Thanks to Tori D. for the co-write!
Strolling the grounds of Kas Selvess, Farrival deftly kept his footing with his nose buried in a Diary & Memoir journal. Now that he had suitably embellished this week's events, it was time to take a second pass at earlier journal entries. Farrival believed all lilies could be gilded.
Mari entered the grounds, for once looking not quite as energetic as she usually was. Her face and arms were covered in small light scars, which had Orion protectively huddled around her shoulders.
“Ah, here she is! I was searching for le mot juste but I find le guerrière juste. How was your errand, Ms. Grimm? Productive, it seems?”
"Oh, Good Morning, Mr. Marchant" Mari said, showing a small smile and nodding "Yes, it was very productive. Intake took a lot longer than I thought it would, but there's one less arms dealer. How are things here?"
“Oh, dire and dour as usual. I tried putting a brave face on it. But I know what “Farrival, it’s a little much" means, so I’m giving everyone a break from me. But this is fortuitous timing,” he glanced at the scars before wafting the journal to Mari on a Stage Hand.
“Since I’m not needed at the moment, I’m just out here securing my legacy. But I was curious… how shall I spell your name?”
Mari glanced at the journal, trying not to yawn before becoming slightly more alert, glancing at the actor " It looks like you've got it right, Mari Grimm, even have the second 'm', most people forget that" Mari said smiling cautiously as she handed the journal back.
“Well, a good actor ought to be more observant than most. But in your case, though I spelled your name correctly, I’m convinced I still owe you an apology. And perhaps a revision or two.”
Farrival flipped his journal to the Janavaar Temple adventure. “There on right-hand side are my notes of what “really” happened,” he pantomimed a yawn, “I reiterated my commitment to becoming the World’s Greatest Gentleman Thief while the six of us were in the Temple, alone. You already knew my aspirations. Boring.”
“So here on the left-hand page, I moved my declaration from the Temple to the Kas Selvess camp. That way, all the kittens can overhear me. It’s funnier! I think. It’s only a second draft.”
“Some might call it embellishment. Others, a truer truth. Many would say it’s bullshit. But if we can curate the image we present, why not skirt the curtilage of mundane “facts” to get somewhere better?”
Mari studied the journal with some more intent now, although the Guardian of Virtue still seemed confused. "I mean, if that's how you want people to see you and you're not hurting anyone, there's not really harm in some embellishments. You just need to make sure the people and moments that are really important or usually get lost stay in there" Mari said and glanced back to Farrival. "Why do you owe me an apology?"
“Because I’ve–” he sighed “Wait, this requires a preface: I mentioned once that I’ve worked as waitstaff? Frankly, there isn’t an actor alive who hasn’t waited tables. Serving customers is hard, skillful, criminally under-compensated work. I haven’t done it in years, but I’ll never forget it.”
“That being said, Ms. Grimm, it is belatedly clear to me that you are not ‘merely’ a waitress. And I’m not referring to your resplendent armor,” he gently clinked a shoulder pauldron with the jeweled end of his cane, “nor your fiery blasts. Half of our neighbors are similarly talented.”
“Ah, but your navigation of the Court of the Haskal when we arrived? That was impressive! And eye-opening. No spontaneous boon from a patron, that. That was a skill. Honed at the Dram? Or at Ms. Stramn’s pub?”
Mari’s back straightened, as Orion reared up slightly. Slowly she let out a breath. "My father was Elven, worked closely with the local grove where I was born but also had a talent for bringing folks together, he occasionally worked with nobility within his sect to help keep peace. I learned a lot about how to talk to people from him” Mari explained, although that was only part of the story. “But I am just a waitress, or have been for the past half decade, and that's what I've needed to be to survive. I still need to be that… just a little longer, please?"
Farrival, habitually charming, did not immediately move to put Mari at ease. The earnestness had been unexpected, notwithstanding that he was talking to Mari Grimm. Denials, defenses, defenestration - he would have been more comfortable with. Though an ardent student of sentient nature, Farrival suddenly felt how long it had been since making such a direct personal connection to another.
Finally, he reciprocated. “Ms. Grimm. For the past half decade, there has been a man sworn to my destruction, and I to his. But it was not always so.”
He suddenly snapped his fingers “Selvidge’s! That was the restaurant where Renny and I met. That’s been nagging at me for weeks! Oh, sorry, matter at hand.”
Farrival regarded the young warrior of virtue, and thought about the lies he’d told at her age. “If this is who you need to be, then ‘Grimm’ it is. For as long as you wish.”
She let out a breath before smiling, genuinely. "Thank you, Mr. Marchant" she said, although Orion seemed less amused by Farrival. "But in all honesty, it's your story. I'm happy to be a part of it, of course, but I think the spotlight suits you better."
Farrival bowed gratefully. “I’m glad we can be supporting characters in each others’ stories, Ms. Grimm, skirting each others’ narratives.”
“Hm. ‘Ms. Grimm.’ ‘Mr. Marchant.’ We’ve been neighbors for years and saved each others’ lives a time or two. Do you suppose we’ll come to trust each other enough for first names before we die in battle? Will there be a time for such a word?”
“You can call me, Mari any time, Mr. Marchant, the formalities seem to be something you favor. Just be careful, they also can become a trap,” she said with a nod before yawning. “I’ve been up for… a very long time. If you’ll excuse me”. With that the guardian headed to one of the small structures they were allowed to stay, ready to sleep like the dead.
Farrival fell in-step beside Mari, hoping she could foreshorten his exile from the village. “Say, did you meet up with Linthel last time in Evershoal? That man had the most delicious ennui! How’s he doing?”