WHO: Chetney Pock O'Pea and Orym WHAT: Whittling is done, a heart-to-heart is had, and some advice is given. WHEN: Morning of October 6 WHERE: On the porch of the Spooky House WARNINGS: Discussion of spousal loss
It was early morning, and while typically Chetney operated best at nighttime (especially when it came to making or delivering toys), actually living with people had him getting up a little bit earlier than maybe he would otherwise. His senses were turned up on high as a byproduct of being a werewolf, so even when he wasnât actively engaged in observing, he was observing. And besides, he knew his friends, he knew if he went outside while the sun was just peeking out of the lavender and peachy-pink sky Orym would be there as well, doing his sword yoga thing.
Sure enough, their halfling fighter with more moxy than just about anyone, was on the lawn completing the graceful, almost ritual-like movements. Chetney appreciated it but he himself had never much partaken. Probably could have stood too, given how he sometimes lost himself in the wolf, butâŠnah. Instead, Chetney took out a block of wood because when didnât he have a block of wood at the ready, and a carving chisel. He might not have had sword yoga, but he did have his own meditation.
When Orym was finished, Chetney waved him over to the porch, where he was propped on a chair and methodically carving away.âHey. I was watching you. Wasnât creepy or nothingâI can see how that might be misconstrued as creepy, but I think itâs only creepy if Iâm invisible, and if Iâm watching you while Iâm invisible, hoo boy,â Chetney whistled, low and slow. âYour ass is grass and I just put it in a pipe. Sit down a sec. No one else is up yet.â
Orym was a man of routine. It hadn't always come naturally to him, but years of training to be a guard--even unofficially, when it had just been a young version of himself and Will trailing after Derrig, begging him to put him through drills--had left it more or less ingrained. What that meant in Vallo looked a good deal different than it did in Exandria, of course, but one thing had stayed the same. Sleeping in rarely happened, unless there had been a particularly exhausting fight or the night had gone long through the coaxing of alcohol, with Orym being quite the morning person.
Orym was also a very perceptive man. That meant that he did clock Chetney on the porch, likely only because he wasn't invisible at the time. When the gnome only made himself comfortable, though, he assumed that he could finish this particular part of his morning routine. It didn't take long before he finished, meandering across the lawn and rolling his shoulders out as he joined Chetney.
"You know," Orym said, leaning his sword against the railing of the porch before he sat down as Chetney invited, "I almost didn't think it was creepy, until you pointed out that it wasn't." Even as he spoke, he was leaning in toward Chetney, peering at the wood and tools in his hands. Instead of asking about what he was working on as he wanted, he asked, "Having a good morning, so far?"
âGotta point out the obvious sometimes,â Chetney replied, seeming unbothered by the whole thing. With Chetney, you never knew what you were going to get, either he was going to rage with all of the fire his small body could possibly contain, and then some, or absolutely nothing would impact him one way or the other.
He continued carving away, one slow but sure stroke after another. Sometimes, as Chet liked to say, the wood spoke to him. It told him what it wanted to be. His hands, in spite of their age, moved quickly, but the faint white scars along his fingers told of a time when that wasnât exactly the case. âNot too bad. Canât complain when all a manâs done is work with his medium. Speaking of,â because he was Chetney, of course he had a spare piece of wood for Orym. He handed it over with as much respect as if he was handing Orym some old relic. âThatâs cherry, you give it a little love and attention, itâll sing for you the sweet song of the arbor. Get to carving while you tell me how your morningâs been yourself.â
Orym took the piece of wood from Chetney carefully, with a slice of reverence that he both felt and thought the older man would appreciate. Though Orym didn't have the training or skills honed to the degree that Chetney did, he had been taught by his mother how to create something out of nothing but a bit of wood and sharp tools. He had a good eye for detail, despite that his calling had been elsewhere, on top of it bringing a nice feeling of nostalgia for his childhood years with his mother.
He would have never expected that those early lessons would be integral in bonding with one of his future adventuring party friends, but there was a lot in Orym's life that he had never expected. This, at least, was a very good turn of events.
"Ah, well, you know." Orym shrugged a shoulder, pulling his tools out from his bag. He turned the wood in his hands, part of his brain thinking about what to make while the other was recounting his morning. "Nothing too exciting to report just yet. It's a beautiful one, though." He gestured with a hand toward the morning sky around them. "Mornings like this make me glad to be an early riser."
Chetney made a noise to acknowledge heâd heard Orym, but didnât say anything beyond that for a while, content in the smooth motions of working with the wood. He was like that too, really, sometimes talking a mile a minute for hours at a time, sometimes sitting in silence and taking in everything. He took in more than others tended to give him credit for, stored it all away to pull out for later.
Case in point rightâŠnow. He swapped out one tool for the other, this one meant to carve in symmetrical shapes across what was quickly becoming a box. âHow you doinâ, Orym? Iâll be real honest with you, youâve been a little off lately. Manâs entitled to his own feelings, of course, I ainât gonna push it, but yâknow. You can talk to me, if you want. Or Letters, theyâre good too, donât matter much. Just think, if somethingâs bothering you, you should, yâknow,â he gestured with the screw. âFeel free to be vulnerable, I donât know, whatever FCG is always blabbering on about.â
Orym looked up from the piece of wood that he was slowly fashioning into what he hoped would eventually look like a flower, because some things just didn't change. He wasn't too surprised by the line of questioning, at least in the sense that it was Chetney that was doing the asking. Despite his general demeanor, the gnome was rather insightful and had proven to have plenty of layers.
And though talking about his feelings didn't come particularly naturally to Orym, it was easier when someone approached him first. Orym did open up, it just took a little prodding for him to get there. There was a real part of him that considered just shrugging off the line of questioning, but that didn't feel fair to Chetney.
"I'm okay, overall." It wasn't a lie, outright. Orym was okay, it was just that a lot had been on his mind and he didn't even know where to start with that. He looked down at the wood shavings that had fallen in his lap, brushing them to the side as he continued, "I've just had a lot on my mind. I've been thinking about home and--I don't know. Relationships." He waved a hand, as though that would make it seem like bringing it up was nonchalant. "I'm a bit out of practice on that one."
âAinât we all,â Chetney agreed with a nod, but he quickly followed it up with, âI mean, not me, I canât keep the ladies off me, and the gentlemen too for that matterânot my thing but I am flattered, and you know, people who know theyâre not either because the gender binaryâs not a thing, thatâs good too, this animal magnetism cannot be contained to anyone and I understand that.â That qualifier placed, Chet glanced over at Orym and waited until he wasnât actively carving the wood before nudging him. âIs this about Will?â
Chetney had meant what he had said beforeâOrym was so young to be a widower. So young to have experienced that big of a loss, and he saw how it impacted him. Orym was a quieter sort compared to the rest of the Bells Hells and their big personalities, yes, but he wasnât just their highly observant halfling fighter. Orym was on a mission, to find those who were responsible for his husbandâs death, and that was just as important as Imogenâs search for her mother and the source of her magic, or FCG wondering about their soul. And even with that, his dynamic fighting style was about protecting his friends, throwing up his shield for them, switching places with them, goading the attacks so that he was the focus. He kept them all safe.
Chetney had always been more insightful than Orym would have expected, back when they first met the gnome in Jrusar. Though Orym might have laid the foundation by mentioning that relationships had been on his mind in the first place, so it absolutely made sense for Chetney to make that leap, he supposed that a part of him hadn't necessarily been expecting it.
"No, but also yes." That felt like a nonanswer, Orym realized, but it was an honest one. Almost everything that Orym did had some echo of Will attached to it. It had been over six years now, but it had been his entire life that Orym had known his late husband. And even though he knew that Will would only want to see him happy, no matter what that looked like, and he wouldn't say that his memory was holding him back, it was a factor. It was always a factor.
Orym sighed, turning the wood in his hands once more. As much as he wasn't sure if telling Chetney business that could be considered as also being Dorian's business was the right thing to do, he also was fully confident that he would get it out of Orym or just be able to make that leap, too. He knew that his feelings for Dorian had likely been obvious to anyone that wasn't Dorian, after all. There was a good chance none of this would even be newsworthy.
"Dorian and I have feelings for each other, but we decided that it would be best if we just stayed friends. I thought it'd be easy to do, since we've already always been friends, but..." Orym looked up at Chetney, a small, sad smile on his face.
âWhat? No!â Chetney gasped, his chisel to his chest. âI cannot believe this development! Please, Orym, spare me and my heart, because I am an old man!â He paused and glanced out of the corner of his eye. âThat enough, or you want me to keep on going, I can keep on going, Iâm a real good performer!â It wasnât as if Orym or Dorian were subtle, after all, and Chetney saw all--or bullshitted enough to make others think he did, at least. Believing he had given Orym enough shit (truth be told, Chetney never gave anyone enough shit, but this was a serious talk and he needed to give this talk respect more than shit) Chetney set down his tools temporarily. He crossed his arms on the railingâin spite of the fact that it was basically at eye level for him and Orym.
âYâknow, Orym, second chances are a funny thing,â Chet started. âAnd us, we got a lot of them. Laudna with her wholeâŠdead thing, whatever happened with FCG and the cave, Ashtonâs wholeâŠhead glowy thing, my badass wolf, thereâve been a lot, right? But the thing about second chances is that usually, they donât become third ones.â His gaze went distant and yes, Chetney definitely looked older than the entire group, but never more so than at that moment. Like perhaps all of the years he teased about were actually true, âAnd when you miss out, you miss out. Canât get it back, no matter how much you try or want to.â
He was talking about Orym, but perhaps he was talking about himself as well. Chetney wasnât exactly an open book when it came to his many years, gliding over most of them with generalities, but he had lived a long, long time. He had loved and lost and felt that every day, even as the days blended into each other year after year.
âYouâre a good man, Orym, and you got a second chance in a few ways. Now I ainât one to tell you what to do, unless thatâs about going hog wild on some shit and raining chaos, but I think itâd be a mighty shame to waste a second chance. âSpecially because you donât know if youâre getting a third. And I didnât have the pleasure of knowing Will, but from your stories, I can only imagine him as a good man too, who would want you to be the happiest you can be. Seems to me like thereâs a pretty clear path when you put it all together.â
Orym listened as Chetney spoke, because of course he did. He was Orym and that was the polite thing to do. But, also, he knew that was a pretty wise guy, all told. He had lived far longer than Orym ever would and he might still outlive the halfling, too--it was hard to tell, with how shifty Chetney always was about his age. Chetney had experienced centuries of life before their paths crossed and with those centuries came lessons learned.
And it seemed that those lessons learned had given him some insight that Orym knew that he needed to hear.
Because as much as Orym had felt like he and Dorian had been making the right choice at the time, as much as he hoped for a chance that making the decision to simply remain friends meant that they would go back to normal--a new normal, surely, as they adjusted to this news of deeper feelings that were being set aside, but normal nevertheless. Instead, he'd just been unable to forget that Dorian's feelings for him hadn't been in his head, that there had been potential for something else there, had they made the choice.
But Chetney was right about second chances. Orym knew a great deal about them himself, as the whole path he was on now was due to taking those second chances.
"Honestly," Orym started, releasing a long breath. "I know you're right, especially about Will. We'd talked about it, even before we got married. We knew the choices we were making with both of us going into being Tempest Blades and neither of us wanted anything more than for the other to be happy and we didn't want the other to be alone, if that's what they want." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving a little trail of wood dust. "I've just had a hard time shaking the worries, you know? If our friendship gets fucked up. If everyone else's friendships get complicated. If I hurt him."
âLotta ifs you got going on there,â Chetney mused, stroking his chin and the three or four long white strands of hair that grew there. âThings might get a little complicated and it might be a little awkward, but so what? Thatâs a part of connections. Thereâs always a risk involved. Hell, just in being friends with someone you run a risk of hurting them, but a life of loneliness, a life of regrets, thatâs not a way to live.â Chet knew that too. Before the Bells Hells, he was a lonely man, on the run. And yes, he had lied to them basically from the time heâd introduced himself, but he was trying to do better, be better.
The sun was coming up now, turning that pink and orange into a blue and the rest of their house would wake up (or, er, whatever FCG actually did). Chetney tilted his head up to the sky for a moment before looking back at Orym. âI think you deserve happiness, Orym. And I think you gotta just throw caution to the fucking wind sometimes to get that happiness. Could be that things wonât work out. OrâŠâ In seemingly no time at all, the piece of wood Chetney had been fooling around with had turned into a squirrel holding the tiniest little flower. He tossed it over to Orym. âMaybe, just maybe it will. And I think that might be a risk worth taking.â
Orym snatched the little wooden squirrel out of the air with ease, his head bending forward as he turned it over in his hands all while he likewise turned over Chetney's words in his mind. As he'd already acknowledged, Chetney was right and he continued to be right. Orym didn't think himself unworthy of happiness and he wasn't inherently unfamiliar with risks. He took risks every time he donned his sword and shield, then threw himself between his friends and whatever danger was upon them. Those were different sorts of risks, though. He had trained for so much of his life to face them.
Matters of the heart, though? There was no training for that, he had to think.
And yet, after a few quiet moments of introspection, Orym repeated, "You're right." He began to gently trace the length of the squirrel's tail with his thumb. "Deciding to just not act on our feelings is kind of fucking with things already. We're good, but things are off. There's walls there that we haven't had since real early on in our knowing each other." Old tensions regarding a Vestige of Divergence and a Spider Queen immediately sprang to mind, then had to be pushed back down. "Kind of makes me feel like it's something we need to revisit, if our not taking a risk is changing things regardless.
"Besides," Orym continued, looking from the wooden squirrel toward Chetney with a bit of a dopey smile, "he deserves happiness, too. It'd be pretty neat if we could find it together, you know?"
âPretty damn neat,â Chet agreed, and the smile that crossed his face erased some of the years that had built there from his reflection. He punched Orym in the shoulder, an easy one-two that was as supportive and friendly as a punch to the arm from a strangely ripped old gnome could be. âGet your man.â