Meet the Fintans

Characters: Dagda and Sersi

Setting: Halyard

It's a couple of hours after noon in Halyard Village when Dagda strolls down the street, Sersi in tow. The buck surveys the familiar territory with a smile, eyes settling on his family homestead. "That's it," he says, pointing at a quaint, sturdy little cottage with a fertile flower garden cultivated in front of it. "Th' ol' Fintan dwellin'."

"S'quite charming," the doe discerns of the domicile, eyes lingering tentatively upon the place as her strides subconsciously slow. She's nervous, but hides it satisfactorily within her poised carriage. At least she looks nice; she's wearing one of her nicer assemblages: a sleeveless summer frock, pastel blue reflecting the temperate sky. "So it's your mum, father, and brother?" Sersi queries absently, glancing at Dagda.

Dagda is dressed in his uniform, like he always is when he goes home for a visit. "Yeh, m' mum, that's Mrs. Fintan t' you, m' da', Mr. Fintan, an' m' brothah, Bran." The buck glances backwards at the doe as her pace slows, lowering his own speed so as not to leave her behind. He studies her eyes for a moment, then offers, "...Y'll be fine, Sersi. 'S jus' m' family, an' it's not an official 'meet everyone' visit." A broad smile lights his face. "An' y' look fantastic."

Sersi cocks a brow at the buck. "M'not sure if I understand the difference between official and unofficial family meetings, but..." Dagda's compliment cuts her off, and she dips her chin to eye him further, beaming sheepishly. "... all right. Heh. ... /thanks./ You're too kind, really." She quickens her pace as they near the door of the residence, and the doe clasps her paws at the small of her back when she comes to a stop at the entry. "Shall I knock?"

"Nah, I will." Dagda promptly swings the door open, stepping inside. "Anybahdy home?!" A moment later, a voice from another room wafts back. "Nobahdy's 'ome! An' we certainly don' want no comp'ny from th' Long Patrol!" The healer laughs, turning back to the door and waving the doe inside. "Th' difference is," he murmurs, "I didn't tell 'em you were comin'."

The teasing exchange brings a smile to Sersi's face, ear flicking as she peeks in after Dagda; but without any face to greet, she slinks back to the precipice. "A friendly bunch, sounds like," she murmurs, face drifting downward as she steps through the threshold; she stops midway, though, as the buck's words dance horribly at her. "... seriously?" she balks, suddenly petrified. "You're /kidding/ me. Though I suppose I'm not the worst surprise in the world. But. Seriously?" She timidly shuts the door behind herself.

"No, I didn' tell 'em." He can see the horrified look on her face as she steps into the little parlor-esque chamber. "It's bettah this way. Trust me." Dag reaches out to take her by the paw, leading her into the main room. "What, no one t' greet me?" A feminine voice calls back from up the staircase. "Be righ' there, Dagda, be patient f' once in y' life." She can be heard muttering on to herself as she prepares to descend the stairs. "Thought th' Pahtrol would take that impatience outta you but I guess nothin's evah as good as it seems..."

Tugged in by Dagda, Sersi quickly regains her composure; the only remnant of anxiety loiters at her paw, which idly squeezes the buck's. Ears stand straight as poles as she eyes the stairs, waiting for Mrs. Fintan is descend-- a look of hope mingled with sheer terror is etched momentarily on her face. "Aye, be patient," the doe chides, free paw neurotically smoothing her coiffure. "Y'should pay heed to your mum, y'know."

"Some," Dagda agrees with a grin. At this point, Mrs. Fintan hits the top stair, descending deliberately. A middle-aged doe housewife, still pretty in a middle-aged way, is dressed in a simple brown and khaki skirt and blouse combo, a little embroidery embellishing the outfit. About half-way down the stairs, she looks over the railing and notices the other doe in the room and stops, a shocked look on her face. "Oh! Well, um, hello!" The older doe hurries the rest of the way down the stairs and onto the floor, looking from Sersi to Dagda and back again. "'ey, mum," Dagda greets, ducking his head a little. "This is Sersi."

Sersi inhales sharply at the sight of the older doe, eyes widening and paw clenching Dagda's a bit harder; trained to entertain in the court, the doe unfortunately is out of her diplomatic element in this rather intimate meeting. "... Mrs. Fintan!" she calls up the stairs, forcing a bucktoothed grin. "Sersi Soteria Eleftherian-- a pleasure to meet you." An awkward cough interrupts. "I apologize if I've caught you off-guard."

"No, no, no apology needed," Mrs. Fintan replies, lifting her paws as if to ward them off before clasping them in front of her. "I should've expected somethin' like this from him. Surprised it's taken this long, actually." The doe gives Sersi a motherly smile, rolling her eyes fondly in Dagda's direction when she references him. The buck himself just grins, letting the two exchange greetings for a moment and casting a brief glance out the window. "I /am/ Mrs. Fintan, but you don't 'ave t' call me that, dear. Lilian will be fine."

"Taken this long?" wonders the doe, giving Dagda a sidelong glance; she seems confused by the elder's wonderment. "Oh-- do you mean..." A grin breaks through her features, and she even giggles; "Oh! I see. I see." And that's all she says on that subject; the young doe breaks her grip on Dagda, and trots up to Mrs. Fintan to hold out a formal paw. "If you insist; Lilian it is. A lovely name for a lovely face," she flatters. "So am I the first doe he's managed to rope into visiting his home?"

"Well, he's always been such a dear at home we all thought he'd be draggin' 'em ovah in no time, but 'm happy t' tell you that y're th' first," Lilian replies, smiling warmly. "Sersi, was it? What a pretty name. I never could have thought of somethin' that pretty before th' boys were born. Didn' know they were goin' t' be boys, of course." "Mum," Dagda interrupts, before the conversation ventures into potentially embarrassing waters, "Where's Bran an' Da'?" "Oh, they're outside," Lilian answers, waving at the back door without even looking. "Workin' on some new project y' fathah's dreamed up."

"You're much sweeter than I could've imagined," Sersi coos at the motherly doe; "M'named for my great-grandmum on my mother's side, actually-- so I can't say m'mum deserves all the credit for thinkin' it up. Were you expecting a girl when you had Dag?" Her query is followed by a smirk, and she steps back to glance at the lone buck. "What kind of project?"

"Don't know what kind, let's find out!" Dagda hurriedly reaffirms his grip on her paw, moving towards the door before his mom can say anything embarrassing. "It was nice meeting you, dear! Don't be a stranger," she calls. The healer opens the back door, swinging it out and stepping down into the lawn. He turns to wait on Sersi instead of barrelling onward, dragging her behind him.

Comically swept away, Sersi's body flails in the space behind Dagda as he totes her along; a look to his mom is offered in time before she's out the door, vacant paw lifting to wave cheerfully. "We'll talk later!" she assures with a snicker before willingly following the buck. "You seem agitated-- but your mum's quite nice, after all!"

Dagda slows once they're in the safety of the yard, walking close to the doe. "Yeh, she's a good mum," he agrees, nodding. Careful eyes move around the area, looking for signs of his brother and father. "Maybe they're somewhere else. Down by th' docks or somethin'."

"How far are the docks from here?" asks Sersi as she distractedly looks around, neck craning 'round the back of Dagda's form. "Wait-- wait. Y'haven't even given me a formal tour of the house, eh?" She yanks his arm in mock-defiance. "D'ye have your own room, or what? I want to look around. ...or is there something embarrassing you'd like t'share, before your mum gets to it?"

"There's nothin' embarrassin' that I /know of,/ but 'm sure she'll think of something," Dagda replies, chuckling and giving when she jerks on his arm. "Th' docks are a short walk from 'ere, so we'll finish here before we go, 'k?"

"Oh; I hope she does," simpers Sersi, wriggling with frolicsome delight. She brings her arm opposite the buck around her front to clasp onto his arm, leaning against his side as she peers up. "This really isn't so bad-- forgot what it was like t'be 'round family; it's /nice/."

Dagda appears to be on the verge of making a sarcastic comment, but when he looks down and sees Sersi practically glowing up at him, it dies in his throat, and a warm smile grows in its place. "Yeh," he murmurs, turning back to the house and stepping back inside. Lilian glances up from a chair in the corner. "Back so soon?"

Honeyed dimples return Dagda's smile, and Sersi, this time ungrudgingly, steps back into the house alongside him. "No sign of them outside-- so I asked Dag to show me around your marvelous abode. Is that all right?" asks the doe for permission; her attitude has shifted slightly from her usual upright demeanor-- a curious and childlike manner replaces it.

"Yeh, of course it is, dear," Lilian replies, smiling from her seat. "Have fun." Dagda leads the way up the staircase, treading easily on the familiar wooden panels. "First we'll take a peek in th' othah rooms, then we can visit mine." They stop briefly outside each of the other rooms, and the buck tells her whose it is, and then they continue to the last room, which they enter. "This is it," Dag announces, looking around fondly. The room is composed of neat wood carpentry, all the corners square and trim fitted. A single bed dominates the small room, and a few sketches cover the walls. They're of various subjects, mostly flora and fauna, and are surprisingly accurate for the young age he must have been at when he drew them.

While the entire dwelling is captivating for the doe, whose own youth was spent within stone walls and behind militaristic barricades, Dagda's room draws the most intrigue; a peak into the depths of his psyche, perhaps-- or perhaps she's just a young doe, curious about a buck. Sersi beams, mouth opening to emit a giggle at the sight. "Ahh, neat!" she blurts, paw escaping his grasp as she darts straight for the drawings. She ogles for several long moments, attention focused solely on the walls; and then she sheepishly peers back at Dagda for questioning. "You did these? They're really quite splendid!"

"Yeh, I... used t' draw a lot," he replies, turning his own eyes towards one of the sketches. "Young Dag wanted t' document all th' local plants in detail." A paw reaches out to brush over the dry parchment. "Got most of 'em."

"You didn't finish?" Sersi prods, once-ecstatic eyes narrowing to sternly inspect the buck. She turns back to examine the drawings further. "How long did it take y'tah draw all of these?" And spinning around once more, she plods over to his bed to test it out; she plops down, bouncing a few times.

"It took time t' draw 'em this big," he explains, still studying the sketch. "An' then I went t' th' Patrol." He blinks, glancing over at her, then steps over to sit beside her. "I still draw some in m' journal, but 'm usually a little busy f' that."

With her arms as stalwart leverage for her torso, the doe leans back comfortably-- more comfortably than she has in almost a season while floating from dormitory to dormitory, and trading rucksacks for cots and cots for what now seems essentially like planks, in her mind. /This/ is comfortable. "It's a shame; m'sure it'd be useful to have such a catalogue in one's possession, especially for healers," she notes, chin dipping as she looks at Dagda with her big ol' brown eyes. "M'impressed, though."

"Well, they're too /big/ t' make any kind of catalogue," Dagda refutes, gesturing with one paw at the large sketches. "You'd nevah fit them in a handbook of any sort." When he turns back to her from the sketches, his movement slows and relaxes, losing its didactic mood as the healer stares into those deep, beautiful brown eyes.

"I saw books bigger than my /torso/ in the library at Redwall," debunks the doe, wriggling her nose in defiance. "Just f'r reference, at the very least; perhaps it'd truly be a tome, but if ye want to keep these to yourself, I won't force you. They're /your/ drawings."

Dagda laughs softly, unable to deny the truth of her words. "Well, I s'pose so," he answers, still sounding a little uncertain. "Still think they'd be bettah smallah. That way y' could carry it with you." The buck is silent, gazing contentedly at the doe beside him.

"I'll give you that," Sersi concedes, shifting her weight to the arm nearest Dagda as her torso swivels toward him. "... though m'sure you could get some poor recorder to transcribe it into a smaller edition, for the sake of hand-held knowledge." Her addendum is followed by a quick grin, and a change of subject; "What's the general plan for the evening? Dinner? ...ah! I just realized I failed to bring a gift for your parents!" She blushes at the thought, and frowns. "How uncouth."

"Don't worry about it," Dagda assures her, moving his paw in a little casting-off gesture and proceeding to drop it atop hers. "They won't mind. Eventually we'll be passing through th' mahket anyways, an' I'll buy you somethin' there t' give t' them." He nods. "An' I assumed we'd be eatin' dinnah here."

Sersi's fingers squirm under his, and her gaze drops thoughtfully downward. Scooting slightly nearer, she murmurs,

"Guess y'would know them best; so worry not, I will." She looks back up while biting her bottom lip. "So. Your mum said I was the first doe she's ever seen y'bring home," she begins; "Seems funny, with you being so, ahm, handsome, and-- heh-- charming. No does 'round here good enough f'r ye, healer?"

"Well," Dagda begins, choosing his words semi-carefully as his fingers find the spaces between hers. "I went t' th' Patrol when I was pretty young. Had some crushes before tha', but nothin' majah, y' know how 'tis." His thumb rubs hers distractedly while he talks. "Once I was in th' Patrol, m' exposure t' does was pretty much limited t' th' ones in th' mountain, and they're eithah tough an' ugly or pretty an' dumb." Pretty much sums it up.

"How long've you been in the patrol, anyhow? Y'can't be much older than me," she chirrs, still absentmindedly wiggling her fingers; dull claws trail lightly through the fur on Dagda's paw. "An' what categories do /I/ fall under?" she fishes, lopsided grin unable to hide itself.

"'Bout... three seasons," Dagda replies, looking up at the ceiling. "Little less, prob'ly. Hard t' believe it's been that long." With a charming smile, the healer turns his attention to answering her second question. "Since y' not /from/ th' mountain, y' fall undah th' category of surprisingly tough, extremely intelligent, an' incredibly pretty."

A timid laugh flutters from Sersi's throat, and regardless of however expected his answer is, hearing it from him has a strange effect. Or normal, really: the hare's ears and cheeks flush immediately, and she turns her focus down to avoid direct eye contact-- a little overwhelming, that might be. "Ah. Ahm. I see," she sputters, still grinning shyly. "Y'like the foreign does, eh?" she teases.

"This one," he answers, giving her paw a little squeeze. It's surprising how normal it is for her to be there in his childhood bedroom, perched on the edge of his bed and gazing at his artwork. Dagda was expecting it to be a lot more odd, but... it isn't. And just as this revelation occurs to him, a voice penetrates the floorboards. "Dag? 'ey, Dag! Go find y' Da' f'r me, ok?" "Alright mum," the healer replies, tilting his head down and away from the doe to avoid shouting in Sersi's ear. "Guess we got t' go," he explains sheepishly, turning his gaze back to her.

Sersi, finding the spunk to lift her eyes back up to Dagda, gives him a sincere smile; she seems radiant, at the moment, under the light of his attention. The sudden awareness of how /right/ it feels occurs to the doe at precisely the same moment as it does him, but the sudden shout splinters her thoughts back to reality. "... oi. Aye, s'pose the tour is over," she comments coolly, swaying into his side to prod him with her shoulder.

"Yeh, it seems so." Dagda uses the springs in the mattress to help himself to his feet, turning to help her up. "Le's go find m' da' so you c'n say y've met th' whole fam'ly."

Sersi clutches onto Dagda's aiding paw to hoist herself up, nodding as she does. "Right, right; to the docks it is," is her distrait assent.

Dagda keeps close to the doe, his grip on her paw soft but tight as he heads back down the hallway towards the stairs. As he begins the descent, his mother glances up at him. "Y' da' should be near th' docks, Dag. 'Least tha's what 'e told me." The buck nods, moving towards the door. "Alright, mum, we'll check there first. Ready, Sersi?"

"Aye, let's fetch him," replies the doe, gaze pried from the stairs as they reach the door. She turns to the other doe to offer a curt wave and delightful smile; "You have a love home, Mrs. Fintan-- er, Lilian, that is! We shouldn't be long."

"Thank y', dear," Lilian replies, waving from her seat in the corner. Dagda turns the doorknob and swings the door in, stepping out onto the porch and then the pavers of the walkway. "Alright, th' docks..."

Squinting in the sudden brilliance of the sun, Sersi sticks near Dagda as they step out, and allows him to show the way. "What sort of projects does your dad do?" she wonders, canting her neck so that she may view the buck better. "... and what sort of things does your mum like? M'clueless for a gift."

"All mannah of things," Dag replies, heading down a sidestreet instead of going through the square. "An' she'll like anythin' y' give her, Sersi," he tells her, smiling down at the shorter hare. "Prob'ly not expectin' anythin'. But if y' really need ideas, flowahs f' th' table always seem t' go ovah well with her."

Sersi, smirking at the vagueness of his replies, gives Dagda's side a clement push with her free paw. "'All mannah of things,'" she echos, coyly mocking his accent and obscure answer. "... /flowers/-- why didn't I think of that? Simple and suitable..." She trails off, gaze briefly slipping to the ground before popping back up to the taller buck. Her pale fur is luminous in the light of the day.

"Well it's /true,/" Dagda replies, teasingly affronted. "He /does/ work on all mannah of projects an' whatnot." Turning his eyes ahead, he points at a small stand a short distance away. "There's a flowah vendah. Y' c'n pick out th' ones y' want, ok?"

"M'sure he /does/, but what /sort/ of projects? Is he a dawdler, or do they serve any purpose? Give me something to work with, here, Dag-- 've got to make a good impression," spews the doe, words joking at first but growing fretfully more worried. The flowers are only moderate distraction; she tugs him along, not breaking their grasp, to eye the selection. "A bouquet of Caterbury Bells and false goat's beard," she tells the vendor while leaning to sniff the blooming assortment. "And a few marigolds, as well," she adds.

VendorMouse plucks up the requested flowers, putting them together and tying them with a piece of twine. Colored paper is wrapped around the stems, and the bouquet is exchanged with Dagda for a pawful of copper coins. Handing them to her, Dagda tries to find the words to explain what his dad does. "Well, it depends, really. Usually they have a purpose, but sometimes 'is projects are jus' that; projects." Hopefully this one's good.

Not quite! "What are their purposes? An example would be nice," Sersi pushes, taking the flowers and cradling them against her chest; her nose dips into their pedals, eyes closing to avoid errant pollen, and she whiffs them with quasi-intoxicated zeal. "Mm," she murrs, happy with the aroma.

"Well, one time he invented an' built a new type of device t' hoist th' fish out of th' boats when they dock at th' port," Dagda explains, grinning with satisfaction at her obvious pleasure with the purchased flowers. "Usin' pulleys an' whatnot."

"I see," replies the somewhat ill-attentive doe as she glances back at Dagda; "Do they still use it?" Still holding the flowers close to her chest, she turns to offer a clipped smile to the vendor. "Thank y' very much!"

"My pleasure, little lady," VendorMouse replies, doffing his little VendorCap. Dagda carries on answering her questions. "I think so. They were before th' big storm, anyway."

Interest piqued, Sersi returns her full attention to Dagda as she begins walking again; all agog, this doe is. "Big storm?" she rings, mulling over the notion; "How big a storm? ... are there often storms here? --I should like to see it, if it's still standing."

"Huge," Dagda answers, his speech slowing as he remembers that day and the weeks after. "Worst 've evah seen. Half th' village was destroyed, practically." There are still little signs of the hurricane; repairs on the more permanent structures, completely fresh buildings or sections of buildings. "We get storms, I mean, they get storms about as often as anywhere else. But bein' this close t' th' ocean, th' big ones are a lot worse."

"All that water," Sersi mulls, head bobbing. "I can't imagine how destructive a force it'd be; I'd be glad not to know personally." She brings her empty paw up Dagda's arm, clutching onto his bicep. "How long ago was it? Your family's home didn't appear so greatly affected."

"'d say about a year ago." The hare glances down at her when she grabs onto his arm, mustering a smile despite the sorrow in his eyes. "Th' cottage wasn' hit too badly, an' Da's a good carpentah. An' he had Bran t' help him, too." Dag shakes his head, turning his eyes back to the road. "No, it was th' little seaside shanties tha' got th' worst of it."

"M'sorry," speaks the doe regretfully, discerning his despondency, and falling quiet as she searches for an easier subject; there's not much to say to that, really. She offers as much condolence as she can, being so far removed from the event. "... least everything seems to be getting back into order... for most, I hope." Her eyes shift downward, but her paw give his arm a tender squeeze. "So, anyway-- let's move a bit more quickly, aye? For the sake of y'r mum's request."

"Oh, righ', righ', that," Dagda murmurs, blinking to bring himself out of the past. "Ok. Jus' turn down that street, and at th' end of th' block, we're there." The time travels as quickly as the distance, and the two find themselves arriving at the docks. Casting around briefly, Dagda spots his father without too much effort. "Ovah there, Sersi," he mutters in her ear. "Workin' on that crane-type thing." A tough, middle-aged hare is perched atop a ladder propped against a wooden construct, hammer in one paw and nails in the other. The ladder is balanced by a younger, youthful looking hare that looks a lot like a younger version of the healer at Sersi's side.

Sersi's inquisitive vision settles on the two hares, and her sharp eyes immediately notice the resemblance; she does a double take, before turning to grin broadly at Dagda. "Your brother looks /just/ like ye," she states of the obvious, beaming. "You'll have t'watch me around 'im, should I get bored with you-- he's quite fetching." She lets loose of the bucks arm, paces quickening to step ahead of him, excitement getting the better of her. "Master Fintan?" she calls out to the older buck, pausing to allow Dagda to catch up before she waves.

Both of the hares working on the derrick look over, both squinting in the sunlight to see who's calling their name. Bran remains silent, but Dag's father, higher up, sees Dagda coming behind the doe. "I figured this day'd come eventually," he murmurs with a sigh before calling out, "Aye, miss? An' who's that strappin' buck ye've brought with ye?" Bran's eyes narrow, then widen as he recognizes his brother. "Dag!"

"I sincerely hope that was jus' a tease, Sersi," Dagda notes with a chuckle as he catches up with her, slipping his paw into hers. "Besides, we look nothin' like each othah."

Sersi smirks up at Dagda without direct reply; but as his paw slips into hers, the twinkle of fondness in her eyes betray her jest. "You may not see it-- but /I/ certainly do; better have your eyes checked by another healer when we get back to the mountain," sallies the maid. Heed driven back to the pair on the docks, she waits until they're a bit nearer to continue speaking-- it's not ladylike to yell! "... Good afternoon," she greets more formally, though her cherub's grin can't be quelled.

Mr. Fintan makes his way down the ladder easily, following shortly behind Bran as the two quickstep it over to the pair. Dagda steps forward a little, still holding on to Sersi's paw and gesturing towards her with the other. "Da', Bran, this is Sersi... 'm sure I've mentioned her a time or two," he adds with a smile. "Try a million," Bran asserts, grinning broadly at Sersi. His eyes turn down from her face, to their paws, to his brother's face, back to their paws, and back up, the grin widening. "It's good t' meet you," the older hare tells her, giving her a nod as her paws are full. "Th' name has... come up once or twice," he confirms, a gruff cheer in his expression.

"Oh-- has he, now? A million?" Sersi turns to give Dagda a once-over look, bemused smirk slapped across her features. "... in fair light, I'd hope-- though m'curious as to what Dagda would have to say about me, exactly." She twists back toward the father and brother, paw reaching out to the former to offer in ritual greeting. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you; 've heard some about ye, but I'd like to hear more. Over dinner, perhaps."

"Good things," Mr. Fintan reassures her, wiping his paws on a rag. Bran nods in tacit agreement. "'d like t' move along t' dinnah, too," he remarks. "Aye, Mum sent me t' find you," Dagda adds, nodding. "Shouldn' keep her waiting too long."

Sersi gives Dagda a light jab with her elbow, as well as another sidelong glance-- with any luck, she'll perhaps live up to whatever expectation this dear buck has set. "-- aye, we should not; you two will most definitely need time to wash up!" She flashes a quick grin at Bran. "Lest you wish to offend the ladies."

Bran's eyes widen, looking down at his semi-dirty paws. "What? I don't stink. At least I don't think..." Dagda and his father chuckle, the healer giving Sersi's paw a little squeeze. "Let's get going, then."

"A charming duo of sons you have here, Mister Fintan," Sersi quips, dipping her head in gesture to the two. "Even if one still has a bit of learning t'do about does, he's charmed me without even trying. You'll need to keep watch on him." She grins, and turns to lead the return to their home.

"Which one is that?" Mr. Fintan replies, laughing. "You can call me Conor. Mister Fintan is for strangers an' young bucks." The oldest hare matches pace with Dagda, and Bran comes up beside Sersi. "So where are y' from again, Sersi?" Bran inquires, looking over at the doe.

"I see who they take after, now, Conor," chirps the doe, peering past Dagda to give an impish wink, but her playful jive is cut short by Bran's query. She looks over her shoulder to meet his gaze; "A faraway place amidst mountains and snow," she vaguely states with a light chuckle. "Firedale, it's called, of all the names they could choose. For the Firedale family; a royal one. S'where I lived till a season ago."

"If it's filled with mountains and snow, why do they call it Firedale?" Bran's curiosity blends with light confusion. The other two Fintans look on, expectantly awaiting the answer.

"To trick good hares into living there; it seems an inviting name, doesn't it?" is Sersi's humurously wicked reply. For entertainment's sake! "Until you get there-- and you're stuck, like I was. It was a long time before I was able to escape; I found solace at the abbey, and adventure in the mountain." She nods to further sanctify her tall tale.

"Sounds like a desert or somethin' t' me," Bran announces, looking skeptical. "Bet there's not very many livin' there."

"Be civil, Bran," Conor reprimands, giving his younger son a sharp look. Dagda just holds on to Sersi's paw, letting his family get used to Sersi's social graces.

"To you, perhaps, but if you're surrounded by frigid lands, it sounds much warmer, and more inviting," Sersi assures Bran. She pauses for a time, grinning to herself with self-contained amusement. "There are still many who dwell there and abide by the castle's rule; my father is amongst them, actually."

"He's a general, isn't he?" Dagda asks, as if he's forgotten. Conor looks up at that, listening a bit more closely.

Sersi, sensing Conor's heightened attention, diverts her story to one of some truth. "Aye, General Soter Eleftherian; the buck who taught me all I know, or most of what I know," she says, gaze slipping downward for a brief, but thoughtful, time. "... wish y'could meet him."

"Sounds like quite a buck," Conor remarks, after a short period of silence. "Nevah met a general before." Dagda nods, giving Sersi a soft smile. He knew that would impress the ol' man. "Me neithah." Now it's Bran's turn. "I bet Colonel Zoe Lang outranks him though, righ' Da'?" Conor shakes his head. "No, Bran, she wouldn't. Different organizations, though; th' Patrol isn' y' average outfit."

"S'hard to say; it's a slightly different structure in Firedale, though m'sure they'd view each other as equals, regardless of correlating ranks. 'e's still kickin', too; active duty when I left, though I wish 'e'd retire, for the sake of his sanity. No offense to the Patrol, or to the army of Firedale, but he really puts everything into 'is duty. At least he'll go down in the books." She quiets down for a time, mulling over what she's said, then, "Dagda told me y'used t'be in the Patrol, Conor."

"'e told y' th' truth, then." Conor nudges his son on the shoulder. "He tell y' any tall tales about m' exploits?" They're getting quite close to the house, now.

"Just about the time y'slew a brigade of weasels with nothin' but your bare paws," she says with a grin, glancing back to Bran to see if he falls for the bluff. Once they get near enough to the house, Sersi spins around and clasps her free paw upon Dagda's, thusly pinning his between both of hers. "I should see if your mum needs any help, aye?"

"Well, /that/ one's true," Conor replies, swinging the door open. "Lily! Y' miss me, darlin'?" "It's about /time/ you lot showed up," comes the answer. "Dag's brought company, f' seasons sake, an' none of you are t' be found!" One ear tilted towards the house, Dag just laughs, handing Sersi back her flowers. "Here y' go. Go 'head an' see if she needs it."

As the older doe chides, Sersi watches with fond amusement. Finding a time to interrupt, she trots nearer to Lilian, and holds out the gathered arrangement of flowers to show. "We got these for the table," she declares, then, "Should I put them in some water for you?" And then some more; "Need any help with preparing the food?" She doesn't quite realize how eager she sounds; it's been a while since she's spoken with any motherly sort of doe.

"Oh, lovely!" Lilian gushes, taking the flowers with enthusiasm. "I have a vase around 'ere somewhere that will work /perfectly/ with these..." She begins rummaging in the cabinets. "I've got most of the food undah control, but you c'n check on th' stew in th' pot ovah there if y'r really hankerin' f' somethin' t' help with." Bran and Conor converge on the waterpump, taking turns washing their paws while the other pumps up water. Dagda just watches from the doorway, a happy smile planted squarely on his face. They're bonding!

"Ah-- aye! M'on it, then," Sersi chirps, all aflutter with glee; she slips over to the stove and grabs a small rag nearby to lift the lid, and with her other paw she picks up a large spoon to stir. "Smells good, and looks good." And it does!

The maiden continues to whirl the pot's contents for another moment, savoring the scent, before tapping the spoon against its rim to dislodge the bits that cling. She glances back at Dagda, brow arching at his obvious delight. And then her stomach growls.

At the glance and the eyebrow, Dag steps into the kitchen, making his way around his family to the doe. "How's th' stew comin'?" he asks, looking into the pot. In the background, Lilian pushes the bucks aside, filling her vase with water and inserting the flowers. She bustles out to place them on the table.

Sersi displaces the pot's lid once more, tilting her torso aside so that he may see for himself. "Great, I think," she murmurs, glancing up to watch his expression. "S'much better than the tuck at the mountain, that's for sure; I haven't had a good home cooked meal in /so long/. The abbey's food is good, there's no denying-- but there's somethin' about a mum's homecooked meal..."

"..that is absolutely delicious," he finishes, grinning. "'m glad you're gettin' on well with m' family, Sersi," he whispers, the other two bucks behind him hunting for a towel to dry their paws. Bran finds one, hoisting it into the air with triumph.

"So am I," Sersi admits, eyes straying to watch the searching pair. "I was, ahm, pretty nervous about that, t'be honest." As if it weren't obvious. "They're very sweet; you're lucky t'have such a nice family."

Dagda laughs softly, taking her paw to set the lid back on the stew. "Everyone around here is like this, I bet," he counters, as the two other bucks dry their paws and Lilian reenters the kitchen. She heads for the oven, pulling the door open to check inside. "Rolls are comin' along nicely, looks like. Everythin' 'll be ready in just a few minutes."

"If they truly are, then what a slice of heaven this place is," supports the doe, smiling as she steps back from the stove. She continues to watch the bustle of activity that is Lilian, careful to stay out of her way. "I can't wait-- m'starving, suddenly. Guess the smell of good food'll do that to you," she blandishes, directing most of her words in the other doe's general direction. "You'll have t'teach me to cook someday."

Sersi ushers the empty vessels a few steps ahead of Dagda and Lilian, and sets them neatly onto the table before ensuring there's ample room for the pottage and rolls to be set. Stepping aside, she indicates to the cleared space with an embellished gesture. "There we go," she murmurs, grinning.

Dagda sets the pot on the table, ducking back into the kitchen for silverware. He reemerges with spoons for everyone and a large ladle for the stew. Bran and Conor are already seated at the table, and Lilian enters with a basket of rolls, ensconcing them alongside the flowers Sersi gave her. "There, now isn't that beautiful," she says, clasping her paws.

Nodding to Lilian, Sersi takes the mother's admiration of the spread as sign to sit down, as well; she pulls out her own chair and slips into the seat, then scoots forward before crossing her legs beneath the table. She sets her paws tensely in her lap to conceal her fidgeting-- distracted small talk amidst tasks is one thing, but now she's trapped amongst these Fintans for as long as dinner lasts. Front and center! Which won't be too bad, as long as she keeps her mouth full. "Mm," she hums.

Dagda and Lilian sit down as well, Dagda on Sersi's left, his mother to his left, then Conor, then Bran on Sersi's right.

Lilian immediately takes up Conor's paw and Dagda's paw, who takes Sersi's. Conor takes Bran's, who puts his open paw on the table for Sersi. "We always give thanks for th' food," Lilian explains softly.

Well, that's something to do with her paws. Sersi looks over to Dagda as he takes her, and catching the drift she reaches over to hold Bran's. "Oh, of course," is her hushed reply, then she falls silent, eyes greeting the table, awaiting the supper time orison.

Leading seems to be Conor's job. Everyone bows their heads, and the oldest hare begins. "Seasons come an' seasons go, creatures die an' flowahs grow. Thanks we give before we eat, every time we come to meet. Seasons blessing, always stay on our family every day." There's a brief moment of silence, and then everyone looks up, smiling at each other and the food. "Bran, you start th' rolls," Lilian instructs, "an' I'll serve th' stew." The doe gets to her feet, reaching out towards Sersi. "Let me fill your bowl, dear."

"Aye-- thank you," Sersi chirps, suddenly antsy in her seat; she scoots over a tad to allow Lilian better reach as she holds her bowl up. The young doe watches eagerly as the stew gushes into her bowl, and when the rolls reach her she takes one, tearing a small piece off to pop into her mouth.

It doesn't take long for the rolls to make their circuit and all the bowls to be filled. Lilian takes her seat again, a pleased smile on her face as she watches Sersi's response to her cooking. Bran takes a large bite straight from his roll, munching enthusiastically and stirring his soup. "So Sersi," Conor begins, starting up a conversation, "Dag's told us that y've joined th' Patrol."

Before Conor segues into discussion, Sersi dips her roll into the stew, allowing the bread to soak up a bit of liquid. She takes a bite, and hurriedly chews as his words come dancing across the table. "Ahm," she starts, swallowing. "Not quite, yet, actually; I spoke with a few higher-ups, but I haven't officially enlisted-- just expressed an interest." She mulls over this a moment. "With my sister an' all," she adds, but doesn't finish the thought.

"Your sister?" Conor asks, spooning up some soup and allowing it to cool in the air.

Sersi fiddles with her fork, feeling a bit on-spot by the inquiries; perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned it, but when this doe is nervous, she tends to divulge too much information. And here it goes: "Aye, uh-- she takes after our mum's health; always sick, y'know. She's at Redwall Abbey now, under the care of the Order, but I can't risk not being around if she falls ill again."

"Oh, well, that's perfectly sensible, dear," Lilian replies, giving her a motherly smile. "It's sweet of you t' take care of y' sistah like that." When she's finished, the doe gives Conor a 'don't pry' look. "That's where we met, actually," Dagda says between bites of soup. "When th' Patrol was asked t' Redwall t' take care of th' kidnappings."

Sersi's eyes lift to find Lilian's smile, which is comforting; she does continue to poke nervously at her stew instead of really eating, though. "Thanks, Lilian; I try, at least," she replies, then nods at the buck's words. "Aye. That Blackfur bloke caused quite a stir-- me an' Gregorian an' Ava helped this mouse infiltrate 'is camp. An' then I got stabbed by a weasel, heh," tells the doe, and then she murmurs to Dagda, "... dunno if you remember that. Spent the night in the infirmary."

Dagda about half-chokes on his stew. "What?" He never heard that. The buck turns his gaze towards the doe, moving his chair back a little to get a bitter view. "Where at?"

Sersi blinks, startled at the reaction she's stirred from the buck. "Well, you can't see it right /now/," alerts the doe, grinning faintly. She does indicate to the left side of her ribcage, however, with her index finger, "Around thereabouts. It's healed now, of course."

"About this big?" he asks, holding up two fingers. "Stitched with green thread?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Sersi affirms, nodding. "Guess you didn't remember, eh?"

"No, I remembah," Dag says, shaking his head. "I didn' know that was /you./ That was a nasty wound, Sersi. I can't believe I didn' put th' face with tha' nigh' till now." He releases a sigh, sitting back in his chair. The rest of the family just sort of watches in a collective stunned silence.

The trio of flabbergasted hares puts Sersi slightly on edge, and she attempts to diffuse the seriousness of Dagda's concern. "Wasn't /that/ bad," she attempts to assure, shrugging, but her furrowed brow reveals her unease. "And y'wouldn't blink twice if it had been some big old Patrol buck, I'd bet."

"It's not that, I jus' feel like a terrible healah now," Dagda replies, with a soft chuckle to help defuse the situation.

"S'posed t' remembah our patients, y' know?" The rest of the family seems to relax a little. "Well, there's nothin' wrong with not joinin' th' Patrol, eithah," Lilian announces. "I certainly nevah joined up with those hotheads." She elbows her husband teasingly.

"Well, considering the scar, I wouldn't say you're exactly the best," Sersi jests, raising a paw to his arm to give a pitying pet. She smiles at Lilian, nodding; "S'true-- my ladylike sensibilities don't exactly mesh with the rough an' tumble life of a soldier." Hah. Really? "We'll see."

"Well, if 'd 've known how important th' patient was, I would have administered more propah care," Dagda retorts. Obviously. "Those were busy days in th' infirm." Bran seems unaffected by the mood of the rest of the gathering, taking another large bite of his dinner roll. "So you got stabbed?"

Sersi just grins at Dagda, shaking her head. He'll have to live with his shoddy work now. "Yep, I did get stabbed-- but the weasel's dead now, so I think I faired pretty well, considering," she says to Bran, eyes lighting with tickled amusement. "So you'll be joining the Patrol soon, aye?"

"That's righ'!" Bran replies, sticking the last of his roll in his mouth. "'m not gonna be some healah type, though."

"Not a fan of the healing arts, are you?" Sersi queries, eyeing the younger buck before sneaking in a few bites of soup-soaked bread. "What's your 'type', then?"

"I dunno, runnah or fightah. Somethin' like that," he answers, going for his spoon now. Dagda chuckles, shaking his head. "I may have scared him out of it with my stories about th' infirm," he notes dryly.

Sersi's lips curl into a knowing smirk. "I don't blame you, then; s'why I never ventured down that path," states the doe, stirring the contents of her bowl. "I don't know how you healers do it." Then to Bran, "Have you practiced with any weapons yet?"

"Not really," Bran answers. "Da' says I should wait that way I don' learn any bad habits that m' teachers would have t' correct." Both Dagda and Conor nod sagely at this, while Lilian just chuckles. "Y' didn't tell her about that time y' did amputations down by th' beach, did y', Dag?" she asks.

"S'good advice." Sersi nods agreeably, and opens her mouth to almost say something else-- but her judgement sways her to stop, as well as Lilian's flippant mention of, uh, /amputations down by the beach/? Sersi takes the bait, eyes widening with alarm, though intrigue follows. "You did /what/?" she questions, giving Dagda a sidelong glance. "... hope that's not your usual idea of a good time."

"That was aftah th' storm," Dagda replies, as if that explains everything. He turns his eyes down at his stew, not making eye contact with anyone. "So," Conor begins, changing the subject quickly, "How far away is Firedale? Days of travel, if nothing else."

Oh, no. Bad joke. Sersi blinks, still watching the buck at her side, she herself looking disheartened for a time; doleful eyes eventually shift to Conor, and she murmurs a soft, "sorry," to Dagda before switching to lighter talk. "A fortnight-- if not slightly longer-- it was from Firedale to the abbey, but we traveled swift and light, my sister and I," she tells him.

"Not terribly far, then," Conor remarks, munching on a bit of celery from the stew. "A Patrol runnah could covah that distance in half th' time." "Conor's very proud of the Patrol's runnahs. His brothah was a runnah, seasons rest him," Lilian offers to Sersi by means of explanation.

"I'll have t'train with the runners, then," Sersi says, grinning at the pair. She diverts her attention, then, to finding a moment to delve into her stew once more; she hums quietly as she chews. "Your cooking's amazing," blandishes the doe.

"Thank you, dear." Lilian just eats the compliments up. For a moment, all is silent while everyone just concentrates on eating without the distracting business of conversation. Dagda seems especially quiet, and he's not really eating much of his stew anymore, either.

Sersi's ever-watchful eyes eventually pick up on Dagda's polarity; perhaps it's obvious why he's suddenly grim, but an attentive urge sends her paw to brush against his arm to get his attention, anyway. "... not hungry?" she queries innocently, then, "... are you all right?" Her words are whispered, but the silence no doubt allows everyone to hear her regardless of how quiet she tries to be.

"I'm fine," Dag answers quietly, shaking his head. "Just.. bad memories." The healer squeezes his eyes tightly shut, and when he opens them, he seems more like his usual self. He lifts another spoonful of stew to his mouth. "Th' soup's good, Mum. Y've done well considerin' th' unexpected company."

Sersi's paw remains on Dagda's arm, and she watches him carefully for a time, bottom lip pinched between her teeth.

A look of mild remorse settles on her face, but she draws back when he begins to eat again. File this away under, 'not suitable table talk.' "Aye, thanks for having me on such little notice, Lilian," she adds, then returns to her bowl.

Lilian smiles gently, appreciative of the compliment but not blind to her son's demeanor. "It's no trouble, dear. We're happy t' have you." Conor nods, smiling as well. "Come with Dag any time y' like, miss Sersi."

"Well, I am much obliged, still," thanks the doe, fishing vegetation from her dish of which she daintly partakes, all the while casting intermittent looks toward Dagda, eyes still seeking his. And in attempt to draw the conversation out of its current slump, her gaze settles upon Conor; "Dagda has told me of your, ahm, projects? He mentioned you built something t'help the fishermen, aye?"

"Yeh, Bran an' I have been doin' some work on fixin' it up aftah th' last storm," Conor replies, slowly spooning stew from his serving. "Took a bit of a beatin', I guess."

"Back in working order yet?" Sersi queries further, then glances down at her bowl; almost done. She twists her biscuit between her paws, breaking a piece to drop into the juices of the bowl. The other piece remains held, and she nibbles idly at it. "...I'd like to see it some time, if y'd be willing to show it. Have any other contraptions lyin' about?"

"Just about," Conor answers, ears laying back idly as he finishes up his stew. "I don't see why not. And I've got a few, yeh." Dagda still quietly picks at his stew.

"Ah, fantastic." The doe smiles sweetly at the older buck, then again glances at Dagda; this time, her gaze is neighbored by a stray foot, which collides with his leg. "I must tag along next time Dagda visits, then," she says, looking to Conor.

The kick jars Dagda slightly, and the buck looks up sharply, blinking. "Oh, sorry," he murmurs, turning his eyes back to Sersi. "I'll be sure t' bring you."

Sersi rimples her forehead, spoon thoughtfully tapping twice against the rim of her dish as her eyes pry from the buck beisde her. She eventually delves back into her food, aiming to finish. Which she does. Then to Lilian, she offers, "I'll do th' dishes. aye?"

"I'll help you," Dag puts in, his own bowl half-full but apparently done with. Bran looks thrilled. "That means I don't have to tonight, right Mum?" "Right, Bran." "Yes!" "But you'll get your turn t'morrow instead." "Aw!"

Sersi, beguiled by the exchange of mother and son, smiles as she presses against the table's edge, chair sliding back

as a result to grant her room to stand. "I'll go ahead an' get started, then," she says simply, gathering the plate before her as well as any other empty vessels within range to lug to the kitchen.

Dagda gets up as well, easily sliding the wooden legs of his chair back across the floorboards. The remaining empty dishes, as well as silverware and the roll basket, are gathered into his arms before he heads for the kitchen as well. Lilian sets about tidying up the table, while Bran and Conor adjourn from their seats.

Sersi is silent till Dagda is near enough and everyone else far enough. She begins scraping dishes into whatever receptacle there is for such things; compost, or whatever. She turns to Dagda as she does so, brow quirked inquisitively. "Should we get out of here soon?" she wonders quietly, watching his face.

"Probably," Dagda replies, following suit. "I love them, but they kinda put me on edge a little, y'know? Nevah know what they might say." The healer grins slightly, trying to put her more at ease. "Sorry about th' way I acted durin' th' meal. They don't really undahstand what that was like."

"I can see that," Sersi replies, pumping water into the sink which she uses to scrub the dishes, soap foaming at her wrists. "I thought your mum was joking, t'be honest, with how casual she brought it up." She wrinkles her nose as stray bubbles pop in her face, one eye clutched shut as if one had exploded too near. "...sorry."

"She probably was." Dagda siphons the clean dishes over into the other sink, stacking them in preparation for the rinsing. "It's fine. I shouldn't have been so hypah-sensitive. Y'see bad things in th' Patrol some times. Da' knows that."

"Mums will be mums." Her words slip out as intended support, though they seem too generalized to have much worth. But it's true."Though there's a difference between being affected by something substantial, and hyper-sensitive about something worthless. This is the former, I'd say," she adds.

"True," the healer murmurs, spinning the faucet and pumping water out over the soapy dishes, rinsing them clean. "Don't worry about it. We should be gettin' back t' th' mountain anyway."

"Y'think we really ought to?" questions Sersi, pausing in her scrubbing to tilt her head properly at the buck; she douses him with those sweet, dark eyes, hopeful wishes spilling from her tearducts. "...I thought maybe y'could show me around Halyard a li'le more since we're here."

( Dagda is terrible at resisting her when she gives him that look. His frosty blue eyes gaze back into her darker ones, then he nods, acquiescing. "Alrigh', I don' see any harm in it." )

Sersi nods swiftly, eyes still held by Dagda's; they rest on his while she finishes the last of the dishes, and then she rinses her own paws and shakes the water into the sink. "That's because there is no harm," vouches the doe, self-satisfied smile spreading broading across the plains of her face.

A soft chuckle ebbs out of Dagda's throat as he finishes the rinsing as well. "Alright, let's say goodbye t' th' folks, then, an' I'll take y' around town some more." The floral towel lying on the counter is plucked up to dry his paws, then passed off to Sersi.

Sersi's paws receive the towel wetly, and depart it slightly more dry; it is laid upon the counter, spread so that it may itself dry, now. She clasps a paw 'round her opposite wrist, bracelets jingling as she pops back into range of Lilian and Conor and Bran. "Dagda would like t'take me for a look-around town; hope you won't mind our taking off so soon," she states.

"Of course not, dear," Lilain answers from a chair beside her husband's across the room. "It was a pleasah t' have y', miss Sersi," Conor adds, seated in a similar chair. "Bran, I'll be back t' talk with you tomorrow," Dagda puts in over Sersi's shoulder.

"Was awfully nice meeting you," adds Sersi, taking a moment to employ a sly sleight of hand to lift one of the flowers from the vase. "M'sure y've heard it enough, but thanks for a wonderful dinner, as well, Lilian; brilliant, it was, so I'll see you soon again." The doe's legs then carry her to the door, where she turns to catch Dagda with a grin as she turns the latch, and presses into the door with her back. She swings out to gesture the buck's way.

Dagda gives his family a large smile that should communicate something along the lines of 'this is why I like her', then crosses the room, catching her paw in his and stepping out through the door. As he thumps it closed behind him, he murmurs, "I think that went well," in her ear.

Groups:

• Long Patrol