The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[Zevran]

Zevran ignores Carbonne, his focus entirely upon his husband. "Good morning, Shisou," he says quietly, squeezing his ankle briefly. "And good it is indeed, as it's yet another morning free of the Sick Bitch." And I was able to give pleasure to our lady love, something I had no little fear would not be tolerable much less desired by her. But perhaps that is not the best thing to share at current. "How are you feeling?"

[Shisou]

"Fine," mutters Shisou. He's learned in the past few days that Zevran can be relentless in all his cheer; he won't leave off until he gets an answer, though Shisou doesn't really have one to give. What changes from moment to moment, hour to hour? Very little. So what use is there dwelling on how he is? As though it were ever going to change?

[Zevran]

"No change then?" Zevran hazards, trying to sound positive about it. "Good, good, means you're still stable! We'll be arriving this afternoon; finding you a healer is first on the list."

[Shisou]

Shisou makes a small, wordless sound, something like an assent. 

[Zevran]

"And perhaps you might enjoy," a slight wince, "getting some fresh air that isn't rushing by us at four times the speed of a galloping horse, mmh? A nice walk in a quiet woods, sunlight dappling through the leaves, soft birdsong gentling the silence, the scent of fresh flowers and trees?"

[Shisou]

Another soft noise, this time a negative-sounding croon, almost a whine. Carbonne winces at that, tail lashing in obvious distress, though xe tries to ignore it and look dignified. 

[Zevran]

"Not much a fan of the, ah, 'great outdoors' I gather?"

[Shisou]

Not a fan of getting up, at the moment. Another soft whine. 

[Zevran]

Scooting up the bed, Zevran runs his fingertips through Shisou's hair. "I know, my friend," he says quietly. "It is a terrible thing, this feeling of... hollow, brittle, heavy... fog that fills up everywhere and pushes out everything. When we do arrive, there is... There is a common bard spell that infuses a person with a false passion, a deepening of self. It is not a cure and it-- Well, honestly? It makes the fog's return feel twice as bad until the fog takes even that away. But for that time, it will allow you to at least muster enough to speak on your own affairs." I hope.

[Shisou]

Shisou tries to shake his head, but the energy it takes to shift it slightly drains him, and he gives up after just a little shift. No, it's not like that. I can think just fine. I just don't.... care. I can't bring myself to want to move. 

[Zevran]

Pain, both shared and remembered, fills Zevran's eyes and his smile wanes. "I know," he murmurs uselessly. "I know." Gods this is devastating. And all the moreso because he doesn't care. "We'll fix this, I promise." Somehow, we'll fix this. Even if we cannot make you who you were once again, there must be something that can be done.

[GamesMaster]

Isabela, spying Zevran putting on makeup to change his dusky skin to tanned skin and claiming to be a merikos elf, offers him the use of a Hat of Disguise; she herself is welcome in town, and Coquette's skin is pale enough to pass for elven without much makeup at all, but between the skin and the tattoos Zevran is memorable. Coquette and one of Isabela's crew members head toward the market to shop for supplies for the ship and send a missive to the Enclave to expect their arrival, while Isabela and Zevran head towards the Oak to see if one of the druids there can help Shisou.

No sooner do they get close to the oak than a plump young Gnomish woman rushes up to them, green eyes shining brilliantly. She is too tall to be anything but Merikos; her hair is a brilliant shade of green, subtle and nuanced like the canopy overhead, while her skin is a rich coconut brown. She is heavy; her fat jiggles as she jogs, not slowing her down, but rippling like the branches in the breeze. She has squat, wide feet, and a bulbous nose; her hair is done up in braids, coiled and coifed around each other, with little butterfly pins stuck in them artistically, wings fluttering as she moves. She wears a gown worthy of Coquette's closet, all done in reds and oranges, layers tastefully done to resemble almost a flame. In the crook of one arm she carries a basket full of berries and herbs, and her other hand's fingers are thrust into a pair of scissors she's clearly forgotten about as she gestures. 

"You! You're perfect!" she says, pointing at Zevran with the scissors. "Oh, I am so fortunate to be out and about this brilliant day! You must come with me. I need your tongue!" 

[Zevran]

Zevran stares, first at the blades being thrust at him-- stance poor, grip even worse, not an attack-- then at the hand and finally the woman. After a long moment of silence, he finally says, "not an unfamiliar sentiment to be expressed to me, but generally not one I get from strangers."

[GamesMaster]

She blinks at him. "That was a joke? Yes, I believe it was. Right, ha, funny!" She shakes her head. "Nevertheless! You are precisely the one I wanted to see today. Come, come with me back to my kitchen." She turns, then, revealing a broad, well-shaped rear with a beribboned bustle covering it, and begins to waddle back the way she came, towards the Tree. 

[Zevran]

Zevran stares a moment, then slowly turns to look at Isabela with a bemused expression. "Have I missed some new dating fad or..?"