#where Jester displays Tusk Love-worthy portraits of Fjord when he annoys her

[wintershades]

In honor of Fjord and Jester’s weird little abode, I wanted to share a fluffy house-shopping scene from Seen Through the Deadlight. :)

This episode of House Hunters Nicodranas does include (✔) a strange, somewhat ramshackle house, (✔) Jester’s unhelpful assistance with Fjord’s casting of Augury, and (✔) cinnamon pastries.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Months ago—before Jester sold her first painting, before Fjord took up his project at the lighthouse, before Marion had the courage to step out alone—they’d gone house-hunting in Nicodranas.

Fjord’s requirements were simple: An ocean view, and a roof that didn’t leak. Unsurprisingly, the Lavorre women were more particular. He and Jester toured place after place, but not one of them captured the tiefling’s heart. And, more than once, they showed up at a home and found that it had already been rented.

“I really didn’t think there could be anything worse than shopping,” Fjord said as they walked back toward the Lavish Chateau. Jester dragged along beside him, her spirits dampened.

“You were the one who said we should get our own place.”

“Yes, but I could live anywhere. All you need is four walls and a roof. You don’t need”—he tried to remember the terms the last landlord had used—“lively neighborhood amenities.”

Jester stuck out her bottom lip. “I need lively neighborhood amenities!” she said as they passed a small side street. “And if I’m going to live someplace, it has to feel like home.”

“See, this is where we—”

“Look!”

She grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. Toward the end of the street, a slender half-elf was attaching an angled fixture to a building—the sort that was used to advertise a place for rent. Before Fjord could speak, Jester was running down the middle of the road, waving her arms at the stranger.

“Hey! Are you showing this place?”

The woman stared at her. “Well—I was going to start—”

“Can we see?” Jester asked, desperation in her voice.

Fjord hurried to catch up. “Sorry! We’ve spent the day running from place to place, and they seem to be going quick. Snowbirds from the Empire coming down to roost, you know?” He smiled at the half-elf, leaning hard into his charm. “We’d be pleased to look, if it’s not a bother?”

She looked at him, and he held her gaze warmly, and the faintest bit of color appeared in her cheeks. “Of course. It hasn’t been fully tidied up yet, but—”

“Woo! Let’s see it!” Jester cheered.

“We’re grateful for your time,” Fjord said.

The woman got into her bag and began to sift through some sets of keys. This gave Fjord the opportunity to back up a few steps, and actually see the place that they were going to tour.

The city of Nicodranas was known for its eclectic architecture, but usually, individual buildings held to a given style. This home absolutely did not. He spotted hints of Zemnian influence in the design of the windows—a decidedly Marquesian flavor in the graceful slopes of the roof—a familiar bright color scheme that was common on the Menagerie Coast—and a stonework pattern that he could swear he’d glimpsed in Tal’Dorei.

A tacked-on tower rose from rooftop, making the house look like it was craning its neck. The whole structure was built into a slope, and to his eyes, without the use or knowledge of a level.

“Um, Jester? Maybe—”

But she was already going inside, and all he could do was follow.

Upon stepping through the doorway, Fjord paused to let his eyes adjust. To his surprise, the front room was cozy and welcoming, if a little on the shabby side. It smelled lightly of dried flowers and hearth smoke.

And just above the door, carved into its thick frame, was an ornate likeness of the Wildmother.

It depicted her statue at the Mother’s Lighthouse, with her hands outstretched toward the viewer and waves spilling out beneath. Fjord blinked, half-convinced he was seeing things—but as they toured the home, he found her influence everywhere.

In the kitchen, there were sheaves of wheat carved into the cabinets. Two crooks framed the stone fireplace in the sitting room. And in a side room, which appeared to have once served as a shop, the stained glass panels above the windows depicted a nautical scene: Ships sailing toward a lovely sunrise, their sails filled by the Wildmother’s gentle breath.

Fjord looked at the scene so long that he was nearly left behind by the others. Upstairs, they found two bedrooms—including one with a fabulous view of the city and the sea—and an intriguing (if somewhat wobbly) spiral staircase that lead to a tiny study in the tower.

As they came back to the ground floor, Jester turned to the half-elf. “Mind if we take a minute to talk?” she asked, gesturing to Fjord. The woman smiled.

“Of course. Why not take a look at the garden while you’re at it?” she said, and she pointed down the hall. As the couple headed in that direction, Jester touched Fjord’s arm.

“I really like this place,” she whispered.

“So do I. But is it your style? . . . It’s the definition of a fixer-upper.”

“I like fixer-uppers.”

She looked at him then—just long enough for him to say: “Wait, what?”—and then pushed open the doors to the garden. It was humble, and overgrown, and perfectly lovely.

“Did you see all of those symbols of the Wildmother? Maybe it’s a sign,” Jester mused. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “I know! Do that thing, Fjord. The thing with the little bones!”

“Augury?” he said, and he started to dig through his bag. “You can do it, too, you know.”

“Sure, but I never prepare boring spells like that,” Jester replied. Fjord made a face at her.

“. . . I like Augury.”

Jester patted his arm affectionately. “Exactly. So let’s use it.”

Still looking at her through narrowed eyes, Fjord withdrew a small pouch from his bag. It held a handful of small, intricately-carved bones that Caduceus had sent to him. (Fjord didn’t inquire as to what or who they came from, and didn’t really care to know.)

He set them out on a small table in the center of the garden. Then, he reached out to the Wildmother, doing his best to concentrate as Jester softly chanted “weal or woe, weal or woe” in the background.

He asked: Would this place be a good home to us?

A few moments passed. The bones did nothing.

“Did you do it right?” Jester wondered. Fjord gave her a sour look and opened his mouth to respond, only for his senses to be otherwise occupied. An incredibly delicious scent wafted on the air, and for a moment, it was all he could think about.

“Hey, do you smell . . . .”

Sugar. Butter. Cinnamon.

Instantly, Jester was on high alert. She straightened up and started turning in a slow circle, trying to trace the origin of the smell. Then, when she and Fjord looked back down, they saw that the bones had rearranged themselves into an arrow that pointed toward the garden’s rear fence.

Jester bolted in that direction and tried to peer through the slats, but the boards were fixed too closely together. For his part, Fjord was just tall enough to see over top. He approached, and took a look, and immediately made another face.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he muttered aloud. By this point, Jester was practically dangling from his neck.

“What is it? What do you see? Give me a lift, Fjord! I want to see!”

She gave a little hop then, and she kicked her legs around his waist, making him stagger. Once Fjord righted himself, he braced his hands under her thighs and boosted her up.

“Listen, this is not a sign,” he warned her. “This is only a—”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

A short distance behind them, the half-elf emerged from the home. “I forgot to mention,” she said, “that you’re next door to Delacroix’s. They’re famous for their—”

“Cinnamon rolls,” Jester breathed. She looked to the bakery—to Fjord—to the bakery—back at Fjord—and then to the half-elf. And then she declared: “We’ll take it!”

Fjord looked at her with alarm. “Now, wait a minute. We haven’t even asked—” He turned to the woman. “I’m sorry. What’s the rent?”

She blinked at them. “Oh. Oh, it’s not for rent. It’s for sale.”

The couple turned to one another. To Fjord, this was a serious decision, both in regard to their immediate plans and to their pocketbooks. Was it wise to own a house when they intended to spend so much time away? What sort of money would it take to fix it up?

More than that—it was a commitment. Each decision like this gently knitted their lives closer and closer together. Was she all right with that? Or was this too fast?

Jester tilted her head to one side, her jewelry jingling, and he felt that they understood each another. They looked back at the half-elf.

“We’ll take it,” Jester said again. Fjord nearly dropped her.

“Jester.”

“Weal, Fjord. Weal. The Wildmother has spoken,” she told him. And evidently, he learned, the Wildmother had a sense of humor.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~