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It’s a full family affair tonight, and then some: the entire IPRE plus many are here, stuffed in around a table roughly the size of Goldcliff. The twins, architects of tonight’s banquet as always, ignoring Merle’s offer to cast Hero’s Feast, also as always, bickered companionably while they toted out dish after dish. They’ve been tousling Angus’s hair with Mage Hand when they can’t reach him themselves, although now that everyone’s settled into their seats, their attention has turned more to the food and the conversations.
Taako is decked out in his standard flashy style, perhaps taking more of an inspiration from Istus than he used to, with his flowy off-white sweater and comfy sweatpants, adding that signature Taako twist in the form of bedazzled skulls all over the pants. He’s dispensed with the apron he wore while cooking with Lup and supervising Angus, replacing it with bands of decorative glitter inexplicably fastened every which way over his torso. He’s leaning against Kravitz as he talks, hands and mouth moving almost too fast to follow, explaining to Magnus in exquisite detail why he won’t allow dogs in his kitchen.
The grim reaper himself is listening in half amusement, half concern, undoubtedly remembering the one and only time he visited Magnus’s dog school without changing out of his reaper form first. He still insists that his left tibia has never fit right again after Johann (the puppy, not their now-ghostly bard friend) stole it. He’s dressed down for tonight, or Kravitz’s version of dressed down, in a simple sweater hand-knit by Magnus (who learned from Istus, allegedly) and neatly pressed black slacks. He occasionally shoots the token glare across the table at Barry.
Magnus himself is barely listening to Taako’s explanation, instead randomly nodding and “uh-huh”-ing as he feeds the occasional piece of meat to Johann (the puppy) at his feet. He’s hung up Railsplitter and Chance Lance, but that doesn’t stop him from lobbing chunks of roast and apple and the occasional dinner roll across the table to Carey, who catches them in her mouth and with her hands without even looking as she cheers on Killian, spearing the occasional bad throw with a dagger she manifests out of literally nowhere (Angus thinks Carey might actually be a magic girl, but she continues to insist she isn’t).
Killian winks and waves at her wife while wrestling Mookie. Carey might be in her usual dark rogue outfit, but Killian’s dressed up a little tonight, in an elegant blue tunic that matches the shimmer of Carey’s scales, embroidered with what looks to be tiny swords and crossbows. She’s handling Mookie with one deft arm while she eats, occasionally whapping the dwarf boy with her rolled-up napkin when Mookie forgets the no biting rule.
Mavis, having given up on managing her brother herself at these dinners, is cheerfully discussing her favorite memoir with Lucretia. Her beard is braided particularly neatly tonight, and she catches Angus looking and waves without breaking her conversation. She starts avidly debating the best way to capture memories in writing with Lucretia, although Angus doubts the irony is lost on either of them.
The chronicler herself, having long since dropped her official Director persona at these dinners, is taking notes with one hand while spooning Lup’s famous creamy broccoli soup into her mouth, eyes glinting with wry humor. Angus, when he considers it, is no longer surprised that Taako even lets her into his home. They’re better, Taako and Lucretia, than they were after the Day of Story and Song, enough at least that they can be at the same dinner table without it devolving into a screaming match. Lucretia tonight is dressed elegantly, wearing a vibrant purple that sets off her dark skin and bright golden eyes. She too notices Angus looking at them, and smiles brilliantly, her artificial age disappearing when she does, although she’s quickly distracted by having to save her wine glass when Lup, sitting next to her, gestures so violently that she almost knocks it over.
Lup does send an enormous bowl of tossed salad flying, although her husband catches it with a casual Mage Hand. It doesn’t distract her from her enthusiastic argument with Barry and Ren about the finer points of teaching children necromancy. She’s arguing that at least the theory should be taught, hands flying as fast as her tongue, several other objects on the table nearly falling victim to her movements. She’s in black tonight, mostly casual clothing but lovely still, dark hair bound back in a loose gold net sparkling with rubies. Angus, watching carefully, notes that her hands are having an entirely different conversation, fingers dancing in silent conversation with the bubbling shadows at the back of the room, where Angus is occasionally certain he sees fingers and feathers flickering back.
Well.
If the Raven Queen chooses to appear more clearly, she would be more than welcome. But Angus doubts it, guessing by the filaments of iridescence that she’s keeping her own company tonight. The click of knitting needles occasionally filters through the layers of noise, probably only evident to Angus’s keener-than-humanoid hearing. A slight twitch of his ears reveals the sound of creaking wood and the faintest suggestion of a flute, indicating the presence of his family’s third patron deity.
Barry, in his most comfortable blue jeans and one of Lup’s favorite blue shirts, is between his wife and Ren. He’s just as avid as Lup, face flushed and eyes bright, awkwardness long gone among his now-extended family. He’s advocating for actual practice, since necromancy, he declares, doesn’t have to be used for evil. He points out, to a very unimpressed Ren, that the Raven Queen’s laws are actually fairly minimal vis a vis some of the more esoteric spells, that necromancy isn’t all just raising the dead. Most of this is said while pointedly ignoring Kravitz’s occasional Looks and Lup’s amused elbowing.
As for the drow herself, dressed simply in red, is frowning and moving Barry’s wine glass away from him little by little, and insisting right back that they weren’t going to be teaching necromancy at Taako’s Amazing School of Magic, thank you very much. She carefully lifts the shoulder with Roswell on it, and the bird sheriff agrees, waving their wings for emphasis, although Roswell’s attention is undoubtedly more on keeping one beady eye on Avi, seated next to them, and his increasingly excited hand motions.
Avi’s attention is clearly torn between the food, delicious as always, and his enthusiastic conversation with Davenport. Once the gnome came back to himself, and came back to shore more often, Avi had sought him out, knowing from the Story that Davenport was a gifted engineer. His black hair tied back, a smudge of engine oil still on his nose despite him having cleaned up for dinner, Avi has launched into his plans for new and improved cannons for the moon base, while Davenport nods and offers suggestions that Avi hastily scribbles down in his notebook, taken from its place of honor in his front pocket next to his ever-present flask.
Davenport’s eyes are shining and delighted as he goes through calibrations with Avi, tail twitching at the thought of testing their more out-there ideas. He has a plan for adapting the spheres to be more self-sufficient, using them for travel on their own without always needing a cannon. He doesn’t stutter once. That fact might have as much to do with his hand intertwined with his favorite dwarf just as much as the subject matter.
Merle, soulwood hand in hand with Davenport, is arguing with Magnus about the finer points of their adventures in Neverwinter, the dwarf insisting that he had, in fact, healed the whole party before the fight with the thralled servants of the witch-queen who had invaded the capital the week before. Magnus is equally insisting that Merle hadn’t healed them once the whole time, all while continuing to throw things at Carey and randomly nodding to Taako. Merle’s defensiveness has lost its bite from the days of the Bureau of Balance, his inner calm and confidence restored along with his memories. He seems to be arguing just to argue, and makes the occasional horrid plant-related joke just to watch Taako and Magnus wince and then yell. Whenever he does, Davenport reaches over without interrupting his own conversation and pokes him in the face, promoting a hearty laugh from the dwarf. Without hesitation, Merle is also slapped upside the head by a branch curling from their dryad friends.
Hurley and Sloane, lounging together in one seat next to Merle, are switching between calling color commentary on Killian and Mookie’s death match and complaining loudly and regularly about Merle’s jokes. Their flowery hair has red and gold tinged leaves now, with the onset of autumn, and sheds flower petals and leaves every time one of them reaches over to hit Merle. They carefully avoid getting any in the food, although Angus doubts this crowd would notice.
Angus, squished between Taako and Kravitz, crammed together on one seat, and Magnus, who has been resting his elbow on Angus’s growing shoulder for much of the night when he’s not throwing things, simply smiles, curling his carefully Disguised tail and listening to the layers of noise, ranging from godly to distinctly not. He blinks a few times, feeling something click into place that he’s never had before.
They say dragons are never quite satisfied until they know for certain what their hoard will be.
Now Angus finally, finally knows.
It’s family.