[On the morning of the 25th, outside Ramir's door, wherever she's staying, there is a nicely wrapped package, with a written letter tucked in at the top, next to a large ribbon. Inside is a little paper cut fairy, and a bowl of spaghetti. Said spaghetti is likely cold by now. Sorry.
Opening the letter reveals a maybe somewhat familiar font, which says:]
RAMIR,
HELLO AGAIN FRIEND!! I'M SORRY I HAVEN'T TALKED TO YOU MUCH LATELY, BEING BUSY IS NO EXCUSE TO NOT TALK TO FRIENDS!! HERE IS A CHRISTMAS GIFT AS AN APOLOGY, AND A THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FRIEND.
Hey Sorry to trench this back up, I should've gotten back to you while it was more current, but eel admit I was gillty of getting a little distracted. the whole porpoise of this text should be apundantly clear already, but in case I need to be more Pacific, let me scale it back for you. I'd like to take this opportunaty to ashore you that you're definitely one of the coolest catfish in all of ALASTAIR. positively polar! a littoral Wonder Woman! no matter what you do you're always krillin' it. this isn't up for debait, hell you'd have to be blind not to sea it. not that you'd ever need to be buoyed in that regard, you dolphinately know what you're all aboat, but it's always nice to hear it from a good chum every once and awhale, isn't it? ;)
[ Brought to Ramir's room at the inn one morning: a knife with an obsidian blade. The handle is carved of rainbow eucalyptus; it's a bright, colorful, delicate weapon. Good for a few defensive stabs, at least. Or as a distraction.
[Some time very shortly after everyone's done arguing over gods and they've managed to make landfall from Gilligan's Island and catch up with the rest of the crew and he's sussed out enough of the details of the kidnapping mess and subsequent rescue operation because he's a bullshit Bat—he goes looking for the horse's mouth. He's got a good head for aliases, but he checks the directory to be sure and—]
Elisabetta, huh?
[Wow who is this nosy asshole in your inbox, it is a mystery.]
she doesn't answer until she's had a chance to look up the directory and figure out who she's talking to — and also where he got that stupid name. (she REALLY has to figure out how to change that, wow) ]
1 don't fucking call me that 2 where are you? are you alright?
[ When Ramir gets back to Oska, she'll find something has been left at her door: a collapsible javelin: unbreakable, made of wood and steel, and enchanted to call down a localized downpour for 5 minutes once per day.
It comes with a note: ]
You need this more than I do! Get good with it and maybe we can spar the next time I see you!
[ in the morning, ramir will find a small package waiting for her just outside her quarters. inside, she'll find a white, knitted pouch, holding an assortment of individually-wrapped cookies, both of which were clearly handmade. beneath the pouch is the familiar alastair symbol in its traditional purple.
along with the package comes a simple card that reads:
[Ramir will receive her gift late into the evening, but it'll be waiting for her. Inside the box is a pair of loaded dice, finely crafted. Left with it is a note:]
Ramir,
Happy Holidays. Hopefully, these will help you out in the future. You won't need luck, just your wit.
[ even aryn couldn't pass up something as wholesome and pure as nondenominational winter celebration.
unfortunately, her begrudging participation has left her only with regret. she had taken a side entrance to the main hall, as there exists no winter spirit strong enough to get her to use a primary entrance; alas, what she failed to realize was that this was one of the ones marked with mistletoe.
trapped in the doorway, she leans up against the frame in the most casual manner possible given her movement limitations, watching the festivities with a surly glare. but also like... a cool one. it'd be way too embarrassing if anyone realized she was stuck-- what kind of an infiltrator would she be if she got caught?
a bad one. therefore: aloof and too cool for this party is the vibe she has to shoot for. anytime she makes eye contact with someone she immediately breaks it with a slight curl of the lip. the last thing she needs is for someone to come talk to her. ]
[ As soon as Ramir catches a glimpse of Aryn, it's game on. And sure, she'd said she was never going to talk to her, and basically demanded Aryn never talk to Ramir or anyone Ramir knows, but that was before the alcohol. The warmth currently buzzing through her brain insists that she should definitely go and talk to her, find out what the hell is up between them.
So that's what she does, striding over with a thin smile and a drink sloshing bright red (very spiked) punch out the sides. ]
Hey, Aryn! [ Bright and cheerful, like they were friends, and totally unmatched to the smile. ] How's it going? Make any friends? Seems kinda unlikely.
( Ramir will find a surprisingly sturdy bow dropped at her door, along with some very colorful arrows. she'll find a note attached with very messy scrawled print:
bow cop would be a horrible movie without a partner. just be gentler with this one.)
[On the evening of New Years, a little package has been left out for Ramir. It's been wrapped in a thin, decorative cloth. Upon unwrapping, inside is a diligently folded origami, and a note left inside addressed to Ramir.]
Ramir,
I have no expectations that you will wish to keep or acknowledge this, but I would not forget what I have shared with you. I do not share this gift in expectation for you to reciprocate anything.
Daughter of Jolanda, I have need of a woman's counsel. Soon shall come the day that bright-eyed Sieglinde, whom here I claim for my daughter, turns thirteen years of age. I am told that in this land, such an occasion marks a maiden's blooming into womanhood and thus warrants great celebration. Know you of this tradition? Then perhaps you might tell me how best this day ought to be marked, for among the Achaeans we honor it not. I would not wish to ignore the vital customs of this land, lest I turn unfriendly eyes upon me. Moreover, merriment makes for the heart a suitable salve when it aches.
Whoa, okay, hold up. First of all, who told you being thirteen makes her a woman? That's still stage two, for sure. So you know, don't hire any strippers for her birthday party, alright?
[It's all fun and games and zombie jokes until someone gets infected. Some time not too long after this Totally-Not-Suspicious exchange, after he's had some time to put some things together for himself—]
How long?
[Clipped and vague and foreboding, toneless and contextless as abrupt text likes to be. That bodes real well for the rest of this conversation.]
[ she knows immediately what she THINKS he's asking, but man, give a girl some context. there's no way she's just gonna come right out with the answer to that ]
uh did you forget to include me on the beginning of this convo
[ While it hadn't been the news either of them had been hoping for, catching the plague had its silver linings. A runner-up being not having to worry about touching anything anymore, but most importantly, not having to worry about touching his girlfriend through anything thinner than a blanket burrito. Not that that had, probably, done them any good, but the thought had counted. ]
[ It's still early, and all this time apart surely had to be made up like their lives depended on it. Which maybe they don't, but physical contact has always been in the prescription. Which is why he makes his dart out to the kitchen a quick one, just long enough to boil some water and mix up the last of the hot chocolate before he pounces back onto the bed beside her, some next-level mug-juggling action not spilling a drop as he settles in close. ]
Hey, [ as if he'd been gone all day. He holds the mug over her lap until she takes it, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth as he does. The foundation layered thick on her cheek catches him off-guard, and the noise he makes pulling back and wiping his lips only a little put off by reflex. ] Right— I forgot...
[ It's kind of stupid how glad Ramir gets when Sigma reappears. He wasn't even gone ten minutes; honestly, it's like she's lost all object permanence. But here it is, she's pleased to have him back again, as clearly evident in the glad smile that warms her face. She tosses aside her phone (it's all pictures she's seen a hundred times, anyway) and takes the mug with one hand while the other slides around his waist to pull him in closer.
That is, until the kiss. Then she makes a face, freeing up that hand again to brush over her cheek, smoothing out anything he'd messed up. ]
Come on, I just put this shit on. It'll dry soon, give it a sec.
[ Which won't make it totally kiss-proof... but it'll help. And a gentle scolding at least takes her mind off the fact that she has to wear it at all, and what he'd be seeing otherwise. Unpleasant thoughts, both. ]
The two of you are on your own for dinner tonight. There's lasagna in the freezer, normally it should thaw in the fridge overnight but you can make up for that by cooking it for longer at a lower temperature.
300F should be fine for 1 hr 40 min, then take the foil off and let it cook for another 15 minutes to crisp the top.
[ Absolutely no part of this is fair. Actually, it's pretty fair, considering he escaped all the real symptoms for the past month; no part of the cure is agreeing with him. Thankfully the exceptionally barfy feeling has died down for the evening, but it could barely even be called evening and he's ready to be down for the count for good. ]
[ Slinking tiredly back to the bedroom from the kitchen for the last time, Sigma sets aside a couple glasses of water on the end table before plowing face first into his pillow. ]
[ Muffled: ] This is like the hangover that never ends...
[ Like he has any room to complain, after the hell she's been through in the past month. Blindly, he reaches over to feel for her on the other side of the bed. He finds an arm, slips under it and around her waist, using it to pull himself a little closer and turn his head to face her. ]
[ Honestly, Ramir had been sleeping. She's been sleeping a lot. A lot since she was first thawed and hit with the cure, with a brief break to join in on the Percy manhunt (alienhunt?), then she'd come home and gone straight back into sleeping again. She's mostly dead to the world, though Sigma's clamber back into bed does manage to rouse her for at least a while. She instinctively curls toward him, wrapping both arms and a leg around whatever's available. ]
Mmwhat? [ No, wait, she actually did hear that question. It takes a few seconds of blinking herself up out of her fog before she's able to figure out an answer, though. ] Pretty fucking good.
[ You know, despite the coma-naps and the exhaustion. It's improvement, and that's exhilarating. (Or it would be, if she had the energy for exhilaration.) She even manages a smile, freeing up one of her hands to brush Sigma's hair back from his face. ]
[ everything is always grand and important with Achilles, urgent news doesn't strike her as anything too noteworthy. so there's a sizeable pause, then a bunch of lazy scuffling noises when she finally gets her magitek link up and running.
sounding, in turn, sleepy and distracted: ] Hey, son of Peleus. What's up?
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