What's that?

Just east of Chorrol...

An update even shorter than what I usually write!

So if I see a cast member from Deep Space Nine it´s just Niamh?

Just east of Chorrol...

That's an update?

That's an update?

Phon writes how I did in the first Where are you now? threads at Bethsoft

So Niamh is heading slowly back to the IC

And so she's gone again, to who knows where and for who knows how long; not even she herself, perhaps. She leaves in her wake a scatter of jewels and trinkets, precious gems and one small bouquet of dead, rather sad looking flowers.
Luciana laughs, but not mockingly.

"They were awroight when ah found 'em!" Niamh had exclaimed the previous evening, when she had got back to Luciana's home. She had held them out awkwardly, a big grin on her pale face.
The other woman had smiled. "It's very sweet, Niamhy." She had said, taking the little bunch from the other. One or two faded petals broke off and drifted feather-like to the wooden floor of the shack. She refrained from asking where they had come from, she had made that mistake once before with a jewelled amulet, never again!
"Sweet? Sweet b'damned, Looch!" The Bosmer winked at her mischeviously. "A jes' wanna get into ye keks!"

Luciana had rolled her eyes at this, but again, not in a bad way. She was too glad to see the Wood Elf, however briefly - (and she knew it would be brief).
Besides, she had grown used to her paramour's lack of savoir-faire and almost wilfull ignorance of what constituted romance - (Luciana had her doubts that Niamh even knew how to spell the word) - she had, in fact, come to regard Niamh's straightforwardness, her bluntness, and enhusiastic approach to, well, everything, as really quite refreshing and actually very endearing rather than anything else.
Add to that the fact that, after an admittedly somewhat rocky start to their relationship, the Bosmer seemed to have become as genuinely fond of Luciana as she herself - (yes, actually) - was of her; certainly the former was fiercely protective of Luciana, and more than one unfortunate and overly-attentive customer in The Lonely Suitor had the scars to prove it.
In all, even if Luciana was not yet "Completely Happy", she would have been the first to admit that she was undoubtedly "Very Happily Content".

Niamh's bringing back of gifts from her travels and her increasingly frequent, but still cutely awkward displays of affection; the flowers, the appallingly spelt letters from hither and yon, not to mention her constant use of the nickname "Looch", only served to reinforce Luciana's sense that the Elf really was serious in her commitment to their burgeoning relationship.
Mind you, the Bosmer's physicality and obvious enjoyment with respect to "other" aspects of their time together were most certainly not unwelcome or ill-received, even if Luciana had suffered the odd bruise and, on one occasion, a sprained ankle.

Standing outside her home, on the balcony above Niamh's front door, she looks out over the town of Bravil.
It is early morning, very early, and the town is lit by the lambent glow of the rising sun; its rays chasing still-long shadows down into the waterways and alleys.
She shivers a little in the chilly air and draws her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She directs her gaze to the Chapel and the over to the right, to where she knows the main gate is, though she cannot see it from her position.
She smiles ruefully, draws a breath.

And so she's gone again, somewhere east maybe, but who knows? Not even Niamh, Luciana suspects.
She went almost before it was light - (such a brief stay, this time!) - Luciana was still muzzy from sleep. An embrace, a kiss, some soft words; an assurance of return, and then away.

She takes a sip of her coffee, wincing a little at its strength and heat.
She wishes Niamh would stay, wishes she would tarry for longer than a night, a day, a week. Does she miss her?
Yes.
Increasingly the days seem longer, stretching away to some unseen terminus, each blurring dully into the other whilst she goes about her chores or serves customers in the Suitor, all with an air of stoic perseverance; dreading the night, but longing for the morning - another day closer to some notional return, The Return, of her new-found partner.
Then for a brief time her life restarts and she is whole again.

And yet...
...A bundle of nervous energy, Niamh, a bowstring pulled taut. To snap that string, to stop up the spring of life and passion for movement and experience that flows so deep and fast from the Bosmer, would be to take away part of what makes Niamh, Niamh.
It's a part of what Luciana found so fascinating about the Elf in the first place, and she could no more stop that than she could think the sun from the sky, besides, She knows that Niamh herself will never change - she's too headstrong and wild, and despite her obvious affection, Luciana knows Niamh would hate her if she tried.

None of it matters though, Luciana knows that beneath all of the brashness and the uncouth ways lies a sometimes hinted at darkness - a wound too deep and ragged to fully heal - and a softness too that, on occasion, escapes from the shield built around it and runs free, for a while.
She knows this and she knows also that Niamh is trying, and trying hard, to be at least in part more of what she thinks Luciana would like her to be.
Luciana just wants her to be herself, but to make some room for her as well - (that said, she's quite glad that Niamh has started bathing more often, only once or twice, but it's a start).

A woman of secrets and mysteries then but, thinks Luciana as she gazes out over the slowly waking town, they've come a long way already, and she just knows that they'll have all the time they need to go further still.
Still smiling, she brushes a wayward strand of hair from her face, and with a last look to the gates she turns back to her home, for the time being a quieter and somehow larger place...

...and even though Niamh has only been gone an hour or two, she can't help wondering when that first letter will arrive.
Humming a tune, she puts down her mug and prepares to tidy the bed.

If asked where home is though, she'll happily sigh, reach one hand around behind her and fondly tap the saddlebags that adorn her precious mare.

(she was using two slaughterfish for storage)

Abiene has finally moved into the Chapel of Stendarr thanks to two handy open grain sacks for storage and officially joining the Nine Divines faction (console command). Her rank is Layman.

Lildereth moved out of Shetcombe Farm (she was using two slaughterfish for storage) and into her room at the Wobbly Goblet. She’s taken over the upstairs alcove. A lot of her stuff is actually Jerric’s. Shields, swords, daggers, lots of flax seeds. She just loaded it up without a word and dragged it all to County Chorrol. I was shaking my head over it.

I still can’t remember where Darnand left his stuff. It’s possible that he doesn’t actually have any. Anyway he’s not concerned about whatever he may have left somewhere. That tells me that he hasn’t had a chance to collect many books. He’s moved his alchemy gear into the Goblet. He likes to work in the upper suite, but he sleeps in the room on the second floor. It’s hard to get him to go on adventures, but now he has some incentive. His own desk and some empty shelves.

Jerric’s version of moving to a new place is to just start living there. He tends to accumulate things by not getting rid of stuff but doesn’t trouble himself about keeping them. He strode up the stairs at the Goblet, kicked off his boots, and tried out the bed. What about moving in? I asked him. Puzzled brow from Jerric. “I just did.”