, drunk indeed upon brandy and wonder, lets Jenara help him into bed... end log.]