"Season's Blessin's, Esme!" The Ancient slid gaily wrapped packages to the saddle bags of the finally rebuilt wheel-less Panhead bonded mage bike she called Baby, strapping to the passenger seat the special order of seedless satsumas Esme of Reynaldo's Bruised Fruit and Produce ("dented and bent, never abused") had just hand delivered.

What was it about citrus fruits and Yule? Idly pondering this minor mystery, checking to see the far southern orange globes were not the usual fare Rey and his sons normally haggled for at the Docks, satisfied she zipped up her leather and swung one impossibly long leg over the seat of Baby's chassis. Standing to the kicker, she jammed down one and a half times to bring the v-twin to a thunderous life.

Baby's ire rang sharp and true through the renewed link, and the Trueblood had been paying the price for her indiscretionary procrastination in putting the bits and bobs of Baby back together again after nearly eight months having them strewn about in differing variations on her Brownstone's kitchen floor. Today's ride north of Old Town would be no exception.

Sid was not what one would call a natural mother. She knew this fact keenly, and it had become a source of many inner demons over the myriad centuries of the Ancient's existence. The life she apparently led warred with her true nature. Scottie thought of her as Spring, among other things, it was a station she acquired. He considered her nothing less than sex and rain and mud and birth and joy and renewal. She was not a mother, a wife, or a nurturer. No domestic goddess lurking here. Still, she did try. This was one of those random times.

Since her mate and the bairns return to Rhy'Din from Summer some months back, and being that the twins were to celebrate their fifth birthday come the day after the first of January, Sid had begun to tell them of other chilldren near to their ages amongst those she called friends and family. Telling them, not actually taking them for visits yet... Well, the Trueblood had missed those memos from the Mommy Forum on Play Dates.

She had squirreled away some of the tip money that had not turned to dust and leaves at the first light of morn, and the twins had been eager to shop for Yule gifts this year on their own for family and hopeful new friends they might make soon.

Delighted with the stories their mother told of all she knew and called close amongst the Inn's patrons, the twins had taken an interest in the few tales Sid could tell of Sylvia, Kieran, and their boys Aidan and Cian.

Her daughter, whom she was taken of late to calling Ama'ali for Beautiful Shadow, and her son who'd recently found himself tagged Ari'vin, for Silver Storm, had drug their poor nanny Faye all over the Maketplace looking for the perfect introductory gifts. These and the items from her and Scottie for the boys and the Baron and Baroness jostled in the bike's saddle bags as Baby took the most punishing route north out of Old Town towards Yearling Brook Manor.

Hearing from Ewan last night that Sylvia had returned to Rhy'Din, she'd left the disappointed twins in WestEnd to call on her colleague and friend. That which consistently plagues her and hers had been quite silent these last many weeks, and she wondered how Sylvia was faring. Sid was also not what one would call a natural buddy, though she remained a loyal friend. She was so often remiss in checking up on the ones who did nest within what passed as her heart.

The mage bike slipped easily into full spellbox power, but kept the thunderous growl as the city proper pulled away from rider and machine. Exhaust fumes hinted at the scents of Basil, Lavender, and Dill's sharp tang whilst moving a swift pace along the northern road. Downshifting, booted feet leaving the highway pegs to plant firmly on ground, fingers tipped the mirrored shades away from glamoured blue eyes and she took in the front view to the Baroness' Rhy'Din enclave.

Outside the gates of Yearling Brook Manor, a fingerless gloved hand rubbed the leather of Hellballs chaps atop her thigh, maybe she should have called first?

Sitting there, she was caught briefly in one of those alien moments often experienced since the spell. She should have called, shouldn't she have? Sent word and asked if visiting would be all right? It was... Respectful of anothers' feelings, yes?

Baby still throttling at a low rumbling purr, Sid raised a hand and drug off the cloth that restrained multi-colored elflocks atop her head just as the gate opened. If there'd been a thought her visit might be untimely Sylvia's beaming smile and words of welcome banished it to vapor. "Merry meet, Syl. An' than' ye."

With the Baroness' mention she had not seen the mage bike in quite some time, Baby gave off a cloud of herbal exhaust with a loud cough and choke, practically bucking the Ancient into the handlebars as if to say 'Too right!' Sneering at her ride, just about to answer her friend's query, she looked over and caught Sylvia's sober expression.

"Nae, nae troubles. In fact, all has been eerily quiet on tha' front, Syl. So, for now, tha' be me answer to how me an' mine be. Tryin' to relax an' nae conjure tha' other boot to drop, ye ken?" Flashing a fox lit grin, she reaches back and pats one of the saddlebags.

"Nae, 'tis a callin' o' a Seasonal nature brings me 'round. Ewan be mentionin' ye be in town, an' for this year the Solstice be... " Elflocks ringled sharp and clear with the ponderous tilt of Sid's head, teeth nipping in thought upon her lower lip for a second. "Well, I seem to be within a certain spirit this season more'n the past be bringin', I guess ye can be sayin'. So, I bear gifts o' Yule for ye an' yers, m'friend. Call it an excuse to show me face an' check up on ye, a dear friend."

It's true, this Solstice, the trappings of the holidays had settled over the Ancient unlike any before. Her pale, angular face sure bore the mark of it with a strange light that lit her from within, a sly and merry grin on thin lips. "I didna know if the boys be about this trip in for ye, but figured ye could be conveyin' they presents home if nae. I be tellin' the bairns a li'l o' ye boys, an' they be at tha' age where buyin' they own gifts for others be important this year. I brought somethin' for the Master Swordsman I didna 'ave on me las' night when I be seein' him. There be a bit o' somethin' for ye an' the Baron, from Scottie an' meself, as well."

A wink at that, then her hand moved to pat the sack of satsumas strapped behind her, once more her smile turning to Sylvia. A touch of cunning there as the Ancient glanced over the Baroness' frame for a second. "An' o' course, citrus. Seems to be fashionable for Yule. Straight from the south o' some other world an' I be hearin' they be quite healthy... Especially for some folk."

Glamoured blue eyes glanced about at the activity her presence seemed to be generating, and the Trueblood laughed; a sound honey-dark and whiskey-tinged. "I seem to be causin' quite the stir, aye?"

Sid left the subject on healthy eating and fashion lie where it was, giving just a soft smile to her friend and letting it go. That smile was turned to Darien briefly as the rest of the manor went about their daily business at Sylvia's insistence.

"Ye be right, o' course, I should nae need an excuse to be visitin' with them wha' hol' a part o' me, sweet. An' nae worry on apologies o'er how ye manor folk be actin', Syl. Me presence do tend excite some. Mayhaps needlessly, mayhaps nae, aye?" Another of those fox lit grins and she unstrapped the satsumas, handing them over to the Baroness.

Shutting down the mage bike, extracting the spellbox from its holder and slipping it inside the pocket of her well-worn leather, she walks the wheel-less wonder through the manor gates at Sylvia's invite. "I be lovin' to come in, m'friend. Snacks sound good, I fear I worry me mate o'er me inconsistency in takin' sustenance."

Chuckling low, those magic-hued eyes intent on her friend as they moved within the manor grounds, her smile came warm and tender as she dismounted and knelt to open the saddlbags where brightly wrapped gifts lay. "Ye know, Syl, if'n ye e'er 'ave need to talk, I be here for ye. It dun take one with talents to see somethin' or somethin's be on ye mind an' botherin' ye. Can I be helpin'? All I 'ave, wha' skills I possess, be yers for the askin'."

Crouched beside Baby's vacant rear fender, Sid opens the bag to pull out a large box taking up most of its confines, a considerably smaller deep square package pulled from beneath it. Rising, a disarming grin flashed at Darien as he relieves Sylvia of the satsumas, she hands the boxes over to the Baroness. Both wrapped in blackwatch tartan are marked as gifts for her and Kieran from she and Scottie.

"Aye, 'tis true we all be 'avin' our own concerns, sweet." An unaffected motion of a long-fingered hand given the air, the Trueblood moved to the opposite side of the bike. "But ye consider me plate o' infinite size, Syl." Glamoured blue eyes sparked quicksilver flash, her gaze hard on Sylvia for a half second before she was bending to open the other bag and extract its treasures. "I mean tha'."

Carrying two red stockings marked with Cian and Aidan's names, overflowing out of their tops with shiny cellophane wrapped goodies of strange and exotic colors, and snugging two small flat boxes covered in paper colored with childish images drawn all over it in crayon and a longer thin package wrapped as the gifts for the Baron and Baroness, Sid moved into the manor house. The packages taken from her, she let Sylvia usher her into the parlor where instinct had her memorizing the room in the brief moments before she took her seat by the fire.

Perhaps, as she sat, there could be seen a hint of awe on the angular visage at the way Sylvia and her staff laid out this visitor welcome so quickly and so well. A breathy sigh fell and she reached to pour herself a cup of the tea offered. "Wow."

Removing the fingerless gloves, tucking them to her jacket's pocket, she shrugged the leather from her shoulders and sat back against it, smiling over to her friend and taking up the tea. "Nae, this be more'n fine fare, Sylvia. I than' ye muchly. I 'ave heard an' I believe seen once this Lady Rhian ye speak o', though I know nae much about her."

A sip of the tea, she takes up a small sandwich. Did her home smell this inviting, this warm? Probably not. What with the skaven problem and her tendency to work on her machines in any room of the house. In truth, the Ancient loved atmospheres like this and it was apparent in the rare, totally relaxed hold of her posture. Again that motion came of hand to air. "Ye should feel free to ask me wha' e'er ye wish, Sylvia. Methinks we 'ave known one another lon' enough for such. For the gifts, ye be more'n welcome. I believe the twins an' Scottie an' I all be 'avin' fun on our trips to gather them for the givin'.

"Me mate an' I be travellin' to a li'l village out o' realm, an' I believe we may 'ave gotten a bit o'er zealous with the wondrous sweets available. The stockin's for the boys contain plenty, along with some tiny toys an' doodads. Ye mayhap wan' to parcel the sweets out," chuckling lightly before taking a bite from the sandwich, galmoured blue eyes looking into the fire then back.

"I confess, I dun know wha' the twins gifted ye boys as they were being mos' secretive in the wrappin' o' them, though Faye assures me the presents be in mind to they ages an' she believes they will be delighted. Faye be the lass Scottie an' I 'ave roomin' with us who helps watch o'er the bairns."

Another sip from her cup, she sets it and the sandwich down to turn a bit more facing her hostess. Leather hissing as she crosses one leg over the other, an albow leaning to the arm of the chair. "I feel the same way about me bairns, Syl. Since they 'ave returned from Summer with they Da they only companions an' knowledge o' other children be theyselves. I dun know much o' ye boys, so rattle on all ye wish, sweet. I, too, needs satisfy me twins' curious questions o' ye pair.

"As for news... Hmmm... Well, ye be hearin', o' course, tha' Issy be released from holdin', aye? The string o' murders tha' connects her an' the imprisonment still go forth, though they 'ave reached beyond the WestEnd's borders. I be hopin' to keep tha' contained there, but obviously the appetite o' the killer opted for a more populated area. An', the killer seems to elude e'en meself."

A grunt of breath at that, it was incredulous to think of even now. The next words were accompanied by an exaggerated roll of eyes. "An' 'ave ye heard o' the race for Governor? I be speakin' o' a race to elect a Governor o' Rhy'Din? As if." Throaty laughter falling, she picks up the tea cup for another long pull.

The talk of the elusive killer who'd made WestEnd and the Scathachian sisters a target for some time brought silvered brows to furrow deep. Listening to Sylvia's words, nodding gravely here and there, the sandwich was taken up again for absent nibbles. "Other'n the killer seems bent on peggin' the Scathachian sisterhood for the murders, nae there comes nae indication as to its purpose or whereabouts. Personally, I be o' mind tha' there be more'n one killer, Syl. Dark dealin's, indeed."

Her sigh was long and contained frustration behind it. "An' aye, there be many on the hunt. Wha' e'er the reason for the lull, I be hopin' it keeps up. I 'ave noted the WestEnd seems to 'ave gained several makin' nightly patrols. At least two o' our colleagues be cattin' about the streets seein' to safety an' tryin' to catch on to who or wha' the killer be."

The sandwich finished, Sid takes up her tea for another sip as the conversation turns to lighter matters. Sylvia's laughter when speaking of the peculiarities of a Governor's race in Rhy'Din brings a bright grin. "Aye, the cart afore the horse, to be sure, sweet. An' one be 'avin' to wonder, with the uniqueness o' this land, who be the Governor goin' to protect, if'n protect any they can. Meanin', be the people allowin' such? An' why would they after all this time with thin's bein' done as they be done?"

Sitting up to the edge of her chair, glamoured blue eyes course about the room a moment then smile back on the Baroness. "Speakin' o' protection. Tha' lon' an' thin package I be carryin' in with the boys' gifts be for Ewan. An', I be thinkin' now mayhaps I needs show ye somethin' 'avin' to do with the larger gift for ye an' ye husband. 'Twill nae be readily apparent, methinks, when ye open the box."

With Sylvia's lean forward, Sid chuckled at the words and met her friend's violet gaze. There was such quiet wisdom and strength within this woman, and it never failed to impress the Trueblood. No matter "wit's end,? or not, Sid would be there at any hint the Baroness or hers needed help. "Aye, the WestEnd seems to be accumulatin' more souls by the day." A wry grin offered. The Ancient did miss the quiet at times.

"Live by ye leave lan'. Aye, I be likin' tha'. Suits. An' please, if'n Ewan be busy I dun wan' to be botherin? him. As I be sayin', I be 'avin' a gran' time gatherin' thin's for the givin'. I be seein' this fine scabbard an' it called Ewan's name. Where I be at the time, well, one does best nae to ignore such a thin' as tha'." Once more, the smile came fox lit and sly, honey-dark laughter flowing low before it was lost in her teacup for another sip.

Resting the cup to her crossed knee, she watches as Sylvia moves for the package. "Mayhaps when I be showin' ye, we can wrap it back up an' then ye an' he can be openin' it together?" Seemed perfectly logical to her.

While the Baroness made to unwrap the gift, Sid's gaze turned to her elevated foot and she arched a silvered brow noting the unconscious bouncing up and down. This was... Excitement? A surprised and simple "Ha" loosed from pale lips which she covered with an embarrassed sidelong look at her hostess and clearing of her throat before taking another sip from her tea.

The thin tartan-printed muslin wrapping would come off easily enough, and with the lifting of the box's lid and peeling back of the red tissue Sylvia would find a thick folded square of fabric atop other such bundles. In fact, there seemed to be more fabric than a box that size could possibly hold. Cloth in varying hues of forest colors, each shade giving off the supposed illusion of variegating naturally without apparent demarcation lines just as is seen in nature in the colors of fall leaves, or the subtle changing tones of a meadow of grass.

The fabric moved like silk and had the hand of the finest Egyptian cotton. The touch of it gave off a sunlit warmth, and it smelled like crisp linens drying in a sunshine breeze. Beneath the last folded square of a depthless black that appeared to soak in the light and hold it close, could be found a small leather pouch. Inside the folded hide would be discovered a pair of scissors and several needles of assorted lengths, all fashioned of a strange silvery metal.

The Ancient, teacup discarded to table, looked like a kid in a candy store as she leaned over her crossed legs and held angular chin in upraised palm, eyes sparkling with this newly discovered feeling, watching with abandoned glee as Sylvia opened the gift.

"Ye dun let ye imagination run, Syl. Aye, those implements be needed if'n ye plan to do aught but use such fabric for more'n bed linen, or table coverin'," said with a low, throaty laugh, those magic-hued eyes flashing quicksilver spark when Sylvia shifted her hair and looked up at her.

Grinning ever more while the Baroness continued speaking and admiring the cloth, Sid turned a smile upon Ilena as the woman floated in then out on a whisper. This giving of gifts had elicited a sensation in the Ancient she was literally glowing with, unbeknownst to herself. In the days to come, she would try to ponder out such feelings on why letting a friend know one was thinking of them by gifting them a present and their joy over such gift and thought transferred to oneself. For now, the Trueblood just let it all wash over her in warmth and happy light.

"Aye, let us hope ye manor's own crier be keepin' it a secret so ye can be seein' ye husband's jaw drop for yeself, sweet. As for ye ego, I promise to help ye keep it to a manageable degree," laughing along with her friend while the bundles were being returned to their box. Before the last bunch was folded with its companions, Sid held out a hand for it and brought it close as Syl gave it over.

"Ye an' yers be more'n welcome, m'friend. Truly. 'Twas jus' a means for me an' Scottie to show we do be thinkin' o' our true friends e'en if'n we be remiss on lettin' ye all know on a regular basis." Fondling the fabric, glamoured blue eyes glanced down upon it, a small shadow flitting across her brow. She had been remiss - Feelings, what a mess. If one let it, she was discovering, each pleasant thought could be countered double-quick with another that negated it. The question was how did one not let that happen? In addition, why did the bad feelings overtake one easier than the good?

Contemplation for another time. The shadow left as quickly as it came and the Ancient's smile was bright and warm like Summer World's own sun when next she looked over to Sylvia. "For the origins o' all this, I be happy to tell ye, Syl. Ye needs jus' ask. As for if'n there be a specific purpose? Well..." Once again that grin rose shot-quick on pale lips - so clever, so crafty - and, too fast for most eyes to catch where it came from, Sid had a knife from her boot and to hand, coming down with a preternatural speed at the single ply of material she'd unfurled in her other.

When knifepoint hit cloth, the Ancient's arm flew backwards with a force to rip it from its socket as if a brick wall had deflected it. Grin still in place, knife back to her boot, the fabric was laid flat at her friend's side, perhaps just a slight softening of the weave likened to a wear rub at the spot the knife had hit. "Ye mayhaps be sayin' it be 'avin' a purpose other'n gran' looks, luv."

Right hand rubbing a bit at her left shoulder, Sid laughed at Sylvia's askance if she had hurt herself. "I confess I be a touch o'er enthusiastic to be showin' ye the whats an' wherefores o' ye gift, sweet. I be fine, though, than' ye."

Pouring more of the tea, adding a healthy dose of the spirits available on the tray, she notes with a concerned furrow of silvered brow the Baroness' apparent ruminations. A sip taken, the smile is friendly and warm coming out of the teacup as her friend gives the smallest of confessions. "Then truly did the givin' come at an opportune time. For tha' I be verra glad." Fox lit, but silent, Sid only grinned as Syl continued. At her next words, once more a motion came of one long-fingered hand to the air.

"Worry nae o' the time, Syl, or such matters wha' mayhaps press they weight upon me. Li'l birds abound in all corners where I keep me fingers." That wily grin remaining on pale lips, the Ancient took another drink from her tea and sat back in the chair while Sylvia returned to her own.

When her hostess was settled, refreshed cider in hand and relaxed in her seat, the Trueblood glanced to the depths of the brew then up to violet eyes. "Within Essaira, the 'Lands, in Vanna'Arn, or the South Forest, lies a village with which I be mos' familiar, but 'ave nae journeyed to for some time. 'Tis a place jus' o'er the Wall called Oth'onna which means Gate Keepers in common.

"E'ery Solstice season there be a gran' festival held tha' lasts a week an' a day. All manner o' vendors an' visitors come from far an' wide. Some e'en from t'other side o' the Wall. Livin' where they be livin', the folks o' the village 'ave some... unique ways about them." One spun-lace silvered brow arced as she looked to Sylvia and paused to take another taste from the spiked tea. The Ancient had learned enough of the Baroness through the years they had known one another to believe her friend would understand the gist of what she was speaking. She was also confident that if the understanding were lacking, Syl would speak her mind.

"Beyond the village, further in country, there be a valley tha' be fed by a mountain river. Within those mountains be the finest stores o' mithril, runite, an' adamantine known in all the 'Lands. 'Tis in this valley the villagers grow hybrid crops tha' be near akin to flax an' cotton. It be also where grows the Zhurberry trees. These trees be the only source o' food for the rare Giant Ah'nelu silkworms, an' thus the villagers cultivate the worms for they product."

A hiss of leather as legs uncrossed and Sid replaced cup to table, leaning more intimately towards her friend. "I dun know wha' brought me to travellin' to the festival this year o' all the years in the past I 'ave nae been. Sometimes 'tis best nae to question such a thin', I find. As in when I be wanderin' about the vendors booths an' discovered the bolts o' this fabric amongst already completed garments an' then the scabbard tha' seemed to call Ewan's name at another. The fabric be nae necessarily up for the buyin', understan', but all manner o' thin's can be got if'n one be 'avin' the need."

The Trueblood often had a thousand smiles that spoke volumes for those that looked beyond the surface. For those that did not, or could not, most times her expressions might very well leave them puzzled with their enigmatic nature. On the surface, the one she offered then was nothing less than pleasant, affectionate, and open; the spark of quicksilver in glamoured blue depths just slightly north of puckish. Taking up a cr?me scone and biting off a portion, Sid sat back again and watched Sylvia's violet gaze. If her friend had more to ask, she would and the Ancient would welcome all with a frankness she'd rarely wanted to share in many centuries.

Setting down the scone and retrieving her spiked tea, Sid sipped some more and contemplated Sylvia's words. "True, traditions be o' import, Syl. Howe?er, always remember tha' there be nae a thin' constant except change. I read a book once, someone called Buddha spoke the words, I dun know if'n they wrote the book, but this Buddha said somethin' I always think o' regardin' tradition. 'Dun believe in traditions because they be handed down for generations. But, after observation an' analysis, when ye find tha' anythin' agrees with reason an' be conducive to the good an' benefit o' one an' all, then accept it an' live up to it.' Traditions connect us to our past, an' the past be somethin' wha' one needs always remember lest one repeats the mistakes o' it, yet the past can many times stifle the promise o' the future."

Another sip from the tea, another wave of pale hand to air and she smiles, setting the cup back to saucer and meeting the Baroness' violet eyes. "Comin' to Rhy?Din, bein' away from ye husband an' family, I know 'tis got to be a hardship for ye an' for them, m'friend. Ye hol' position there an' the people be lookin' to ye for guidance, they trust ye. I know, too, ye feel kinship to this realm. I dun envy ye, Sylvia. I, meself, know somethin' o' wha' ye be goin' through. Obligation to others an' obligation to self."

Again the Ancient leaned forward towards her hostess, the smile ever warm and soft lighting the angular visage though something of a sadness and perhaps shame loomed in the glamour of her gaze. "Understan', when I be sayin' obligation I dun be meanin' the begrudgin' kind. I cared for those wha' sought me guidance an' kept they trust in me, as I know ye do those in Yransea. So, I offer ye some advice, an' know it be comin' from the heart because I care for ye as friend true. Do wha' ye 'ave to do to keep ye soul happy, Syl. Wha' e'er tha' takes. If'n ye be nae happy, if'n ye soul begins to dry an' wither, ye canna be good to anyone. Nae to ye husband or bairns, nae to ye people or lands.

"Part o' ye revels in this realm, I be hatin' to see ye shut down the manor. Mayhaps sendin' ye staff home be the answer. This, then..." She swept a gesture about the whole of them. "...be likened to ye retreat. A place ye come to gather ye thoughts in the still an' silence. If'n, because o' ye position, 'tis nae appropriate for ye to be here alone, then rotate out ye staff. Pick an' choose those wha' seek adventure in new lands to help ye here. As for the gift? Know I received one jus' by gatherin' it an' t'others for the givin' to ye an' yers, sweet. Keep it secret, debate with Kieran on it, mayhaps use it jus' to keep ye own safe an' secure for the now until ye can figure out a way with it."

Laughing a bit with Sylvia's askance of what the cider held, Sid reached out and squeezed her arm gently. Her touch was warmed silk and carried a tingle of electric charge. "I know nae wha' ye cook mayhaps spiked ye brew with, sweet, but ye wax poetical all ye wish. 'Tis ye right, an' we be friends. If'n friends canna do tha' with one another, wha' can they be doin', aye?

"Know it be a gran' pleasure for me to speak with ye, too, Syl. An', should ye e'er wish to visit such distant places, all ye 'ave to do be to ask. Jus' as all ye 'ave to do be to ask if'n ye e'er wish to know o' me. An', mayhaps ye be giftin' me soon with words on Yransea an' wha' lies there, as I 'ave ne'er been. Nae tha' I recall, anyway." Again that grin came, cunning and fox lit, the scone picked up for the final bites, glamoured blue gaze shot through with quicksilver spark as she enjoyed the company of a good friend.