Chapter Text
Mister Caleb Widogast of Zeidel found himself, as he did every day, in the library of his house, filled from floor to ceiling with books. The spines were worn, many cracked with age, but each treated with the utmost care. Caleb himself sat next to a large window, silhouetted by a cloudy gray sky - still bright enough to glint off of the baubles that decorated the shelves seemingly at random, although those who knew Caleb well knew of his memory and his ability to locate anything in the library.
The floorboards creaked, and Caleb noted the sound of Missus Veth Brenatto humming as she drew near. She appeared a moment later, bearing a cream-colored teacup, coaster, and teapot, all of which were accented simply and elegantly in gold. Caleb shuffled around his papers and books to accommodate the arrival.
As was practically tradition, she began to recount the gossip of the town. Caleb, ever polite, pretended to listen to her, only taking subconscious notes of any key information. Veth herself swirled around the room, acting out her retelling of Miss Calianna Mordsson of Berleben, who was supposed to have danced with someone at the most recent ball. Miss Mordsson (who happened to be a friend of Caleb’s) was so shy that no one could figure out with whom she had danced, Veth lamented, draping herself over the cushioned chair across from Caleb.
Caleb took a sip of the tea. Strong, with no sugar - just the way he preferred it. He had little room for anything sweet in his life.
He stilled suddenly, the teacup still resting on his lip as he caught a snippet of her ramble.
“--new people living in the old Fletchling residence, or so Mister Clay tells me.” Her keen eyes caught his sudden inactivity and narrowed ever so slightly. “Why, Caleb, you must go introduce yourself!” Veth continued to bustle around the room, inspecting various trinkets and baubles with only the lightest of touches. She stood on small ladders and stepstools placed to accommodate her halfling height, although she may not have recognized their intentional placement. Her slip into vernacular made him smile - it was not traditional for a lady to refer to a gentleman by his first name, but they had remained in each other’s company for long enough that it could do no harm.
“And why on earth would I do that, Mrs. Brenatto?” Caleb’s pen continued to scratch on the surface of paper. In spite of their long-standing companionship, he always referred to her with respect - his own way of reminding her that she was worthy of respect.
“Because I would like to visit, and you know perfectly well that I cannot do so until you do so, to introduce our household!” She spun around, hands on her hips as her yellow skirts swirled around her.
“Is that a new dress?” he asked absentmindedly.
“Yes, it is,” she replied primly, “but don’t try to escape the subject!”
“Ms. Brenatto, when have you ever wanted to visit any of our neighbors?”
Veth swatted at him gently, smiling fondly. “Are you mocking me, Caleb?”
He glanced up at her, mouth tilting slightly upwards. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“I’m curious to see what stories they may have to tell,” she said, spinning back towards the shelf. “To see if they have any news of Yeza.”
Ah, another piece of their troubled history together. Yeza was Veth’s husband and a soldier in the Queen’s Army - perhaps more accurately, a scientist involved with the military. His work kept them separated for much of the year, his duty to the crown taking precedence over all else. In spite of this, their marriage was a happy one. Although Veth’s trembling hands struggled to write, she carefully scratched out a letter to her husband each week, receiving his replies with the utmost joy.
Caleb envied them, in a way. Although he knew of the toll the distance took on Veth, he wondered what it must be like to love someone so unconditionally.
Knowing of that emotional toll, he found himself unable to refuse her request. “Alright, Mrs. Brenatto. I will go over tomorrow afternoon, so that I can introduce you the following day.”
Holding true to his promise, Caleb made his way over the next day. Much to Veth’s dismay, he didn’t take the carriage - it never made sense to him, to waste the time of another when he could walk himself. Besides, he always appreciated the time it gave him to think and clear his head.
By the time he found himself arriving, Caleb was admittedly winded. Spending most of one’s day buried in books did not lend itself to aerobic health - an unfortunate fact which Caleb rarely considered until he found himself in situations like this one.
He took a moment to check over himself. His hands ghosted over copper red hair tied back neatly in a low ponytail, checking for flyaways. He smoothed the front of his waistcoat and straightened his spine, taking a deep breath.
Without further ado, he marched up the almost-white stone steps leading up to what had formerly been the Fletchling residence. He grasped the handle of the shined bronze knocker and knocked once, twice--
--and suddenly the door was pulled open. Caleb stumbled forward just in time to see a proud figure standing before him.
Smooth lavender skin accented irisless ruby eyes, glistening with mirth. Deep amethyst curls danced around elegantly curving horns; one curl that simply refused to stay put brushed his forehead. He wore a deep red waistcoat that might have been mistaken for black by a careless glance. His posture and style spoke of wealth, of power - the type that was not proven by riches and jewels, but was worn.
“Hello,” the man said, eyes darting over Caleb.
Caleb’s mouth dried instantly at the lovely lilt to the man’s voice. “Ah, good afternoon,” he said, still trying to recover from his momentary fumble and the shock of the visage in front of him. “I am Mister Caleb Widogast of Zeidel - one of your new neighbors, as it appears.”
Red eyes softened immediately, warming beautifully. “Ah, welcome, Mister Widogast. Please, by all means, come in.” The man stepped back and motioned inwards. Caleb bowed his head politely and entered, where he was promptly led to the drawing room.
The room itself was not “beautiful” in the traditional sense of the word, although Caleb had to admit that much like the man who now guided him, it had a certain charm to it. A few faded gold decor pieces decorated the walls, which may have been white, but were now closer to an ivory shade. What Caleb had assumed to be green curtains framing cracked windows were actually vines, which twined down the window panes to brush the floor.
“Pardon the appearance,” the man said, waving a hand at the room. “With the process of moving into this residence, I haven’t had the chance to address every room as of yet.”
“It is of no consequence,” Caleb replied automatically.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to the pair of couches.
Caleb sank into deep maroon cushions, mirroring the man. “Thank you…” He trailed off meaningfully.
“Ah, curse this memory of mine,” the man chuckled. “My name is Mister Mollymauk Tealeaf, but Molly to my friends. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Widogast.”
“And a pleasure to make yours, Mister Tealeaf.” Caleb twisted his hands in his lap, carefully placed so his movement was not visible to Molly. “What brings you to Wildemount?”
“I am an artist ever in search of inspiration, as I believe is in the very nature of artistry,” Molly said, hands twisting in front of him as if tracing colors through the air. “My muse is most often the people around me, which leads me to travel quite regularly
“I see,” Caleb said, although he did not. Truthfully told, Caleb did not understand art well. He had always been one for research and reasoning. Even so, he believed there to be an unspoken allure in seeing someone appreciate their passions - even if he could not appreciate art itself, there was still beauty to be found.
“And you, Mister Widogast?” Molly’s voice jolted him out of his own thoughts.
“Ah, yes.” Caleb cleared his throat. “I am a linguist, studying the patterns of speech and how they are used today with respect to historical usage. I do not have the same proclivity to people as it seems you possess, Mister Tealeaf, as I spend much of my time alone or with Mrs. Brenatto.” Internally, Caleb knew that the few times he did venture out of his library were usually to study the patterns of speech of the people around him, especially when there were guests from other areas.
“Please, it’s Molly to my friends. I see no need for formalities. And, might I inquire, who is Mrs. Brenatto? You do not share a last name, so I’m afraid I’ve no room for assumptions.”
“Mrs. Veth Brenatto of Felderwin is a dear friend of mine. Her husband, Mister Yeza Brenatto of Felderwin, is a soldier and is often away. He left her in my care, although I must admit that she often takes care of me.”
“Well, having heard of your companion, I feel it only fitting that you meet mine.” He twisted in his seat, tossing his feet over the cushion next to him. “Yasha,” he sang.
Padding on silent feet strode a well-muscled woman, so tall that she had to duck slightly to get through the door. Her hair was plaited down her back, fading from jet-black to an unearthly white at the tips. She wore trousers, pristinely pleated.
“Mister Caleb Widogast of Zeidel, this is Lady Yasha Nydoorin of Iothia. And Yasha, if I might say, those trousers are the newest fashion in Paris, are they not?”
“Molly, you know I am no lady. And you know just as well that I see no sense in donning layers of skirts when I can move so much easier in trousers.” she said with a slight smile, mismatched eyes softening with fondness for her companion. Her voice was surprisingly soft for her size.
“Do you prefer Sir Yasha?” Molly teased.
She sighed. “Not particularly, although you must remember that there is no equivalent in your language.”
“Oh?” Caleb’s head perked up. “If I might inquire, what language do you speak?”
“Celestial. I am the only speaker I know, unfortunately.”
“El fluth so el sou fli si thleat.” Caleb spoke slowly, carefully. “It el sleal co sem etha shiape.”
“Co sooth ith,” Yasha responded with a smile - soft, but genuine. The words sounded like bells on her tongue, while they felt clunky on Caleb’s. “Opco am sop.”
“Oh, so we’re playing with languages now?” Molly asked with a laugh. “ ᖨᛮᗇᚣ ᚱᗖᚳᱡ, ᖨᛮѨᘸ ᙪ ᚾ ᘷѦᖧѦᚣ ᘾ”
“I admit, that is new to me,” Caleb replied. “What language is it?”
“I believe it is called Infernal. I’m afraid I don’t know much more about it, though,” he said with an apologetic smile.
“No need to apologize, Mister Mollymauk,” Caleb said, returning his smile, wider than it had been before. “I believe you’ve given me my next research project.” He stood, pushing himself off his knees with a quiet groan, missing the way Molly’s eyes widened slightly.
“Heading out already, Mister Widogast?” Yasha asked quietly, filling the silence while Molly recovered.
“I’m afraid so,” Caleb replied with a nod. “Once I have a thought in my head, it’s often difficult to do anything else until I fully understand it. Besides, I ought to go, before Mrs. Brenatto begins to think I’ve been lost to the wilds.”
“Does that make us the wilds?” Molly said, laughing.
“Perhaps so,” Caleb bowed his head ever so slightly, eyes full of mirth. “Good day, Mister Tealeaf and Cenhwe Nydoorin.”