A streak of glimmering gold shot through the night sky. Aglow with promise, a magnificent trail stretching out behind it, the symbol of opportunity grew ever brighter, outshining the constellations it left behind as it descended towards the black silhouettes of the Lanayru mountains.

In the training quarters of Zora's Domain, Claria stilled mid sword jab, her gaze shifting upwards. Her eyes widened. She let out a soft, awestruck gasp. Fixated, she approached one of the silver-ridged arches that made up the walls, watching the celestial body plummet and vanish behind the crystalline cliffs to the south. Distant, yet maybe - just maybe - close enough to reach.

A challenge. A chance.

There was no time to waste. Sheathing her sword, Claria turned her back on the battered training dummy and strode out of the hall. The moon was already well into its course above the kingdom. She'd only have a few short hours to do this before the treasure winked out in the first light of dawn like a rousing sleeper's dream... or, of course, before someone else claimed it as their own.

To most, the fabled star fragments were merely rare, pretty trinkets. To a Zora of the deep, however, they represented much more than that. One who guides must seek, the saying went. And what better way for a star of the sea, as the luminous Zora were known, to prove their mettle than by retrieving a star of the sky - a test from the Goddess herself, as per the legend passed down through bloodlines over thousands of years. Why else did the gem shards only retain their substance past sunrise once plucked from their impact site, if not as a reward for and a testament to one's dedication?

If she were to successfully bring back such a significant trophy... Dare she believe she may finally regain the respect of her family and her people? The distance that had grown between her and her cousins, as well as other researchers she'd once accompanied and guided, could mend once they returned from their latest oceanic expedition. Her mother may even cease to fret over her supposed fragility. The thought of others treating her as they had before was a ray of hope, much like the beacon she sought in the darkness.

Her steps hastened across the city's central platform. Once she'd let Dunma and Rivan know where she'd be heading, she continued along the chiselled stretch of the great bridge, past crags that lined the grass and dirt path, along the moonlit river that boosted her swimming speed with its current, onto the rocky shore of Tabahl Woods and its shadowed canopy, in the direction of Lanayru Heights. Just as moths fluttered towards the glow she emitted, she drew steadily closer to the divine trial's goal.

One tickled laugh was soon trumped by a mighty guffaw, the forever bemusing stereotype of Yiga and their fascination for bananas turning then to some of his monsterkin. "Lynel is actually exactly what some of my bodypaint is modelled after," Gao eagerly retorted, a dazzling vibrancy to his grin. He was about to yap on more - a LOT more - on this incredibly exciting subject, but a realisation suddenly dawned on him snapping shut his jaw.

Ah. The scars.

That'd explain the looks he'd felt earlier when admiring the sky. ...Though now he felt a bit silly, as he had assumed (very proudly) at the time that they were simply admiring his very hard-earned and hard-maintained physique. Heh. Gao hid his abashed blush with an awkward scratch of his opposite cheek: stretching a gruff, large hand over as much of his face as possible.

For better or worse none of his company had decided to pry though. Usually when Gao bared some skin an inquisition followed with varying flavours of concern, mockery or bewildered fascination. Such prying questions weren't always welcome, no, but now, instead, the Sheikah found himself a little at a loss without the opportunity to explain them. What exactly had the trio decided to assume about the display...? About HIM?

Or maybe they just don't give a single damn. How about that?

True. He had just let his ego run away with his own assumptions mere seconds earlier. Let's not do that again.

The conversation had already moved on anyway, the approach and departure of the waitress shifting the air both metaphorically and literally. Daddy Collin had promptly dealt with the potentially very complicated issue of food with smooth - and honestly admirable - brevity, only to top it all off with another banana-related quip. Gao chuckled again.

"Y'know what, that sounds bloody delicious. If I didn't have the appetite of a horse-" He paused to apologetically (jestfully) tip his head in the direction of their distant equine friend, "- no offence intended - I would've ordered that myself. Cocktails often sound tasty but they never make the damn things big enough to quench a proper thirst."

A ruminating sigh slipped from his lips then and he gazed off at the horizon - as if brooding over something deeply profound. His distant stare lingered. A warm breeze flitted through a few loose locks. And then, right on cue, a profound revelation of wisdom did indeed then appear to him, "...I guess they would sell pitchers too."

Speaking of good drinks though, the combined thoughts of both that and the ocean - with all its bayside caverns - reminded him of Yuru's earlier remark. The one about Gerudo ice. And whatever questionably intriguing memory that had resurfaced in the strappingly blonde Sheikah at its mention.

Eyes twinkling with an idea, Gao looked back to Micah and his second-attempt chopsticks with a bright grin, "Fancy making some of that focaccia?" he prodded, the escalating bubble of his anticipation tangible. "Later, I mean. And only if you feel up to it, obviously." He quickly added.

"Man I could KIL-...C-CLEaaaan a stable for a good piece of freshly baked bread, the smell of it is to DI-...divine. Divinely delicious." He cleared his throat to choke down the rougher side of him and added, with a deflated grumble, "I don't often get to eat it either." A sad and bitter truth. Even if he managed to get his grubby fingers on the right ingredients, managing to keep the dough safe long enough for it to rise was always an ordeal. Those monsterkin maws gobbled up anything that wasn't screwed down.

"Suitably chilly spots are a rarity around these parts..." Gao continued to ramble, brow pinching as he recollected his original train of thought, "-but I think I might know a place or two? Ever since the Upheaval a few new caves have opened up, which might do the job."

He paused then though, casting Yuru a concerned frown, "Unless you don't think that'll be cold enough?" He seriously inquired.

True, Gao might not exactly trust the guy - either of these guys - just yet, but surely it wouldn't hurt to ask for advice about bread methods. ...Right? They were affable enough in public at least. Collin's quick thinking in offering Micah the chopsticks had earned a warm smile of approval from Gao at the time, and Yuru had an open way with his words that let quick familiarity feel natural.

"Well, I guess if worse comes to worst," He glanced back to Micah, grin askew, "-maybe I'll settle for trying out some of your own Goron cuisine after all." The scholar laughed; he wasn't entirely joking.

Raemi sometimes wondered what she'd done in a past life to earn a companion like Carmine. The comforting glow of his loyalty was as warm as his crimson-feathered chest, always ablaze, ever present, a flame which surely had attracted more than just her...? And yet, it was with her that he remained - even despite her encouragement otherwise. And now, now he was taking it a step further, his lush-green eyes scouring their surroundings in search of further aid.

Despite her better judgement and its oddly-twisted pangs, the Zora found herself smiling. But this would not do. While she appreciated the Rito's sentiments, she could not stomach the thought of stealing away any more of his opportunities - especially tonight. It seemed there would be only one way to placate him: she'd need to take action herself.

"Thinking about it... didn't Lady Beaumont mention there being lavatories? Inside, I mean." Raemi clutched the dirtied towel to her chin in thought, head slightly askew to tumble loose the recent memories. "I imagine there must at least be some hand basins available. Water is what I need really."

The fountain glittered in her periphery, eliciting an awkward little giggle as she clarified - despite it not needing to be said - "Water that we're actually permitted to use. Goddesses forbid I make a mess out of this beautiful garden!" There was ALSO a high chance she'd make a right mess of the inside basins too, and end up having to inform the staff for assistance after the fact anyway. ...But Raemi decided to omit that little detail. That'd be her issue to deal with, not Carmie's.

Nonetheless she neatly folded up her soiled towel and tucked it below their bench to collect later. Despite Carmine's efforts in meticulously sorting their earnings she still insisted that he hold onto her half - if only for now. (She wasn't sure her little coin purse could even contain them!) Then, without further ado, she ushered the Rito inside with her.

...Well, tried to.

Her habitual familiarity got the better of her in that moment, the slide of her arm to hook around his wing coming to an abrupt and incredibly awkward halt - a mere SECOND before the damage was done! She recoiled. She cringed. Only for that brief flicker of wide-eyed panic to quickly deepen into annoyance. Raemi pouted. Yet, even while the tinkling rush of the fairy fountain drowned out her grumble, and her sparkling veil masked her embarrassed blush... NOTHING could've hidden the way she clumsily jerked her rescinded hand to instead scratch at an earfin. ...-Only to catch a nail on some of her jewellery and tangle herself within it! Eugh. Smooth.

"WOW it's getting hot out here, huh." The dancer rambled as she quickly speedwalked ahead.

It was not hot. In fact,  the ballroom would be far warmer.


Events unfolded pretty much as Raemi had expected - and feared. Yet despite her flustered apologies the staff stationed outside the lavatories took the news with calming grace. Initially she offered to assist them in the clean-up - it only felt right to! - but even that was turned aside, sweet and professional assurances persuading her to leave the task to them.

Eugh. She should've prepared for this. Prepared better.

Letting slip a sigh Raemi emerged back into the bustling and colourful crowds of the ballroom. Many other couples, friends and families had joined the Beaumonts upon the floor, swirling an extravaganza of fabric across pristine marble. Even their footfalls, with their clinking heels, tapping talons, stomping boots, stumbling childrens' sandals and sliding scales, had a rhythm of their own once united, their shared joy contributing to the energising jig the musicians now performed.

Was that what it was? Excitement? The dancer's chest fluttered, a tightening but not entirely unwelcome tickle flaring through her veins. She bit at her lip as her gaze moved past the busiest part of the crowd to instead observe and search the remaining bystanders. There were bog witches and Malice-infected, elaborate costumes which shone like rainbow carapaces, a feathered and frilled suit that reminded her of children's tales, brightbloom motifs in some and mysterious Wizzrobe(?) themes in others. Even the outfits Raemi couldn't quite identify she still enjoyed, her imagination ablaze as it sparked with guesses and delight. ...Though her mouth did quirk into a wry little smile when she noticed a few who chose a more-... minimal approach.

That wasn't why she was looking though - not to guess stories. As fun as that was (and she could do it all night!) she was, to put it mildly, instead trying to identify an appropriate target. As very easy as it'd be to cower in a dark corner somewhere until the night passed her by, Raemi had PROMISED - both herself and Carmine! - that she'd meet some new people today. Maybe make a few friends. Potentially find a-...

The Zora cleared her throat.

Anxiously her slender fingers picked at the bracelets strung about her other wrist, clutching at herself for emotional support only to wring the jewellery with agitated anxiety. How did the heroines do this again? Raemi recalled 'fainting spells' being a popular trope... but she wasn't confident she could pull that one off convincingly - and safely. There were other instances of dropping a fan or glove at their target's feet when they passed them by... of which she had neither. Quite a few times there were accidental collisions too, a spilled glass of wine, a jerked shoulder, or a tripped hem... but they could easily be received VERY badly. 

So that only really left her with...

...Oh no.

..........OH dear, ohno, ohgoddesses, o-oh-... Oh. There was nothing for it was there? Raemi would have be direct. That's it. Just ask. Go up to a stranger and ask for a dance. Yep. That simple. That easy. Just channel some inner 'badass bossbabe' and put DOWN some authority!!! BE CONFIDENT! BE SASSY! TAKE THE INITIATIVE TO MAKE THEM SWOON!!!

...

Raemi buried her face in both hands, swallowing back a high pitched squeal-squeak of distress.

...Then a moment later the fingers parted, her veiled gold eyes peeping through the gaps to observe the crowds once more. She didn't need to go for someone flashy, right? Right. And there was no need to approach the more closely-clustered groups who were already arm-in-arm. Right! Sooo... Hmn. That still left her with quite a few options, so in the end Raemi stopped thinking - and overthinking - and began walking, making the decision based purely on gut feelings.

She would not trip over her feet.
She would not cause a collision.
She would not allow her heart to thunder ANY LOUDER.
She would be calm, collected, demure, mindful- 

"AH!!!"

A taloned toe betrayed her! The world spun! FORWARDS Raemi dove until a desperate hand reached out to grab the burly bicep of-...

...

...Actually Raemi didn't know what that was. Amour...? No. No, but it was most certainly metallic, inorganic. And not at all a bicep in form. Potentially it was robotic though it was definitely a limb of some descrip-

"OH MOONS, I'M SO SORRY!!!" Raemi screeched, mortified as she flinched back upright and promptly released the guardian-tech prosthetic. "IS IT OK?! ARE YOU OK?!" Her hands slapped up to her burning cheeks, though she felt her heart sink into her stomach with dread as her eyes scoured over his Sheikah garb to the 'arm' instead. Panic quickly dissolved into concern, softening her voice with fraught despair as she babbled on- "I didn't yank anything or hurt you, did I? Do we need to do anything? Do I need to do anything? Should I go call for help? Do you need a seat? Do I-... I..."

A bubble of breathless, broken laughter tickled at the back of her throat. Inappropriate, Raemi. Now her hands slapped over her mouth instead, veil and all. But though the laughter almost did stop, her rambling most certainly didn't. "I was actually going to ask you for a dance but... this doesn't bode well for your feet does it? Haha..." Somehow the cave of her folded hands made those words echo, rather than muffle them.

Great.

...Raemi whispered a silent prayer to Carmine.

Though, no! No she SHOULD NOT! She would not tempt fate by summoning him with desperate cries! No. Maybe she'd try performing a fainting spell after all.

Arcade was rarely one for team efforts. Variables were fine, they made even the most stock standard of experiments a modicum more interesting, but too many chefs spoil the pot. Having others there to potentially interfere with his work was different. On the other wing they made for perfect test rats. Grubby hands touching things before they know that they do, blindly walking into rooms before testing the doorways, it could prove incredibly fascinating in spite of the equal potential for headaches. Given that this was a rare opportunity to investigate one of the Zonai's skylands unperturbed by whatever nosy guards the Royal team had, the Rito decided the potential reward was worth the risk.

And so it was that that Arcade found himself meandering listlessly into the crowd of gathered scientists and adventurers alike that had heeded the Queen's call. Who was here for altruistic purposes and who was simply here to further their own adgenda was anyone's guess. Though some clearly had that bright eyed look of wonder about them that gave that game away. The unbridled enthusiasm was exactly what Arcade liked to see. Those were often the ones that rushed headlong and heedless into mystery and danger, and thus made some of the more fascinating subjects to observe.

Adjusting his labcoat as he moved forward towards the gaggle of gawkers, Arcade listened quietly to the diminutive commander of the Survey Team. She seemed young to be in such a position, but the man knew well enough that age only factored into skill and knowledge so much, and that despite the Sheikah having their... issues, one should never underestimate them... or their connection to the Royal Family. Either way, the young commander clearly had a grasp of the situation and that was enough for now.

Shifting the spears on his back to make sure they were secure, Arcade watched as one by one the volunteers were launched skyward with varying levels of enthusiasm or fear. It was always amusing to find out who cowered when it came to such things and who faced the thrill with a grin. The Rito's feeling on the matter were neither here nor there, he could fly himself if need be, but the chance to conserve his energy was a far better choice.

Patiently the bird waited as the line moved, strolling into the tower himself when the time finally came. He did have to wonder if there were more expedient ways to send the land bound races skyward that wouldn't also probably rip them apart at high speeds... A test for another time he supposed. The rush of wind whipped around him as he was launched, piercing a cloud as he soared upwards. At the peak of his ascent Arcade unfurled his wings, casting a silhouette across the sun before he swooped downwards, landing gracefully by the crowd of already gathered volunteers.

When at last the final projectile had been caught and dried, the clack of a fan called the group's attention. Lady Purah had a commanding presence among the Sheikah. He supposed one must have to, to truly stand out among them, or perhaps she was just 'like that'. Either way, after her explanation was out of the way, the floor was opened for questions. Arcade himself had few, ones that he would bother to find out the answers either first hand or through the mistakes of others, but it seemed a few of the workers had enough sense to ask at least the most basic of inquires. His gaze glanced between the girl and the robed figure then back towards Purah. He was fairly certain he knew who was under that robe, but it didn't matter much to him if he was correct or not really, but if he was correct it would prove to make things more interesting.

Among the volunteers was a Zora male, at least that was what one could surmise from the visible headfin hanging down from the back of the deep, cobalt mantle that wrapped around his head and shoulders, obscuring his features. The hood of the cloak was pulled over his head where a bone-carved mask sat over his face. Two crooked horns protruded back from the mask with decorative sigils painted along the pallid jaw and muzzle. The lower jaw served as a guard around his own, shaped perfectly around his face, allowing one to see his shark-toothed scowl from beneath the shadow cast by the skull's snout. The eye sockets of the mask were inset with two blue rupees, carved to fit in the space.

The front of the mantle was closed by way of a silver brooch that had old Gerudo designs carved into its surface. Around his waist was a white obi sash, his blue tunic tucked into the thick, cotton belly wrap. Hanging from the obi was a satchel, a heavy one that was filled to the brim with supplies: rations, a coral knife, scissors, and pitch lantern for emergencies. He had a pair of grey-blue culottes whose ankles were tucked into the tops of his black shoes, white swathing tape wrapped around his ankles for protection. On his hip he wore a decorative scabbard with a blade sheathed into the cover. His true weapon was a gnarled staff that he used to walk with, supporting his languid gait as the tall, lanky figure pulled himself up to the back-end of the crowd.

What stood out were the bright fuschia bangles around his wrists, that peeked out from beneath the loose sleeves of his tunic, and the band seemingly cinched around the base of his prehensile-like headfin. He didn't seem to mind the occasional looks that gave a curious glance, the armlets quite bright against his seemingly, deep blue, scales.
 
It didn't take long for his turn to arrive. As with the others: there was no great hurrah when he was launched into the sky like a discarded fishhead. The male was the bottom 10% and ended up landing in the water, but he would not do so with a dismayed flail and frantic yowl. Without a whimper, nor even a splash, the Zora dove into the water, the tip of his mask's muzzle nearly touching the pool's bottom. Upon surfacing the male climbed out, body drenched. A touch of air caused a chill to run through his bones, but it was not unwelcomed as it touched on a familiar memory from his past, though maybe that alone was a hallucination given the time that has since passed...

When he stepped out of the pool he raised his hand in refusal, rebuffing the apologetic mages. Turning down their offer to dry him, the soggy wizard would join the growing crowd. Despite his efforts to push their concern aside they begged his pardon, wondering why their magics had faltered. Perhaps the exhaustion of catching so many one after another...? But they had no time to wonder as the man had already approached the crowd where they waited to hear Purah out.

"How many have come to see that woman....?" He wondered.

He raised his skull-covered face and listened to the woman. Little gave credence to his roots as a Zora. His scales were heavily covered with cloak and cloth. His fins were weighed down beneath sleeves and under socks. If not for the headfin one would have easily been deceived by the man's appearance for that of an exceptionally tall Hylian. He listened to the woman, his eyes hidden beneath the muzzle of the mask. He clicked his tongue against the sides of his fangs when she finished speaking. Questions began to flitter in from the crowd.

When the first two questions were carried out from their speakers, the mage decided his own question was warranted. "Did the ancients really live here? Did they even work here? Is the team sure this place holds any significance? I couldn't see how a place run by Constructs matters to the historical logia."

The dripping wizard did have a point: if this was just a hub for machines, could they really make use of it without the architects?

Her breath was shallow, quick. Desperate to escape her lungs, the air became a mist that dampened the cloth wrapped around her nose and mouth to protect against the cold. Tendrils escaped through haphazard folds, leaving a trail behind her as momentary proof of her passing, as temporary as each disrupted drift and crunched footstep filled in by the snow. A blizzard had moved in earlier in the evening, making travel not only difficult, but ill-advised. The situation was urgent. Her eyelashes were stiff, each strand coated in a fine layer of ice that threatened to spread to her eyes as she ran through the night.

Reverie navigated on instinct, the snowstorm and darkness numbing her senses as much as it numbed the bits of her face that were exposed. She gripped the hilt of her sword, trying to keep it from clattering in case others were out tonight. She had thrown on layers both beneath and atop her grandmother's armour, the layers beneath catching precious body heat while the layers atop kept the armour to a muted clank. She couldn't remember how long she had been running, but she could feel the sweat accumulating on her back and arms. It could become dangerous if exposed in a fight. She hoped they would be satisfied with an unguarded sacrifice, but felt that hope might not be realistic.

Suddenly, she saw the labyrinth walls in the distance. And in front of them, holding a torch, a white mask and heavy red cloak.

Their blades met with a muted, metallic click. Reverie broke the surface, escaping the depths that threatened to drown her. Her eyes focused, once again fully present, as she looked at Lucke's face. Surprise, but clearly this was not entirely unexpected. Though their movements were precise, choreographed at this point, she found comfort in the routine. A fight required full presence, full focus, and pulled her out of wherever she happened to be. And afterward, she could pull herself out of the darkness by thinking about how to better react to certain movements, different choices Lucke might make, and prepare for the next time.

Lucke backflipped over a fence into the square, keeping her eyes on her attacker as Reverie vaulted over. She wasn't as acrobatic as her sparring partner, but she was athletic enough to keep up. There were plenty of differences to keep in mind this time, things that occupied her, kept her focused. Lucke used a different sword, but her movements showed a quick and seemingly-effortless mastery of the space and the tool. She was liquid, flowing around each of Reverie's attacks. Though it felt like a foregone hope, Reverie found herself wishing that Lucke wouldn't be aware of how off she was. Reverie's attacks were more reckless than normal, subconsciously attempting to lock into the present by leaving openings and doing her best to counter when Lucke acted on those openings.

Her mind was clear, the thoughts washed away. She was born again, as she was constantly reborn in battle. Gradually, Reverie's eyes lit up. She grinned, then smiled, then beamed, and finally laughed. A bright, excited laugh, a touch manic but excusable from the stress she'd been under. She began throwing in moves she hadn't done since they were kids, dodges instead of parries and an occasional spin. Her breath was shallow, quick. Desperate to escape her lungs, the air became a mist that flowed freely into the crisp Akkala air. Like dreams, or forgotten worries, tendrils of mist wildly shifted shape.

Finally, as they reached the centre of the square, Lucke swung wide to block an incoming blow, and Reverie saw her chance. She knocked the sword out of Lucke's hand, dropping her own in the process, and tackled the Sheikah into the fountain. Her laughter echoed through Tarrey Town.

Despite Fajar's so-called "good mood", Claria had expected no less than the sigh that escaped the Gerudo's lips. Those glowing eyes glazed over with introspection once more as Fajar idly picked fish bones from her teeth. Well, at least that was marginally less disgusting than entrails slopping on the table, but Claria still averted her eyes as she forced herself to finish the salmon chunks, her appetite all but gone.

She looked up at the sound of a rasping, rattling laugh.

"Mhnvv, for the investigation."

Now it was Claria's turn to sigh. What else would it have been for? "Yes. The investigation you mentioned just now," she replied, emphasising those last few words, frowning as those greasy claws dug into wood soaked with blood and oil. With the weird looks the vendor kept giving the two of them from the shack, they were lucky they hadn't been kicked out by now. Still, Claria listened to the brief explanation - Fajar had been studying the ruins not out of mere curiosity, but for the purpose of a reconstruction project.

"I see. You wish for the new version to resemble the old one as closely as possible." That still left the question of the mysterious magic she'd used to observe them in their former, intact state, but Claria decided against further souring Fajar's mood. The information she'd gained would be enough. "That's some admirable respect."

Plans to restore Hyrule to as much of its pre-Calamity former glory as possible truly were underway, and slowly but surely succeeding, as the rebuilding of Castle Town proved. It would, of course, never quite be the same kingdom again - time couldn't heal all wounds, and the damage would always linger under the surface of the new structures, impossible to erase as Fajar's manifestations of memories would remind her. Yet this was a way to honour the past while moving towards a brighter future.

"Although you'd do well to extend that respect to others' property." Claria's voice took on a tone as sharp as her glare, which shifted to the deep pockmarks in the table's stained wood, then back to Fajar. "Otherwise this table will also need reconstruction, with our money covering the fee."

It was clear from Fajar's muttering of what must have been some choice words in the Gerudo tongue that she thought little of the furniture's craftsmanship anyway, the chair creaking as she stood.

"I am not sure whether to commend your dutiful dedication, or to instead chastise you for a lack of creativity."

Claria rose from her seat, folding her arms. "Your flattery is ever appreciated," she replied drily. "I simply asked what was relevant, nothing more, nothing less." As much as the sass grated on her, though, could she really blame Fajar for her annoyance at having been suspected of sketchy behaviour mid-examination of a construction site? "However, your explanation is indeed sufficient, and I hope for you that said endeavour goes smoothly." Her expression grew softer. "It will be a pleasure to see it once it's complete."

It wasn't quite tongue-click worthy, and yet still Fajar's mouth itched, her own lips tightening in response to Claria's choice of inquiry. The light in her eyes dulled with a tired sigh. Yet, as she was forced to dwell further on the words while she picked errant bones from between her teeth, something appeared to occur to her: her sigh shook into a laugh.

"Mhnvv, for the investigation." She muttered absently, forked tongue cleaning up the shards she'd pried free with a makeshift toothpick. They crunched and crackled into dust, then sludge, before the tool itself succumbed to the same devouring fate. Fajar smiled a little, though it was twisted to one side. "Sa'oten, for a moment there I had almost forgotten our relationship had begun. Your report must be incomplete."

Drawing in a breath the Gerudo braced both hands upon the table and leaned back a little, as if by gaining physical distance from the heaped graveyard of skeletons on her platter she'd be able to concentrate more easily on her memories. Her clawed and emancipated fingers were still slick with visceral juices, but either she hadn't noticed or she simply couldn't tell. They curled nonetheless, sinking into the sodden wood as if it were warm butter. "I will not divulge his identity - that is unnecessary," She began, "But a Hylian voe offered me a commission to oversee reconstruction of the ruins in question. I needed to examine the site first."

A deep silence followed after that, her own thoughts consuming her in hushed deliberation. The fog to her eyes lifted only when she heard the stool beneath her creak with shuddering exertion, its petulant whines immediately chastised by a sharp Gerudo snarl: it didn't take one fluent in the language to recognise she was cursing the shoddy craftsmanship.

But, with a click of her tongue, Fajar recollected herself and straightened back upright. Her eyes once again on Claria she went on, "I am not sure whether to commend your dutiful dedication, or to instead chastise you for a lack of creativity," She admitted, a glint to her unblinking stare. "Regardless, I hope that information shall suffice. My meal is finished and I no longer wish to linger here."

Both Ariadne and Gao wore the same fascinated expression at the description of Zora's Domain, wide eyes gleaming. Although Claria had wondered if she'd underdescribed her home and its intricate stream system to someone who, judging by the question, had never seen a waterfall before, it seemed she'd succeeded in giving a satisfying answer.

By the time the food and drinks arrived, the once-tense atmosphere had calmed considerably, the three of them at ease. Well, except for Gao, whose smile grew taut with visible regret at the sight of his modest soup portion, dwarfed by the enormous, cheese-coated, puffy-crusted pizza in front of a rather startled Ariadne. Right away, the apprentice-to-be offered to share the monstrosity of a meal.

Tucking into the mushroom and cranberry salad drizzled in tangy citrus sauce, Claria considered politely turning down the offer - with some exceptions, such as lotus seed bread, she wasn't too keen on most cooked foods. However, considering Gao's rumbling belly and his recently-displayed intense aversion to being offered anything, she nodded, if only to make him more comfortable about accepting a slice or two himself. "Thank you, just one slice though." She gave Gao an encouraging glance as he savoured the tomato soup, presumably either to make it last or to match Ariadne's pace with her much more substantial dinner.

"I'm starting to think maybe I should redirect my concerns. Perhaps it's the Zora I should be worried will get overworked. You're quite the formidable champ' in the making aren't you, young miss."

"Quite so. Just you wait, I'll be the best they've ever taught."

At Gao's jest and Ariadne's self-assured affirmation, Claria returned their grins with a small smile of her own. Being accustomed to a culture of reserve and restraint, it wasn't often she saw anyone display such open confidence, other than King Sidon - he'd admire such an attitude. "Securing two apprenticeships is quite the feat." She raised her mead glass. "To new beginnings and successful studies."

As the trio dined and conversed, the string of events that had made for an awkward start was all but forgotten. With the travels and tasks that awaited all three, the past was behind them, and they had the future to look towards.

"Clearly you are a parent."

Collin chuckled at the remark, it wasn't just his own girl that had made him a patient wall against shenanigans. And it wasn't the first time he'd heard about the impeccable aim some parents had with slippers. He had never found use for a slipper, heck, he'd likely get a stiletto heel twanging between his eyes if he'd try.


While Gao turned down the invitation to be wined and dined, he still ended up shirtless. When the man sitting across from him blotted the sweat from his body using said shirt he had just torn off, Collin got a good look at the patterns seemingly painted so often on the skin even the sun hadn't quite reached it and hadn't seen a chance to tan the hide of the Lurelin Sheikah. What had tanned his hide were copious amounts of teeth.
Amongst the paint that decorated him, in patterns that usually decorated monsters, were scars where the same monsters had marred him.

Often, by the looks of it.

Collin recognised the toothmarks, he'd seen them on stubborn men - and his sister's leg. Equally stubborn - not the leg, the sister.
She was henceforth still not entirely able to say 'you should see the other guy.', most notably because there had been nothing left of the other guy.

Amongst monster hunters the dips and dimples and discolorations were not something to be particularly proud of. They were a sign of potentially having put yourself and your squad in danger. It wasn't wise to act the hero and forget oneself when dealing with the Demon King's henchmen, there were situations better left a lost battle than a lost life. Besides, every bloodmoon the struggle would start all over again.

Whereas Collin long didn't hold onto the monster hunter ways any more, he couldn't help but raise a slight sniff at the sight. They felt out of place on the strongman, like he'd deliberately sought out the hellspawn to wrestle with. Even for a man that strong it was a silly thing to do, the smallest of blins could snap a guy in half.. or well, not this guy, evidently. Still, that was two or more scenarios he shouldn't have survived.


The sound of cracking wood brought Collin back from his lament as Micah dejectedly looked at the splintered chopsticks.

"Don't worry about that, it takes some practice." He offered his own pair of chopsticks that were already split by Yuru.

Listening to Micah talking about Goron cuisine made Collin favor stones over fruit on pizza, even though his insides most definitely would not.
It wasn't all too weird to burn Hylian cooking if all one knew was how to cook on an active volcano. As with using chopsticks, it was a practiced skill.

"Green plants do taste good. Don't go by these guys' opinions. Judging by their physique they subsist mostly on proteins." Though he knew Sundelion to be on the menu for Yuru. "Maybe they could build up more gains by switching to Goron cooking, hm?" He threw both of the big men a sweet grin.


When Yuru raised the question what the hell had gotten into kids these days, Collin couldn't help but raise the 'solution', "A severe lack of slippers, if I am to believe some."
"Also, what an accusation to make... over bananas?" As far as the banana obsession went one had to wonder if Yiga were attracted to the suffix Mighty, or - well - the shape... A mystery for sure. "Man's built like a Lynel - even with the lack of horse-" he paused briefly, only to squint at Gao and looked as if he was pondering something, "-legs, and you're going for Yiga?"


And as their conversation turned to bread, a server made her way to their table and stood proud rattling off her practiced, "Good day sirs, my name is Lani. I shall be your server for today, if there is anything you wish you need only call. Have you been able to make a choice from our menu? The chef recommends the Cheesy Meat Bowl today."

"I believe the point was to share some dishes, that guy says he eats a ton, our Goron friend would like to taste a lot and that guy," specifically pointing out Yuru, "needs to try the sunny pumpkin, would you happen to have those?" Collin took the opportunity that presented itself, perhaps not on a platter, but for sure with one in her hands.

"We do, fresh from Hateno!"

"Awesome. I'm personally put in the mood for something spicy... and a cocktail... as fruity as you can make it - add bananas - surprise me."


Ah, the complexities of people.