Jester was all fake smiles and eyes shining with unshed tears as she moved down to the lower deck. She ignored the concerned and surprised faces of a few of the crew on the way, the men not used to seeing the typically jovial Tiefling in such a morose state.
The door to the room she shared with Beau and Yasha loomed, her fingers turning the handle as the slightly rusty, sea-worn hinges groaned. Their wooden, cot-like bunks sat as epitaphs of the three different personalities that were still finding a way to intertwine. Using the edge of her shield to push the door closed behind her, a watery sigh fell from her lips as her eyes took in the empty room.
Beau's bed was made with the blanket tucked over the thin, wool-stuffed mattress, her pack lying against the base of the wooden nightstand. A book sat at the top with a thin, tattered at the ends blue ribbon emerging from between the two halves to flop out against the surface.
Though she knew it wasn't the monk's fault, Beau was the first one to leave today.
Turning just her eyes as her shoulders slumped, Yasha's bed looked untouched. The blanket was still folded and placed on the slightly stained pillow ready for use, and a hide bedroll was stretched out on the floor beside the cot. The satchel the barbarian carried rested at the end to serve as both a pillow and a way to keep the Aasimar's effects nearby.
Jester had almost lost count of the times Yasha had walked away.
Her own bed was chaotic. The blanket was rumpled and strewn across the top and the pillow was perpendicular to the wall. Sprinkle was sprawled on his stomach, the little legs sticking out and toes twitching as he slept, oblivious to her return.
Managing to take three or four heavy steps into the room, the cleric sank to the floor on her knees in a pile of somewhat charred skirts, her cloak also singed and pulled tight around her shoulders. The back of her right hand flopped down as the shield still braced against her left forearm clanged with a thunk against the floor, each on the opposite side of her knees.
Her eyes caught the grooves made by the dragon's teeth in the shiny grey steel still attached, and she couldn't keep from tracing the slightly damaged armor with the tip of a blue finger.
"Thank you for saving me," she said in a watery whisper, her chin quivering as her vision blurred behind another onslaught of tears, "for not leaving."
Almost immediate was the scent of spring flowers, dew-covered grass, and birch bark trees. His hands touched her shoulders and unleashed the tears she'd been holding at bay, the fat drops spilling down her freckled blue cheeks in cascades of sadness.
"You didn't need me. You were strong enough to handle the circumstance," he soothed, his hands a firm presence as they bounced while she cried.
"I wasn't," she sobbed, her chin dropping to her chest. "I was alone."
The Traveler's voice was calm, as always, but not without emotion. "I am always with you."
"You promised, though," she sniffled. "You told me to stay with them...that it would be good for both of us. You said I wouldn't be alone again."
Again, his voice of reason tried to assuage the broken Tiefling. "Your friends were hiding, they didn't leave you, Jester. They helped where they could, and I stepped in when needed."
"It was so close."
"You've had close calls before."
"This felt different. It-" she started, but his squeezing hand against her shoulders silenced her, a trembling breath shaking her torso.
"Surely not all of this adventure was bad. Close your eyes, child, and think of everything we've seen since last we talked."
The crooning tone took her back to the coastal storms that would terrify her as a child. When she had been alone in her room talking to the characters she'd drawn onto the walls, he'd appeared and said he was there to help, and she'd climbed onto his lap to clutch the green robes tighter with each crash. He taught her to appreciate the lightning and the accompanying cacophonous sound as it was just the gods excitedly playing games with one another.
She'd been four and had begged him to come play again, his promise tied to asking that she keep speaking to him and seek to learn tricks from him. Being a child, she had no reason to say no as it was the most interaction she'd had with anyone other than her mother. The next storm that had rolled through, she'd been unafraid for the first time.
On nights without storms when her mother was busy with clients leaving her to spend long hours alone, she would ask the Traveler to break up the monotony of singing, dancing, drawing, and reading to and by herself. Times when he didn't answer, she would watch the people come and go across the Open Quay and let the sounds of the port city lull her to sleep.
Sitting now with her eyes closed and the Traveler's all-encompassing presence around her, the silence was broken by the sounds of Bisaft coming in through the small window. So much like the sounds from home that with her eyes closed, she could see every building that lined the street outside and away from the Lavish Chateau into the city. Bisaft was at the moment all voices, bells clanging sporadically, and seagulls squawking for a free meal, and it began to soothe her in the familiarity found within those memories.
Finally, after several minutes, her eyes opened.
"We saw a whale."
Though she couldn't see it, she could hear the smile. "Really?"
Wiping at her nose with the back of her hand, she gave a small nod. "At the bottom of the sea. It came, like, really close."
"Show me. Let us focus on that." One hand left her shoulder and gestured ahead to the blank, wooden wall at the opposite end of the room. The small porthole window was cracked open to let in a slight breeze and was the only thing she would have to work around on the solid surface. It let in enough light from the midday sun that she would have no problem using the wall as a canvas.
"I...the only paints I have enough of are magic. I don't want to," she paused, "I mean, I shouldn't waste them, right?"
She'd surprised herself with that answer, and the loneliness crept back into her mind as Jester assumed he would become frustrated and be the next to leave. She hadn't disobeyed a request from him before, but she was now beginning to realize that the supplies she was gaining within the Mighty Nein may have very important uses in the future. Something she painted could save another's life, and while she desperately wanted to impress the Traveler with her memory and skill while also relieving stress with the freedom that came through her artistic expression, she couldn't waste the paints on a mural.
"I can help with that," he said warmly, the hand he'd extended toward the wall sweeping down to her right.
Beside her folded knee and curled, pointed tail appeared a set of narrow to wide paintbrushes and several glass containers of paint.
"It's not every day that you help kill a dragon," he whispered approvingly, and the presence disappeared.
Gathering it all up, she dipped a brush and began. The tears dried on her cheeks and her frayed nerves began to calm with each stroke. Dragging the brush up in a wide arc, she felt a painful tightness in her shoulder beneath the armor still adorned. Pausing at the stinging reminder that she hadn't fully healed from the encounter in the Happy Fun Ball, she leaned her hand against a spot not yet painted and took a deep breath.
The image of the crackling electricity arcing from scale to scale and knob to horn was still at the forefront of her mind; the flames licked around the head as it bent down to pin her with a smiling, toothy glare. Fear was still present, as was the overwhelming loneliness of looking around at the suddenly empty room as she became the only thing between the dragon and the exit. The more she thought about that moment, the more the fear faded.
She had helped kill the dragon, even if she hadn't seen it drop. The Traveler was always right after all. Refocusing back to the new project, her eyes caught the waiting hand with fingers wrapped around the brush and noticed juxtaposed details on her skin. On the back of her thumb was a speckle of blood, now a dry crimson brown, and flanking either side of the drop were two splashes of light blue and teal. A small smile tilted her lips.
Setting the tools on the floor she stepped to the bedside and discarded the armor into a piled heap. Knowing she'd have to cast mending on all of her garments before sleeping because of the flame elemental's attacks, she kicked it half under the cot before pushing up her sleeves and getting back to work.
Finding comfort and relaxation despite her aching body and growing exhaustion, Jester painted.
Bright, sun-streaked blues traveled under the water's surface at the top before fading into indigo-mixed blacks as the depth increased to the bottom of the sea. In the very center of the lowest part above the floorboards, she silhouetted seven figures backlit by a glowing yellow. Casting the only brightness at the bottom of the mural were three globules of light dancing above their heads while another shone at the end of a staff held by the tall thin adventurer in the center. If one looked closely, it would be easy to recognize the silhouettes.
Above the group and taking up the majority of the painting was a giant and elegantly lumbering whale gliding through the water, massive in its size compared to them. The light shone off the blubbery underside, illuminating the hulking form that seemed to be curiously investigating the tiny shadows. She added a flashing gleam to the beady eye as her paint speckled fingertips drifted to squiggle details of purple-red seaweed where the light reached the seafloor.
The final touches were to sparkling scaled fish that schooled away from and into the darkness. Laying on her side to reach the bottom of the painting, she dabbed highlights to the globules and lit staff tip and added several intrigued fish set upon inspecting the intrusion to their normally pitch-black environment.
That's how Yasha and Beau found her a couple of hours later, asleep on her side with the brush still in hand. The now-dry bristles were pushed against the lowest plank of painted wood, and a quiet snore left her lips as her cheek squished against her upper arm.
Beauregard hadn't been prepared for her companion to stop just inside the doorway and found herself tiredly walking into Yasha's muscled back, her forehead panging into the hilt of the longsword.
"What the hell," she growled, the other woman silencing her with a quick hand gesture and quiet shushing.
Both stood with slack jaws once inside as their eyes took in the amazing transformation of the far wall of their shared room. The painting was beautiful yet dark, ominous yet bright, and both recalled the beast though simultaneously decided that their memories paled in comparison to Jester's.
With quiet steps, the barbarian moved to their prone companion and peeked down to see that Jester was indeed sound asleep on the floor mid brush stroke on the signature. The symbol she'd been making at the bottom consisted of two googly eyes above a smile with two triangular tusks, but the right side was drooped into a downward line drawn when she passed out.
A bruised scrape adorned the blue freckled cheekbone, and despite the fact it that had stopped bleeding, it looked incredibly sore and swollen. Beau reached out and gently pulled the brush from the Tiefling's fingertips as Yasha slid her hands underneath and effortlessly picked up their sleeping friend.
Once Jester was settled against the muscled frame, the hands against the crook of her knees and between her shoulders glowed with faint healing energy as Yasha closed her eyes. The visible wounds and bruises closed up and faded enough to ensure that she would have a restful sleep. Sprinkle hissed as the monk poked him with a finger, and though he maintained his grumpy attitude, he abandoned the spot on the pillow to climb over and curl into a ball on the nightstand.
"We have to be more careful." The accented statement was quiet and non-threatening, but Beau felt a pang of guilt rush back from the curious moment that had caused her to abandon the rest of the party in the lair. She hadn't meant to leave, much as she assumed Fjord hadn't meant to dive into a different room alone with a dragon forcing them all into that confrontation.
It seemed to her that the Mighty Nein was both more and less functional a majority of the time, but the less end of that was very noticeable when everything went to hell. Like it had apparently seven days ago.
Like it had with Mollymauk.
Beau knew that there had been a chance she and the others sat outside the Fun Ball waiting for Jester, Nott, and Twiggy to jump out only to have the moments grow longer and longer until they were sure that the three had met their doom in that chamber. Probably because they'd all bailed before making sure everyone was together.
She could hear her parent's voices in the back of her mind. "Beauregard, you must take more responsibility for your actions or you're going to wind up ruining things for a lot more than just us."
Yasha hadn't expected a response, and by the time Beau shook from her thoughts, the Aasimar was already moving to lay on the bedroll.
"We're working on it."
…
Note: I'm new to the fandom and the hubby and I are watching Campaign 2. We just passed Episode 45: Stowaway, and I found it to be brilliant! Everything about it was so great, but at the end of the dragon fight, I found myself sad at how things rolled (literally and figuratively) with Jester. The hints to her lonely backstory started poking out, so I wanted to explore that a little!
I'm attempting as hard as I can to be spoiler-free, and we're only on Episode 49 right now, so I'm sure some of my assumptions about her story and the Traveler are wrong. It's not intentional, know that. I'll get to the truth eventually!