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The chronicles of Team Big-hearted And Determined (B.A.D.)
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<blockquote data-quote="Echolocation" data-source="post: 8484791" data-attributes="member: 7011911"><p>Before diving into the convocation, I'll be sharing a few short stories written by Ella's player. The first is set in Summer 501 AOV, between the events of Adventure Six and Adventure Seven.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center"><strong>Fame & Family</strong></p> <p style="text-align: center"><strong>31st of Summer, 501 A.O.V.</strong></p><p></p><p>“So, how’s work?” Ella glances at her father as she stirs her fruit smoothie, sitting outside a small café in Bosum Strand. It's getting harder and harder to find places where no one recognises her, and with her Da there she can't simply disguise herself as a gnome to avoid attention. Not that she wants him to think she needs that: as if being a tiefling is something to hide. It’d just be nice if people didn’t ask for quite so many autographs...</p><p></p><p>A halfling passing by does a double take and Ella represses a sigh, wishing she’d chosen a table inside. It’s just too hot to be indoors… Her tail swats lazily at a fly.</p><p></p><p>"It’s going well," Marcel replies, looking up from his meal, "but there are still many things in need of repair. The damage caused by the colossus was quite extensive." The tiefling's oil-stained clothes are accented by a small cog attached to his lapel, spinning like a novelty brooch.</p><p></p><p>Ella nods, looking down. Borne's rampage across Lanjyr had been on her mind for a while, but befriending Tinker and hopefully learning something useful is all she can do for the time being. "No chance of finding your own job any time soon then?" Her voice is wistful.</p><p></p><p>Community service seems a kind enough sentence, given what her father had helped create, but it still rankled to be so often apart. Between his work and hers they rarely saw each other except for hurried exchanges in the morning and evening. She’d only managed to wrangle lunch today because Tinker’s workshop had blown up so thoroughly as to be temporarily unusable. Ten more minutes and she’d have to let her Da return to Parity Lake while she headed back to HQ.</p><p></p><p>"Not soon, no." Marcel lays down his fork and reaches across to tentatively squeeze her hand. "It's not bad work, Ellie, and I am glad to make amends for my actions.” He offers a small smile. “As with many things, mending takes time: whether of machines or people. Your family is testament to that."</p><p></p><p>Ella frowns. “They’re your family too,” she mutters stubbornly, stabbing the bottom of her glass with a paper straw.</p><p></p><p>“They need time to accept that.”</p><p></p><p>“It’s been four months!” Her tail lashes and Ella lowers her voice, acutely aware of the gossip it would generate if Dame Eleanora was seen to be having an argument with her father. She sighs and swaps to Gnomish: “Sorry, Da, it’s just… frustrating. I want us to be a family again. All of us, not just you and Gran on one side and everyone else on the other.”</p><p></p><p>The older tiefling makes an uncertain gesture as he replies: “I would not classify it in terms of sides so much as… degrees of acceptance. Your cousins and brother have no memories to forgive and so no enmity to overcome, whereas to your uncle I am the man who abandoned his sister and niece.” He shrugs tiredly. “He's right of course.”</p><p></p><p>Ella opens her mouth to deny it but…</p><p></p><p>She'd hated her father for three whole months - convinced in the depths of her madness that he’d willingly forsaken his family - and the realisation that her insane beliefs had been right had left her hollow. She didn't fault his reasons. Couldn't argue that he should have stayed when it would have meant dying… but it still hurt.</p><p></p><p>Marcel nods gently and withdraws his hand. “Healing is a process, Ellie. Your mother taught me that. You should all take your time: don't rush to stitch deep wounds back together before they are clean. The ill feelings will only fester.”</p><p></p><p>Tears prick as Ella traces a slow claw along the grain of the table, nodding. Her finger trembles as she takes a deep breath and broaches a different subject: "Tinker seems… calmer now; stabler maybe. Do you think-” Ella hesitates, tail coiling anxiously around her ankle as she glances up, “-he’d want to visit Ma's grave?"</p><p></p><p>Marcel’s brows furrow. "Your uncle is complicated," he cautions. "Brilliant in many ways but bewildering in others. I cannot claim to know his mind…" he pauses, picking his words carefully, "but I know he cared for your mother.” Crimson eyes meet hers sombrely. “Be gentle with him, if you suggest it."</p><p></p><p>Ella nods. “Alright.” She sips her drink, letting the sugar rush wash away her conflicted feelings, and sighs. “…I suppose you’ll be heading back soon?”</p><p></p><p>The taller tiefling checks his pocket watch regretfully. “Yes. Within the next six minutes, if I’m to return by the appointed time.” He digs into the rest of his meal, dividing it neatly and methodically so that every bite contains a slightly different combination of flavours.</p><p></p><p>Ella watches wistfully, remembering when he’d done that for her - before utensils made sense and she’d figured out how to use them around tiny claws and youthful exuberance. “I just wish I’d been able to get a few more hours… You’d think being a famous constable would allow that much.”</p><p></p><p>Marcel laughs as he sets his cutlery atop his empty plate and folds his hands. “Wresting an hour and a half from my schedule was impressive enough, Ellie, but I should return before the overseer thinks I’ve been arrested.” He stands and offers a soft smile. “Thank you for lunch.”</p><p></p><p>“Of course, Da.” Ella stands too and hugs him before the moment can turn awkward. The physical bridging of their lingering emotional distance is important - necessary - after thirty years apart.</p><p></p><p>Marcel returns the embrace and for a moment it’s as if nothing’s changed. He still smells like sandalwood and cloves mingled with sweat and machine oil, and she still fits in his arms despite standing a foot taller. They cling to each other until Marcel checks his pocket watch and sighs. "Time's up, I'm afraid."</p><p></p><p>"...Right." Ella steps back, straightening her jacket and assuming a more professional air. "I don't know when I'll be home tonight - I suspect there'll be a lot of paperwork - so tell Gran and Aunt Maya not to wait on dinner."</p><p></p><p>"Of course."</p><p></p><p>Ella nods and offers a smile and then she's gone: vanishing into the bustling city streets. The Danoran watches his daughter disappear with a twinge of regret - and no little pride. She was so like her mother… He hoped Effie had been proud of their daughter: of the child she’d raised mostly without him, along with the rest of her kin. Seeing Ellie in their midst was comforting.</p><p></p><p>He might never be re-accepted into their ranks but she was, and that was enough. He could live with that. Live and work on repairing his other mistakes.</p><p></p><p>A human woman with a notebook sitting nearby jumps up and approaches with a bright smile once he’s alone, but the half-Bleached tiefling evades her with a polite nod and steps into the street. Red fingers tap the spinning cog on his lapel like a good luck charm and - thus assured of the anti-Bleaching device's continued functioning - he sets off toward Parity Lake.</p><p></p><p>Flint's a big city - even larger than he remembers - but the smokestacks of the factory district are easy to find.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">✰ ⚙ ✰</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Echolocation, post: 8484791, member: 7011911"] Before diving into the convocation, I'll be sharing a few short stories written by Ella's player. The first is set in Summer 501 AOV, between the events of Adventure Six and Adventure Seven. [CENTER][B]Fame & Family 31st of Summer, 501 A.O.V.[/B][/CENTER] “So, how’s work?” Ella glances at her father as she stirs her fruit smoothie, sitting outside a small café in Bosum Strand. It's getting harder and harder to find places where no one recognises her, and with her Da there she can't simply disguise herself as a gnome to avoid attention. Not that she wants him to think she needs that: as if being a tiefling is something to hide. It’d just be nice if people didn’t ask for quite so many autographs... A halfling passing by does a double take and Ella represses a sigh, wishing she’d chosen a table inside. It’s just too hot to be indoors… Her tail swats lazily at a fly. "It’s going well," Marcel replies, looking up from his meal, "but there are still many things in need of repair. The damage caused by the colossus was quite extensive." The tiefling's oil-stained clothes are accented by a small cog attached to his lapel, spinning like a novelty brooch. Ella nods, looking down. Borne's rampage across Lanjyr had been on her mind for a while, but befriending Tinker and hopefully learning something useful is all she can do for the time being. "No chance of finding your own job any time soon then?" Her voice is wistful. Community service seems a kind enough sentence, given what her father had helped create, but it still rankled to be so often apart. Between his work and hers they rarely saw each other except for hurried exchanges in the morning and evening. She’d only managed to wrangle lunch today because Tinker’s workshop had blown up so thoroughly as to be temporarily unusable. Ten more minutes and she’d have to let her Da return to Parity Lake while she headed back to HQ. "Not soon, no." Marcel lays down his fork and reaches across to tentatively squeeze her hand. "It's not bad work, Ellie, and I am glad to make amends for my actions.” He offers a small smile. “As with many things, mending takes time: whether of machines or people. Your family is testament to that." Ella frowns. “They’re your family too,” she mutters stubbornly, stabbing the bottom of her glass with a paper straw. “They need time to accept that.” “It’s been four months!” Her tail lashes and Ella lowers her voice, acutely aware of the gossip it would generate if Dame Eleanora was seen to be having an argument with her father. She sighs and swaps to Gnomish: “Sorry, Da, it’s just… frustrating. I want us to be a family again. All of us, not just you and Gran on one side and everyone else on the other.” The older tiefling makes an uncertain gesture as he replies: “I would not classify it in terms of sides so much as… degrees of acceptance. Your cousins and brother have no memories to forgive and so no enmity to overcome, whereas to your uncle I am the man who abandoned his sister and niece.” He shrugs tiredly. “He's right of course.” Ella opens her mouth to deny it but… She'd hated her father for three whole months - convinced in the depths of her madness that he’d willingly forsaken his family - and the realisation that her insane beliefs had been right had left her hollow. She didn't fault his reasons. Couldn't argue that he should have stayed when it would have meant dying… but it still hurt. Marcel nods gently and withdraws his hand. “Healing is a process, Ellie. Your mother taught me that. You should all take your time: don't rush to stitch deep wounds back together before they are clean. The ill feelings will only fester.” Tears prick as Ella traces a slow claw along the grain of the table, nodding. Her finger trembles as she takes a deep breath and broaches a different subject: "Tinker seems… calmer now; stabler maybe. Do you think-” Ella hesitates, tail coiling anxiously around her ankle as she glances up, “-he’d want to visit Ma's grave?" Marcel’s brows furrow. "Your uncle is complicated," he cautions. "Brilliant in many ways but bewildering in others. I cannot claim to know his mind…" he pauses, picking his words carefully, "but I know he cared for your mother.” Crimson eyes meet hers sombrely. “Be gentle with him, if you suggest it." Ella nods. “Alright.” She sips her drink, letting the sugar rush wash away her conflicted feelings, and sighs. “…I suppose you’ll be heading back soon?” The taller tiefling checks his pocket watch regretfully. “Yes. Within the next six minutes, if I’m to return by the appointed time.” He digs into the rest of his meal, dividing it neatly and methodically so that every bite contains a slightly different combination of flavours. Ella watches wistfully, remembering when he’d done that for her - before utensils made sense and she’d figured out how to use them around tiny claws and youthful exuberance. “I just wish I’d been able to get a few more hours… You’d think being a famous constable would allow that much.” Marcel laughs as he sets his cutlery atop his empty plate and folds his hands. “Wresting an hour and a half from my schedule was impressive enough, Ellie, but I should return before the overseer thinks I’ve been arrested.” He stands and offers a soft smile. “Thank you for lunch.” “Of course, Da.” Ella stands too and hugs him before the moment can turn awkward. The physical bridging of their lingering emotional distance is important - necessary - after thirty years apart. Marcel returns the embrace and for a moment it’s as if nothing’s changed. He still smells like sandalwood and cloves mingled with sweat and machine oil, and she still fits in his arms despite standing a foot taller. They cling to each other until Marcel checks his pocket watch and sighs. "Time's up, I'm afraid." "...Right." Ella steps back, straightening her jacket and assuming a more professional air. "I don't know when I'll be home tonight - I suspect there'll be a lot of paperwork - so tell Gran and Aunt Maya not to wait on dinner." "Of course." Ella nods and offers a smile and then she's gone: vanishing into the bustling city streets. The Danoran watches his daughter disappear with a twinge of regret - and no little pride. She was so like her mother… He hoped Effie had been proud of their daughter: of the child she’d raised mostly without him, along with the rest of her kin. Seeing Ellie in their midst was comforting. He might never be re-accepted into their ranks but she was, and that was enough. He could live with that. Live and work on repairing his other mistakes. A human woman with a notebook sitting nearby jumps up and approaches with a bright smile once he’s alone, but the half-Bleached tiefling evades her with a polite nod and steps into the street. Red fingers tap the spinning cog on his lapel like a good luck charm and - thus assured of the anti-Bleaching device's continued functioning - he sets off toward Parity Lake. Flint's a big city - even larger than he remembers - but the smokestacks of the factory district are easy to find. [CENTER]✰ ⚙ ✰[/CENTER] [/QUOTE]
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