Sands of Spirits Lost [CLOSED: Fajar, Claria]

[LuckyBlackCat]

Just as Claria had expected, Fajar made no secret of her disappointment, tutting audibly. She glared over her shoulder, yet her verbal jab wasn't about the lack of permission to touch the monument - there was no hiding anything from her keen sense of smell, Claria acknowledged, holding back a sigh of resignation. Including her carefully-concealed exhaustion.

"Well, thanks," she retorted with a scowl, folding her aching arms. The comment, although more of a reprimand than a jeer, set her nerves on edge, just as the earlier one about her weaknesses had. "I'll have you know I'm very much accustomed to the rivers and mountains around here." Which was technically true, even if it was only the surfaces of the waters she could traverse with ease. As for the mountains, she and the rest of her kind much preferred quick ascensions up waterfalls to slow and laborious climbs.

Fajar continued to express concern, albeit in a softer, almost affectionate tone. Was that a little smile at the corner of her mouth? Although the predatory air had softened, Claria wasn't about to admit to her limits any time soon. "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about." She unfolded her arms, glancing over the rows of glowing spots. "As a deep sea Zora, I know a thing or two about pressure, and am more than capable of handling it in its many forms."

As Fajar turned away, her tongue flicked over her lips. Claria's fins spread out once more, alertness clearing the haze of fatigue. Even if the tracking devices deterred Fajar from preying on people, what would she do if she grew hungry enough? Thankfully, she retained her self-control, requesting to see all of the tablets.

"Such a tour will take a while," Claria told her, "but will be doable. I'll put your request through, and explain the situation. Including that you ventured here not to cause harm, but for the purpose of historical research." As much as Fajar unnerved her, as prepared as she'd been - and still was - to defend herself should anything go awry, she couldn't risk prompting other warriors to resort to hasty violence. She'd have to hope they'd listen to the full details when she reported back.

... And if a moment were to arise that Fajar changed her mind and decided Claria knew too much, this would be it. She braced herself. Was it hypocritical to wish for the Gerudo-Gibdo's safety, and yet maintain this level of caution around her? Ugh, the early morning was setting her thoughts rushing amok like a shoal of perturbed sardines. In any case, she kept her tone calm as she continued. "We can meet up later tonight, if that would suit you. Where would be an ideal place to do so?"

[El]

And so the fish boasted that it could swim. Ha. Fajar stared blankly at Claria's prideful remark, though she did not bother to quip anything in response: her mind already tired of the Zora's insistent and easily wounded ego. Yet, despite her grumbling, the warrior relented in the end, eventually taking the Gerudo's advice to heart. ...Albeit in a very circular manner, all dressed up with neatly covered tracks.

Well, whatever suited her.

A scoff chafed the back of Fajar's dry throat, and she rolled her eyes as they averted once more. In the next moment - or, well, several very long, languid, and not all rushed moments - she settled herself down upon the ground, folding her legs neatly below her weight. Her strict posture didn't look at all pleasant. Nor did the way the sun burned across her withering flesh, a tangible vapour rising - assumedly - from the drying cloth and skin. A damp musk pervaded the air.

"Here."

After taking a long deep breath to enjoy the familiar discomfort, Fajar added for clarity, "You may meet me here." Preferably without half a dozen silvered spears pointed at her neck, though she would not blame the LanternVai for such a decision. Her heart might've been noble at its core, but it was still beating in the chest of a soldier.

"Take as long as-..." Oh, right. This woman bristled at personal regards. "...-the procedure requires. Rush not on my account, time is a small price to pay for such an intriguing reward... And fret not, as you have given me your word, I shall give you mine: I shall not touch this monument."

[LuckyBlackCat]

Claria didn't even bother to respond to Fajar's scoffing or eye-rolling. Not that there was anything she could say to convince the Gerudo-Gibdo that she was in no vulnerable state - after all, Fajar would see right through her claims. Or rather, smell right through them. Apprehension stiffened her muscles, but the other woman made no attempt to take advantage of her exhaustion, instead seating herself in a cross-legged position on the ground and requesting to meet her at that exact spot.

"Very well," Claria replied. Was Fajar going to stay there, or would she sleep somewhere nearby? Did she even need to sleep? And the way her skin grew taut and flushed in the rays of the sunrise, drying even faster than Zora scales, didn't look at all comfortable, but she seemed to relish the deep breath of morning air she took. "Until tonight, then. I'll try to arrive by dusk."

With that, she turned and headed in the direction of Zora's Domain. Her legs were still lead-heavy from the climbing, her flippers sore after a night of continuous walking, but she kept her strides steady and purposeful. Just before turning along the curve of the cliffside path, she looked over her shoulder, forcing her features into an impassive mask as she slowly turned her head and shifted her torso. Dang, the burning in her gills had yet to fully subside, and the deep scar under her collarbone had begun to pull from all the upper body exertion. The sun's warmth didn't help as it dried and tightened her skin. Yet there was no way she'd show weakness at the best of times, let alone now.

Fajar, however, remained sitting in the grass, her attention on the monument. As well as having given her word about not touching the slab, it seemed she'd done the same about planning to wait for the tour of the inscriptions. No matter how annoying or downright unsettling some of her mannerisms were, she displayed that strong sense of honour the Gerudo were known to value. An attitude Claria couldn't help but admire.

Continuing along the path back to Zora's Domain, she steeled herself. Not just for the ascent over the mountain peak - luckily a much shorter one than the climb just now - but for the fact that, with dawn brightening into mid-morning, she'd have some explaining to do for why she'd been gone so long.

...

Her suspicions had been right.

It was a miracle she'd managed to get any sleep, after the barrage of questions from guards who'd grown concerned in her absence. After apprentice historian Kai had chewed her out, despite her calm explanation of the scenario, for leaving the "monster" alive. After her mother had thrown her arms around her and begged her to stay safely at home, to stop letting the wider world wear her down. After how firmly she'd had to insist that the situation was under control, that nobody else needed to intervene.

At least King Sidon had been the voice of reason, willing to listen to the whole story - and grant the request.

Still, even after the much-needed rest and meal, the stress left her drained as she made her way back across the bridge, up the hill, past crystal torches that cast their pale blue glow over rocks and coral-like plants in the late evening darkness. "Please don't leave again," her mother had pleaded, the desperation in her eyes bringing a pang of guilt. "You don't have to do this. You don't know what you're getting yourself into - frankly, you never do." She'd worry herself sick again. Yet Claria did have to do this. She'd made a promise, and wasn't about to go back on it.

In the gap between rocky inclines, Fajar continued to sit silhouetted in front of the monument, legs folded as if she hadn't moved all day. "Apologies for the delay," Claria said, striding forward, "although you'll be glad to know your request was approved. I'm ready to begin when you are."

[El]

The hours passed without incident: Fajar did not count them.

While the sounds of the sea were distant here, its whispers still lingered - as did its moisture. The dew upon the rustling grass. The breeze which whistled down the cliff face to caress Rutala River. The content warble of a bird roosted within lush vegetation. Everything here was so fresh. Raw. Not baked by desert heat.

Fajar was baking.

But she had come to embrace all of her life's discomforts, finding solace in their acceptance. Some battles required surrender. Now she surrendered again, sat upon aching joints, throat parched, her stomach gnawing at its encasements, the stench of her own flesh creeping up blistered nostrils while her skull throbbed, burned by a light the thin veil of eyelids could never truly omit. She surrendered by listening. By experiencing. In truth Fajar felt she had not yet fully absorbed the ambience of the Zoran region before one of the water-folk themselves returned to her side.

She recognised her scent - Claria. She was refreshed now too, the sweat and tension largely dissolved. Good.

Fajar decided not to openly question the warrior's honour by giving voice to her surprise, but the look upon her face likely said it for her nonetheless: the proud arch of her eyebrows perked even higher, her lips plucked open - just slightly - by an unseen string. It'd be a waste of fine air to state the obvious. Yes, Claria had returned. Without hostility too.

"...Pleasing news." The Gerudo croaked, snarling a little when her voice cracked under the pressure of sudden use.

Rather than clearing her throat though she simply sighed and began the tedious endeavour of standing upright. It wasn't that she lacked the strength - far from it - but that her body had fallen into a cumbersome, detached slumber. Every joint and bone groaned at the bidding call of exertion, creaking from the depths of its marrow as Fajar steadily uncoiled herself and arose. The claws of her bare feet toyed with the grass beneath them. A sharp CRACK split her ears as she tested her neck.

Good enough.

"Then let us begin, Claria."

~

Fajar had vastly underestimated the extent of her impromptu pilgrimage, and yet it proved to be the most pleasant of surprises. The scenery was picturesque. The tablets many, and their contents bountiful, rich with all flavours of history and memories. Stories of the Domain's founding. Stories of monarchs with warrior's hearts. Stories of great battles. Stories of love. Stories of loss. Stories of Champions and triumph. There was even a story detailing the Zora's affinity for water whispering.

Enchanting as it all was, Fajar's fingertips ached to touch and watch these moments for herself, to see firsthand the carvings worked into life with their evident care and passion. Yet... she restrained herself. More than her own personal greed of curiosity, respect was far more valuable.

...Unfortunately most - if not all - of these preserved tales proved challenging to read. The Gerudo strove - as she often did - to decipher what she could through the blurred haze, a stubborn streak innate to her kin demanding a suitable amount of effort before she seeked outside assistance. Perhaps Claria would not immediately acquiesce to her requests to read out sporadic choices of passages, but if she did not... well, Fajar would draw uncomfortably close to the relics: perhaps close enough to frighten the warrior into thinking she'd rescind her earlier promise.

Either way, Fajar would discover the monuments' descriptions in their entirety. And whether through idle conversation while travelling between the locations, or through Claria's own narration, the Gerudo would discover how sincere the Zora had been about her interest in history. Perhaps this was the truth of why Claria had indulged her impulsive pilgrimage - and so promptly too.

...Silently Fajar lamented on how stark a contrast a tour in her own land would be, if she were ever given the opportunity to return the favour. Her beloved desert was beautiful in its ruthless expanses, but indomitable as a result: survival amongst her sisters had always taken priority over maintaining high levels of historical preservation. A saddening but necessary sacrifice. A sacrifice which occasionally led to greater costs.

~

Eventually all delights must come to an end, and when they do it is quickly revealed how many things were left unattended to. How many desires - nay, NEEDS - required immediate relief.

Now that there was attention to spare, with the conclusion of the tour Fajar and Claria quickly came to an agreement on hunting down a food establishment. The latter recommended a relatively new but still prosperous fishing shack which had settled halfway up Zora River to attend to the needs of finless travellers: a one-woman pop-up shop affair, reaping the rewards of natural gifts and a business savvy mindset. While the stability of its shoddy, rushed architecture left much to be desired, the Gerudo knew better than to scoff at the hands which bore food. Thankfully 'disdain' was her habitual resting-expression, so she doubted anyone would clue onto her feelings.

"Raw, please. And many." Fajar requested once they reached the counter. (Fortunately it was still open despite the late hour.) "Light on the spices and seasonings, if you must use them."

White meat would not be at all as satiating as its cousin, but desperate times called for reprieve of any measure. The hunger was quickly becoming maddening. Clouding her mind. Taunting her temper. There was a twitchiness to her glowing eyes as they scoured the displayed stock and their surroundings. A flare to her nostrils. A heavier breath that hung on each ravenous word she managed to hiss into being. With great impatience Fajar settled herself at the one and only table, bejewelled fingers leaving marks in the wood as they clawed into trembling fists.

Conversation. She needed a distraction.

"Do your people only eat fish?"

...How abysmally trite.

[LuckyBlackCat]

Claria tried not to wince at the blisters on Fajar's skin, and the creaks and cracks of her bones as she stood. So strong light was a problem for her, yet she didn't seem to have moved to seek shade - did it bother her, or had she not felt it? Not wanting to come across as overbearing, Claria hesitated. "As long as you're alright," she replied, with a step forward, leading Fajar towards the main path.

The trek around Lanayru Great Spring was long, yet rewarding. Claria watched Fajar take in both the scenery and the tales carefully inscribed on the stones, keen interest clear in her lilac-hued gaze. A few times, Fajar squinted up at the text for several minutes, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, before asking for assistance in deciphering it. If she had an issue with her eyesight, Claria couldn't blame her for that stubbornness and reluctance to let on about it. Having any kind of physical impairment meant most people treated you differently, and wanting to avoid risking such was entirely understandable. She complied, reading out parts of the text, although out of respect for Fajar's wishes, only did so on request.

Some of the writings, despite her familiarity with most of them and the locations of the monuments, were as new to her as they were to Fajar, given their recency. How long had it been, she mused, since she'd stopped to fully appreciate the sights both natural and artifical around the Great Spring? She already knew the stories, either from past inscriptions or from lived experience, but she studied King Sidon's recounting of events as eagerly as Fajar did - fraught as their initial meeting had been, they had this in common, at least. Although Claria kept up her usual level of vigilance for any lurking dangers, the presence of the Gerudo-Gibdo no longer set her on edge quite as much. Of course, she couldn't be too careful.

It was only when they reached the Mikau Lake area that she grew tense and jittery, the past seeping into the present. She clenched her hands into fists, trying to hide their trembling. Monster attacks had grown far less frequent, yet she still couldn't help associating the place with that incident. An explosion of sparks. Cries - others' yells of horror, or her own agonised screams? The stench of charged air and burning flesh. Her flesh.

At a croak and a flash of green in the shrubbery, she whirled around, sword unsheathed. Three startled frogs hopped out, scampering through the grass and splashing into the pool. Claria exhaled, putting her sword away, although she kept her grip on its hilt. Her lights flickered and dulled. Way to overreact, especially in front of another. She resumed chatting like nothing had happened, even though she could barely meet Fajar's gaze in her shame. Instead, she kept staring around as if a gaggle of hidden Lizalfos would ambush at any moment.

The tour, luckily, went undisturbed, eventually bringing them to an eatery on the bank of Zora River, a small fishing hut set up for the sake of non-aquatic travellers who needed energy for the route. Fajar's opinion of the place was difficult to glean from her expression, which bore a look of mild annoyance by default, but she was quick to order a platter of raw fish, despite the vendor's initial alarmed stare that settled back into a polite and professional demeanour. If Fajar took offense, she didn't show it as she seated herself. Once Claria had ordered her own meal, she sat at the little table, with a sharp glare and a clear of her throat at the claw marks gouging the wood. "As valued as etching is here, that isn't the kind anyone's going to appreciate," she whispered, with a wary glance towards the counter. "Let's not end the tour on a less than ideal note by getting kicked out." It probably wasn't the best idea to admonish an undead being who shook with hunger, sniffing the air as a shark sniffed water, but the saleswoman wouldn't take kindly to property damage.

"Do your people only eat fish?"

Noting the undertone of disappointment in Fajar's words, Claria hoped the fish platter would be enough to satisfy her. "Mostly, although we also eat other seafood, like crabs and shrimp," she replied. "And sometimes we eat it with kelp, or mushrooms. Usually raw, although we cook foods to bring out their medicinal qualities." Most non-Zora found the preference for uncooked food strange, although Fajar, at least, wouldn't judge, sharing that taste herself.

"What kinds of foods do your people eat?" she asked, thinking back to Gerudo cuisine-inspired specialities from a pub in Castle Town. "I've heard voltfruits and hydromelons are popular."

[El]

The chiding remark about vandalism visibly caught Fajar by surprise. While her blistered nostrils reflexively flared in annoyance, the heat of a rebuke surging in her chest, it was her widened eyes which betrayed a different emotion: recognition. They flashed down at her clawed hands, the gnarled digits twitching to a halt. "Hmn." They twisted inwards, knuckles crackling as they formed tight fists instead.

"Mushrooms..." A dark but playful humour curled one corner of her chapped lips. "So even the rot here is fed into sustenance. Practical. The moisture here truly works wonders." Thought momentarily glazed her eyes, but she breathed through it, long and dragging - catching. She cleared her throat and winced. Her fists tightened.

"The fruits were popular initially out of necessity, but my sister's palettes have grown to enjoy them. Thankfully." With a wistful gaze she looked over at the rushing river, a twitch in her cheeks when the tail-end of a fish flashed below the current. "Admittedly we do not have much in the way of variety: a lot is earned through trade. In times past I used to enjoy roasted Sand Seal steaks..." Her brow furrowed then, remembering something more recent. "...That time has passed.

"We always revered the creatures, of course, and lived alongside them - as desert companions. But these days they-..." Her mouth twisted, lips sealing over words that should not be said. No. She would not say them. Even if losing your tongue to treason was practically unheard of these days, it still irked her innards with discomfort to give voice to such slander. "Different Chiefs lay down different rules." Fajar instead concluded after a pause.

Her eyes then caught something else as they lifted and a glint of remembrance sparked. "I have noticed many of the cliffs in this region possess an almost luminous sheen. Yet it does not feel cold enough here to be ice. Are they some form of crystal?

"I would enjoy owning a piece, if your monarchy permits mining."

[LuckyBlackCat]

Watching Fajar's fists curl and clench, Claria wondered if she should have changed the subject away from food. This discussion would only worsen the Gerudo-Gibdo's hunger, especially with the scent of raw fish emanating from the shack. Fajar, however, gave her response, explaining the popularity of the desert fruits, before alluding to the culture and cuisine of a time long past - a time very long past by the sound of it.

"But these days they..."

Sand seals. No Gerudo Claria had met had ever mentioned eating them, but from what she'd heard, the strength and speed of the beasts made them to the Gerudo what horses were to Hylians and Sheikah. "They domesticate them as transport animals?" she asked. Fajar neither confirmed nor denied it, blistered lips pursing in clear disapproval of current customs, yet that sense of honour kept her from voicing her displeasure. Again, Claria wondered just how many eras the half-Gibdo had seen, how many different chiefs and different rules she'd lived under.

It was Fajar who abruptly shifted the conversation from culinary practices, the translucent outcroppings of the cliffs catching her interest as they shimmered frosty blue in the moonlight.

"Are they some form of crystal?"

Claria followed her gaze over the abundant stone. "This quartz is one of the minerals we use for our architecture," she explained. "Elaborate stonework is a crucial part of our culture, and these crystals make for sturdy yet aesthetically appealing structures. As for taking a piece, a small amount will be permissible."

[El]

A small amount... was how much exactly? Fajar's lips pursed in thought. Though she almost gave voice to the query she quickly realised it was of little import either way. And given how quickly her throat was drying up, every word needed to be valuable: trivialities would quite literally chafe not just her patience but her innards also.

Fortunately it was not much longer before their order was delivered, the massive platters piled high with all species of fish and seafood. The dismally ramshackle table they were seated at barely had room enough to hold it all, let alone substantial strength to feel stable on its own legs. Nonetheless, it managed - somehow.

"Perhaps..." The Gerudo croaked, pausing to scowl through a serrated clear of her throat. "I shall craft you a gift of gratitude then."

Shaky claws reached out to grab at the top of the tallest tower of scaled flesh, decorum far from her mind as she eagerly sunk her teeth into its belly. It crackled and crunched, the shattering of fragile bones muffled by the squelch of raw meat. The juices dribbled down her chin as she chomped and chewed and gobbled, devouring the creature from tail-tip to eyeball in scarcely much time at all.

She did at least pause to lick the bloodied fluids from her fingertips before grabbing another hydrating treat though, her forked tongue elaborating on her statement despite its evident distraction, "Yet I have not worked with quartz before. Nor any jewel. Such materials were deemed too precious a commodity for our masons."

She lapped up the leaking entrails from her mouth with a sigh of brief relief. For a flicker of a moment her eyes observed the platters, looking now not for the easiest grab but the thickest one - that one with the most satisfying, filling bite. White meat was a far cry from her usual preferences, but it'd suffice with enough volume consumed.

"So my craft-..." Aha! Her skeletal paw seized an enormous bass, yanking it from its roost. "-may not be as effective, if even applicable at all." Not to mention her eyesight didn't allow for the detailed work a small chunk of quartz would assume, but between her ravenous distractions and secretive pride, Fajar did not fill in that extra particular.

[LuckyBlackCat]

At first, Claria noted, Fajar appeared displeased. The way her lips pressed together in a thin line seemed to convey disappointment at only being permitted to take a small chunk of stone, yet whether or not such was the case, she kept her thoughts to herself until the food arrived, the table creaking under the weight of platters piled high with fat, juicy fish.

Fajar's raspy words dispelled Claria's worries. "Perhaps... I shall craft you a gift of gratitude then." The sight of the mountainous meal had evidently lifted the Gerudo's mood, and she wasted no time in tucking right in, devouring an entire trout in a matter of seconds, bones and all. Those bloodied teeth and claws, dripping dark spots on the table, would have unsettled Claria, had she not spent long enough conversing with Fajar to gradually grow more comfortable in her presence.

"You sculpt?" She picked up a skewer of raw salmon chunks from her own platter and took a bite, eating at a much more leisurely pace than Fajar, despite the appetite she'd worked up from the lengthy hike. "That would be much appreciated. And I take it you were intrigued by more than the stories on those slates, in that case." If the Gerudo's occupation was stonemasonry, that also explained her keen interest in the ruins she'd briefly recreated, the way she'd surveyed their structure and details as well as their history.

In a much clearer voice, no longer rough with hunger or thirst, Fajar gave the caveat that gems were materials she hadn't used before. "I'd still be interested in seeing your craft," Claria replied, curling the webbed fingers of her free hand. "Would a roughly fist-sized piece be workable?"

[El]

"You sculpt?"

The inquiry widened Fajar's eyes, an abrupt pause halting her feasting. Confusion, then annoyance, or perhaps neither of the two but some other emotion entirely wormed across the skin of her face, wrinkling her features, squeezing the corners, pulling it taut at its edges. Whatever she felt, it was not pleasant. And so she stared... And stared. And stared. It was only once Fajar felt the moist entrails of a gutted fish escaping down her chin did she rediscover herself; a quick flash of her tongue lapping the delicacy back up into her mashing jaws.

"...I suppose I never did inform you of my profession."

The eventual realisation coughed a chortle from her moistened gums, shattering the frown she'd worn seconds before. How presumptuous of her, she mused to herself. Of course this water vai would not know by default, the verdant land below her scaled talons as starkly different as their cultures were. She was no sister of the sands.

"I am a stonemason. Though in my land that profession comes with more than just a hammer and chisel."

Another pause occurred then. The beginning of another sentence died in her throat, warping instead to a scoff of defeat - or of scorn. "...Well, it used to." 

Eyes aglow with a harrowing fire of unnatural life, Fajar averted her gaze back to the rushing tides of the Zora River. Its black waters glittered now, reflecting the starlight above. Stars. Huh. They were the same constellations. She licked her lips as they sealed into a tight, thoughtful line. If nothing else, at least the sky was the same, its expanse evidently vaster than the desert she thought indomitable.

"Shortly after we have finished eating our fill, I shall depart - leaving your territory. If I succeed in crafting something of worth from the quartz chunk I shall see it delivered to you. In the meantime,"  With effort Fajar tore her attention away, returning it to her companion. "If you have any further questions for me and your investigation report, I advise you to ask them now.

"-While I am in a good mood." Her chest rattled with a quiet laugh as she dug back into face-fulls of raw fish meat.

[LuckyBlackCat]

Again, Fajar's features became difficult to read. Was that blank white stare one of irritation at perceived over-inquisitiveness, or bafflement, or merely deep thought? Was she deliberately hiding whatever emotion the question had invoked, just as Claria herself set her jaw against the distaste at the sight of the fish blood and organs dripping all over the table? She swallowed and paused her own meal, lowering the skewer against the platter.

A rough chuckle from Fajar broke the silence, before the Gerudo confirmed her profession as a stonemason - albeit one accustomed to techniques that differed from modern methods. The question, Claria realised, had probably been an uncomfortable one for that reason, judging by the tinge of bitterness in the response. As if to further confirm this, Fajar lapsed back into taciturn contemplation, her gaze on the starlit surface of the river.

What must it be like, Claria wondered, to hail from a time all but forgotten? To know of one's distant ancestors not from archaeological remnants and records, but from lived experience? Her own attention drifted towards the reflected stars. They held significance to the desert folk, she'd heard, their position aiding navigation across the vast sandy expanse - much as they bore importance to the Zora from the deep ocean, a submerged desert in itself, her forebearers having risen to their glimmer at night to hunt and travel in zones richer with life. Stars of the sea, they were known as, alluding to a legend still passed down that the gods had granted their luminosity to mirror celestial bodies, so that they may traverse and guide others through the dark. Had the night sky, similarly, once had even greater meaning to Fajar's people?

For all their differences, she and Fajar were alike in some ways, yet the Gibdo-Gerudo knew of cultural shifts firsthand.

Even when Fajar resumed speaking, announcing her plan to leave before long and to send a carving of the quartz, it took her a moment to resume eye contact.

"If you have any further questions for me and your investigation report, I advise you to ask them now - While I am in a good mood."

She'd just had to go back to sounding ominous, hadn't she? The corners of Claria's lips tightened, yet she remained civil. "I look forward to receiving the carving," she replied, her tone cool and even. "As for questions... What was it in particular that brought you to the ruins in this region?"

She brought herself to take another bite of her meal, trying her best to ignore the slurping and splattering from across the table. Her stomach turned. At least, as Fajar had just reminded her, the heap of fish to devour kept her in a good mood.

[El]

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."

[LuckyBlackCat]

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."