[PRP Yael] An Unfortunate Accompaniment [Xelannis / Zekiel]

[Indigo_Plateau]

There was no real reason Xelannis should have been standing in the entryway to the outer ring. He wasn't going anywhere, nor was he coming from anywhere, but by happenstance, it was a passing point. An 'act of fate,' he decided to call it. If it had been any other day at any other time, he would've considered this location to be out of the way and his presence here a waste of his time.

Before he had a chance to move on, Xel spotted him. Strais was a thin young man, unremarkable and forgettable in almost every way. They'd had only a few interactions previously, all while they'd been young children and never within the confines of the Sanctum. Xelannis remembered their most recent quite clearly, even if it had been nine years. They'd both grown plenty, and it wasn't so much Strais' features that caught his attention, as much as his gait. Slow, slouched, and ambling, he moved in ways reminiscent of a tintural. Today he was accompanied by a woman that looked to be at least twice his age, his mother maybe, though Xel didn't bother to recall if he'd seen her before.

He stepped toward them. "Strais," he called, a smile lightening Xel's face as he moved close enough to clasp the other boy's hand. "It has been a while, hasn't it? What has brought you here? I didn't know you ever made the trip to the Sanctum, so-" Xel paused as he took note of the clear confusion etched on the man's face and the awkward, uncertain way in which he hesitantly shook Xel's hand. "It's Xelannis," he clarified. "Remember?"

"Xelannis. Oh." It took only a heartbeat, but once recognition set in a tension settled over Strais like a heavy drape.

His mother, however, looked pleased to have been taken note of. "This is our first visit besides attending prayer," she admitted as Xel let his arm drop to his side and fixed the woman with his smile. "We've come seeking the counsel of a priest named Zekiel. We were to meet with him today in the hopes that he could help my baby." She reached to pet Strais' hair, though he was taller than she by several inches.

"He is... unwell," she told him as Xel emitted an inquisitive hum. The other man's brows knitted, and he looked away. "He has been acting out of character, and I fear that perhaps a spirit has overcome his body, or perhaps a witch laid a spell on him in the night."

"Oh, it could be much worse than that," Xelannis informed her. Both of the people before him looked to his face, alarmed. "I believe... during our last encounter," he gestured to the other man. "you called me 'sick' and said the only way to cure sickness was to be rid of its source. So you snapped my father's quill in half and threw it out over the water. And laughed when I cried." He shrugged as the color drained from Strais' face. "I wouldn't be surprised if the gods cursed those who treated their chosen so poorly, but who am I to say?"

The air between them had changed drastically in the course of a few seconds. Strais' mother's arm snatched to snare her son's, and she guided him a pace backwards. "Do you know where Zekiel is, or not?"

Xelannis smiled.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Tarla Lormer and her family attended service regularly.

Zekiel, over the years, had had occasion to meet with her before—never under any official circumstances, but in the context of attending mass and the aftermath. He enjoyed sitting in on public services whenever time permitted, in addition of course to the private prayer sessions and ritual expected of his station. Unlike the regimented worship of Sanctum chosen, Pajore’s citizens after mass were a social bunch, eager to speak, share, and have notice taken of them both by the gods and each other. And Zekiel delighted in making connections where he could. The more of the gods’ children he was familiar with, the better suited he would be to aiding them when the time came.

He also found people infinitely easier and more pleasing to deal with than private study. Prayer and meditation he enjoyed, and he had always done his best in his earliest years to be as devoted to his studies in scholarly aspect as much as he was to his faith generally. But, though he could and did do it, he found words far more difficult to pin his focus to when confined to paper, but more fluid and free when voiced. Thus, as he had progressed in rank and his schedule of duties grew more malleable to suit his areas of talent and interest, he had been encouraged to and did open himself to giving private counsel—in matters of the mind and spirit, and communion with the gods—for those interested.

Most came through connections forged with regular patrons of the church, like in this instance.

So, knowing of the Lormers, he knew of the Lormers’ son, Strais, and had seen him in the past when opportunity had arisen to engage. His mother, though, had always been the louder voice, and Zekiel had never before had private occasion to meet with just the boy. Almost odd, since Strais was closer to Zekiel’s own age than the mother, being that Zekiel was quite young still for his rank. But not wholly unusual. Parents were often more intent on making their connections with the church than their children, and if it pleased them to speak with him, he was happy to do so.

He did, however, lose some track of the time. Not unusual for him, and not generally critical except that on this day he was set to meet with the Lormer boy in the afternoon, so he had special reason to make sure he finished with the morning’s obligations in time for it. In the earlier half of the day, after morning prayer and preliminary tasks, he had paid a visit to another family — potters by trade — nearer to the outskirts of the city, and had intended to return immediately after with time to spare.

But, one conversation had lead to another, the morning was beautiful, the sky was out, he had been invited to break bread with them for lunch, and by the time he had made his way back within the Sanctum’s walls, he was thinking about the morning’s endeavors—about Aiara Fehan, the girl who had taken sick and given rise to the need for a house call to begin with, her mother, and the physician who had come to mind the physical portions of her ailment (while Zekiel’s role, naturally, had more to do with health of the spirit and warding off dangerous energy). Anything and everything but-

Tarla and Strais Lormer.

He blinked, pausing for but half a moment in his walk as he spotted them, memory triggered, and oh, yes, that was why he needed to be back within a timely fashion. But, given that they were right there, it seemed like sign enough that he had made it at precisely the time the gods intended, and he smiled as he redirected his path to approach.

“Ma’am Lormer!” he greeted. “Strais.” His eyes landed on the third in their company, an aspiring prentice of the Sanctum—what was his name? “Xelannis,” he said. He was fairly sure that was right, and his expression was warm, oblivious of whatever initial tension he had walked in on. “It’s wondrous to happen across you, and I do hope that you found your way well enough. Have you made each other’s acquaintance?”  

[Indigo_Plateau]

The moment Zekiel said her name, Tarla's attention flicked to him, and she reached like he was the only lifeline she had in a vast and tumultuous sea. She'd hardly had the pleasure of being in Xel's presence for more than a handful of moments, and it was already quite too much for her to bear. Because of what? His one comment? Xelannis thought the woman was being just a skosh overdramatic, as if she expected he could curse them himself. Though it would be a fun spot of magic if he could, wouldn't it? He said nothing, of course, and only continued to smile even as he gave the older priest a polite dip of a bow in greeting.

"You haven't forgotten us," Tarla said as her fingers curled into the fabric of Zekiel's sleeve, her other hand still tightly gripping Strais' arm as she began the task of gently guiding the pair away. "I thought you might've sent..." Her illuminated grey gaze darted to where Xelannis stood and back, quick and fidgety, like a cornered rodent.

She actually looked quite frightened, and as much as that didn't bother him, he also didn't want any of his superiors thinking he was going about scaring their church goers when it wasn't his intention to do so. Xelannis cleared his throat and opened his mouth to point out that he he'd only recounted true events that had indeed happened previously and that vengeful gods might have taken offense over. He was anything but a liar.

Strais' voice, muted but deep, beat him to it. "I'm not 'unwell,'" he informed Zekiel, shrugging his shoulder in an effort to relieve himself of his mother's grasp, futile as it was. "Or I don't feel sick," he clarified. "It's just that I don't want to do the things I used to, anymore. I'm not unwell."

A sound that consisted of some hybrid of confusion and muted interest came unbidden from Xelannis throat. As of right now, there hadn't been many opportunities to converse on a personal level with people, and it wasn't a skill Xel considered himself to be adept at. Here was what felt like an opportunity, with someone familiar, if not necessarily friendly, and he was curious. "May I join you?" He asked, blinked up at Zekiel owlishly. "We, Strais and I, knew each other when we were small, and I would like to help, if I can."

Tarla shot him a clearly alarmed look through narrowed eyes, but he could also see in her features that she was of no mind to outright tell him no. She also looked to Zekiel for his answer.

"Please," Xelannis added as a hasty afterthought.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

You haven’t forgotten us…

Zekiel blinked as the woman’s hand clasped his sleeve, and it occurred to him reflexively to say that actually, he had forgotten them for a moment — unintentionally, because the day had been so lovely and there was only so much space in a head at a time — but he surely would have remembered again, and had immediately upon spotting them. So perhaps that was all as it should be, and he certainly had not forgotten them now.

He nodded. “Of course, the gods lead me directly to you.” As her attention moved with concern from him to the prentice in their company, he smiled. “This is Xelannis,” he provided, since after ‘sent’ she gave no name and seemed in need of it. “He is a prentice of the temple and not of rank to provide the gods’ services to the people unguided.” Because she looked so concerned, though, he added a touch more gently, encouraging, “Xelannis is young and serves the gods well. It is a blessing to you both to have met.”

It looked almost for a moment as though Xelannis might have something to say for himself as well, but then Strais’ low declaration caught Zekiel’s attention instead, and he glanced that way. I don't feel sick… I don't want to do the things I used to, anymore… After, Ze’s expression warmed anew.

“Oh, well that’s wondrous then!” he said. “You are precisely where you ought to be. I am not a physician, only a vessel of the gods. So, if it were your body that was unwell, I would be better to refer you to a doctor, and I do know a wondrous doctor—” But that was not, perhaps, the topic of the moment. Zekiel schooled his attention back on track. “An unwellness of the spirit is just as much of a burden to bear as an unwellness of the body. If you cannot feel the beauty of the gods’ creations in your spirit and take happiness in the tasks they put before you, a trial is upon you.”

Ailments of the mind and soul had at least the capacity to be even more devastating than physical ones. So far as Zekiel was concerned, such things touched to the heart of a person—a sickness that dealt not with their personal bodies, confined and absolute, but with their closest, intangible connections with the gods, and all other energies in the world, for that matter. Weights on the heart and mind were also difficult to brush off, and occasionally even difficult to define.

At Xelannis’ inquiry, Zekiel’s attention pulled from his thoughts to listen. Strais and I knew each other when we were small, and I would like to help… He knew Tarla to an extent himself, but her son was more of a blank slate, quieter, and — particularly now, from what Zekiel guessed — withdrawn. While on the one hand this was to be expected and he certainly had no qualms handling it himself, it would be helpful to know more about him, so that he might get some more accurate sense of where to start.

The mother did not look pleased with the idea.

But, fate had put Xelannis there, before them before he had even arrived, and Xelannis, unlike Zekiel, knew the boy. Zekiel wasn’t of a mind to consider it an accident. Just as the gods had reminded him of his appointment and put them in his path at the appropriate time, so too had they set Xelannis there, with just the sort of familiarity that might provide insight to Strais’ ailment and character—quicker, if nothing else, than the time it would take Ze to do the seeking all himself.

And the sooner the boy felt the weight off his spirit, the better.

“I think,” he said, “that’s a wondrous idea.” Because he suspected that wouldn’t be the most pleasing answer to all his company, however, he added, attention mostly on Strais, “The gods have put Xelannis in your path more than once. I think that is no accident, and it will help me to understand the nature of the burdens on your spirit.” When he spoke again, it was with a smile and more airily. “Come, and we will speak. Are either of you hungry?” He glanced to the mother. “We will not be terribly long today, but when we near finish I will have someone find you.”

While parents were often concerned, some discussions were best private, even from them, and in this instance, Zekiel felt that the first step involved just that. There were several portions of the outer Sanctum adjacent to the church for the purposes of counselling — confessionals, etc. — and a notch of the head to encourage that they follow, he took a step to head there—where he would have met with them, if he had remembered in more formal fashion.  

[Indigo_Plateau]

The Only Black Uke

Wondrous.

If any of the three of them hadn't had their full attentions fixed on Zekiel, it snapped back to him, then. Wondrous. Xalannis blinked up at him owlishly and made a short sound of confusion. It probably wasn't the word he would've chosen to describe this particular situation, one in which this helpless man child didn't feel normal or enjoy the usual activities or presumably, want to speak to either of them. The right place for an unfortunate reason is probably what he would've called it, but Zekiel looked and sounded quite delighted, every bit the opposite of all his current audience.

On the other hand, Strais looked more than marginally annoyed— Well, no, maybe that wasn't entirely accurate. He had his arms crossed, lips pursed, brows knit, and his bright irises peeked out from the corners of his scrunched lids. Woefully exasperated, Xel decided, as though Strais disagreed with the commentary and was even offended by it, but also felt there was nothing to be gained from arguing the point and didn't want to waste time or energy on it.

What a strange shift. Xelannis had once considered him very loud and boisterous, obnoxious even, and mean. Maybe he still was, and it was only because of Zekiel's presence that he held his tongue.

Tarla appeared more hesitantly accepting, though the look was for anyone but Xelannis, and it faltered only slightly when she came to the understanding that should was not being invited to join them. If it was unexpected or disappointing, she contained it well enough.

For his part, Xel could only stand to be pleased that he was permitted to join the discussion at all. Though he expected it as more of a courtesy to the fact that he was coming of an age where he ought to be allowed to attend such things and learn practices first-hand, rather than solely through text. He didn't expect his input on any matter would be especially welcome, and he already resigned himself to being little more than a listening ear as he gave Strais' mother a parting smile and set off after Zekiel.

Strais himself was only a beat behind him, and whether he felt confident arguing with the older priest spoke nothing of how he felt complaining to Xelannis. "Why are you doing this," he growled, tone low and head down in such a way that would make it difficult for the man leading their small procession to hear. "Why can't you mind your own business?"

This was not a conversation Xel felt the need to be secretive of. Few were, when within the bounds of the Sanctum and fully immersed within the gods' home. Secrets were impossible to keep, and if not a secret, why try to hide it?

Xelannis cleared his throat and spoke with his usual volume. "Do you know what an opportunist is?" Strais' expression twisted into that of a grimace, and Xel decided verbal affirmation was unnecessary. "You do, then. Good. It's selfish of me, but it's my business because it's for my benefit. I haven't yet had as much opportunity to speak with anyone on a personal level. I'm excited for it."

'Excited' appeared to be just as offensive to Strais as 'wondrous.'  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Zekiel had been made aware—many times in his childhood, but also as he had grown—that his perspective was occasionally disconcerting to others. Not ‘everything’ was wondrous, and to find things to be pleased about at certain especially grave times made people uncomfortable. He had learned to tailor his attitude—some. He certainly didn’t want to upset people, and communicating worked better if the involved parties understood one another’s perspective. But this was not an instant striking enough to trigger more than quiet observance of the reactions, and when it became clear everyone was on the same page, he lead the way without further immediate comment.

He did, however, listen. Thus, despite leading the way with his back to them, his attention was as much on their exchange as the path forward. Certainly Xelannis was impossible to miss, making a clear point to speak at natural volume in contrast to Strais’ lower key inquiries.

…it's my business because it's for my benefit…

As they made their way out of the middle area and down a long hall to the counseling rooms, Zekiel hummed.

“It is your business,” he said at length while he walked, “because as the gods’ chosen servant, it is your duty to aid in traversing the trials they put before their children.” Adjusting his grip on the things he still carried from the morning’s endeavor’s over to prop under one arm, he stopped before one of the doors and reached. It opened without unlocking. He stepped inside, crossing the room to set his burden on the far desk adjacent the window.

It wasn’t a large room. But not so small either that it felt cramped. ‘Office’ sized or perhaps a touch larger, designed to be private, but comfortable and arranged so that early afternoon light filtered in from the windows to give it a warm, yellowish tint. Finally hands-free at least, he turned a smile on both of his company, though his gaze landed first and firmly on Xelannis.

“You are here for Strais’ benefit, and the benefit of all those who come seeking the aid and word of the gods, as I am. Today, we are his counsel.” He gestured to the open seats before the desk. While he wasn’t about to sit behind a desk and lecture, Strais may well have walked the path to church with his mother. “Sit, if it please you…” His attention turned, wholly and fully perhaps for the first time, to Strais, and when he spoke, his tone was gentle, but serious—subtly inquiring. “This is about you. Xelannis is dedicated and thorough in his observations, and the gods have put you in one another’s lives before…I think it will help me to know something of you if he stays. But if you do not wish to speak in his presence, then another time will have to suffice for him to observe.”

As much as he thought there might be good involved for both of them, he did not think it likely they would get far if Strais was adamantly against Xel’s presence from the beginning. If Strais could be convinced it would be to his own benefit, though, it ought to ease matters.  

[Indigo_Plateau]

The Only Black Uke

If it were up to Strais, none of them would be here at all. Xelannis did not have to be a mind reader or any more intuitive than was average to see it stained on the other man's face as plainly as a single blot of tea on an otherwise pristine tablecloth. He didn't look as though he was especially willing to be forthcoming on any details of his mental state to either of them, without his mother there to coerce it from him. If he trailed after them, it was likely only because there weren't a great many places to run to.

Xelannis wasn't blind, and it wasn't his goal to be contrary, as much as it wasn't his aim to cause further upset. If he'd done so initially, it was only because one sharp jab felt like the least that was owed him for whatever strife they'd had in their childhood.

Though thinking on it still made a wedge of something like frustration tighten his throat, there was likely little more to be gained from needling the boy before him. More importantly, he distinctly didn't want Strais to refuse his continued attendance, if the option was there for such a thing. So Xelannis let out a quiet sigh and dipped his head acquiescently. "Of course, Priest Zekiel, as you say." He did have to bite his tongue against the commentary that there was no reason they couldn't both benefit.

Instead, Xelannis sat as Zekiel bid them to and let his gaze wander around the space until it landed on the other boy in his company, and he couldn't help but notice that it took Stais several hesitant seconds before he was willing to take up a seat at Xel's side.

When the offer was made verbally, such that he could dismiss Xel in that instant, if he so chose, Xelannis' orbs flicked sharply, messily to the other man.

He wasn't interested in being told he had to take his leave, and though perhaps no one had trusted him with any variety of this task, yet, he didn't expect it would be very much longer before he could handle such matters on his own, without the presence of someone older, at all. Xelannis' lips pursed, and a thin sound of displeasure hummed from behind clenched teeth. He expected, fully and truly, that Strais would be some sort of amused by this, that he would look smug, and of course send Xelannis on his way.

He didn't, though. The other boy only looked passively disinterested and gave a noncommittal roll of his shoulders in response. "Do what you like. Don't see how it matters one way or another."

Xel's posture eased on his next breath and he slipped a hand into his robe pocket to procure his notebook before turning his attention to Zekiel. "Do you advise that I take notes? Or do you think that because this is of a more personal nature that there ought to be no documentation? I can be quite forgetful, so if you think anything of especially special import comes up, I should like to take note of it."  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Zekiel watched, attention moving between his company, from Strais’ stoic disinterest and the cool shadow that seemed to hang heavy in the air about him, to Xelannis’ poised, almost clinical curiosity and attentiveness. After but a glance at the little notebook Xelannis drew forth, Zekiel nodded with a permissive wave. He saw no harm in note taking if it pleased the boy, and he was aware that for Xelannis it was related at least to his compulsion.

Strais, though, was a familiar case. While he didn’t know the boy well yet personally, the weight that he carried around with him was impossible to miss, and not new to Zekiel. The source, though, was the heart of the mystery.

“Do you love your mother very much, Strais?” he asked at length.

Evidently the woman cared deeply for her child, but there was something in the boy’s mind, a veil, clouding his perception of purpose and happiness so that he could not see them in much of anything, and the first step that Zekiel could see was to determine when the veil had come to be—most often some triggering event or series thereof, though not always. Sometimes even well-intended parents were overbearing or even poisonous to their child’s mental state. But it was of course entirely possible the issue was elsewhere, too.

“I should like to know what things pleased you at the time things still did, and when it began to seem that nothing brought pleasure or purpose.”  

[Indigo_Plateau]

The Only Black Uke

Annoyance was the first thing Xelannis noticed that etched itself across Strais' features at the questions Zekiel posed. The older boy did seem dissatisfied by nearly everything, so the flash of disgruntled agitation didn't come entirely as a surprise, though neither did Xelannis completely understand the reasoning behind it. They were 'personal' inquiries to some extent, he supposed, and Strais was more muted and reserved now than last Xel remembered of him, so there was probably more want for solitude than forced emotional sharing with people who were practically strangers.

Xelannis' attention went to Zekiel, and he quirked his head expectantly. He tapped the tip of his quill to the very top of his page. Dot, dot, dot. Miniature dark holes erupted from each touch of ink to paper, bleeding out around the point of contact.

Maybe Strais wasn't feeling especially forthcoming, but that was the part Xelannis didn't understand. He wasn't sitting before just anyone. Zekiel was a priest, and there could be no more suitable a person for trying to work through various uncertainties with. Xel looked back to Strais with a certain degree of expectancy, then down to his notebook to jot down in his thin, sweeping script the quietness of the room, the attitude the older man displayed, and his own uncertainty with how to be tactful with people who clearly needed help but definitely didn't want it.

Some people were very unreasonable, he decided.

"Of course I do," Strais grunted stiffly after a moment, and maybe he'd just been affronted at any suggestion otherwise. But it was another handful of seconds of pinched brows and almost twitchy shakes of his head before Strais knew what more to say. "I don't know," he retorted, still managing to sound ornery even when answering. "Everything has always just been okay. I have friends. I went to school when I should've. There wasn't ever really anything very pleasing or purposeful about it. Just happened that it was what needed doing." He shrugged. "I suppose my parents fought pretty often when I was younger, and that could be exciting sometimes."

Xelannis scoffed indignantly and kept scratching away with his quill. Somehow it didn't actually surprise him that Strais excitement came about when two people were in a temper at each other.