Chapter Text
“Are you ready,” Fig says seriously.
Riz grimaces. “No.”
“Well you're drinking it anyway, down the hatch!”
“I'm not taking this down the hatch, it's basically boiling plant water,” says Riz, eyeing the freshly brewed cup of chamomile tea on the kitchen counter.
“Riz, I’ve seen you knock back burning espresso shots like tequila,” Kristen shouts from the Mordred Manor living room. “Drink the tea, coward.”
“I'm starting to hate this plan,” Riz says. “What about Kalina? We never found her and my Kalina board is, honestly, worryingly empty. I think that's our next—”
“Nope,” Fig declares. “No more conspiracy boards. No more mysteries. We fought our big bad guy and won and you swore you were gonna chillax so drink some damn tea” — she shoves the tea towards him; it sloshes over the edge into a ring on the surface — “and fucking chillax, dude.”
Anyone else bullying him like this would at least get some bullying in return. But Riz owes a debt to Fig, especially when it comes to chillaxing. Relaxing. Being a calm, collected person who doesn't make his neurosis into his friends’ problem and push them past their limits.
So, “Okay fine!” He grabs the mug and downs a not-insignificant amount of piping hot tea. He definitely does not regret it. The involuntary hiss afterwards could be from any number of things. “There! Happy? Are you happy now?”
“I will be once you finish it,” Fig says smugly. “And if you bring it into the living room you can continue chillaxing while we watch the new Great Gnomish Baking Show.”
“Fig, it's literally starting!”
“Okay I'm literally coming!” Fig raises an eyebrow at Riz. “Well?”
“I don't even—” Riz sighs deeply. He did make a resolution, and unfortunately that resolution did contain the, in hindsight irresponsibly, nonspecific word choice of relax, essentially giving Fig or anyone free range to force him into any activity as long as they call it relaxing. Bad move from past Riz, but in his defense it was a moment of real weakness.
He keeps reminding himself that there’s a reason for this. He has to be better. This year was a slippery slope, and he wasn’t even aware of how slippery until that dark space after the fight, and seeing himself through a lens he had spent all year avoiding. He keeps thinking about how easily he could have been Kipperlilly, how despite their different paths he still almost was. And even though she’s dead, and he’s alive, and the fight should be over, some part of Riz’s brain knows that he’s not out of the woods.
Kipperlilly wouldn't drink tea and watch a baking show with her friends if it was all she had to do to survive.
Besides, he owes Fig. Maybe her most of all.
He grabs the mug. He smiles. “I would love to watch the Great Gnomish Baking Show with you guys,” he tells Fig. “And I can't wait to finish this tea.”
“That's the spirit,” Fig cheers, about-facing to march into the living room. “Riz on the road to rest and relaxation, baby!”
“That's basically a song title right there,” Kristen says.
“Hey, kind of! Riz, can I write a song about your journey to becoming a more centered individual?”
“Sure,” Riz says, because Kipperlilly would never say yes to that. And he's not Kipperlilly.